Colin couldn’t sleep and spent what he guessed was half an hour counting the number of holes in his ceiling. He glanced to his right to look at Amy through the corner of his eye. She was still wearing the necklace he bought her for their half-year anniversary, which they celebrated last month. He took her to an upscale restaurant with a name he couldn’t pronounce. He continued to look at her. Her eyes were closed, and a thin wave of hair rested between her upper lip and nose.
Colin forced his hand into the stream of light above him. The yellow enveloped his hand. It outlined each of his digits, making them seem lankier than they did in normal lighting. When his hand was removed, the pane of light restored itself; perfect once again.
The bed bounced slightly as Amy adjusted her position. Colin scratched the back of his neck and left it there. He turned his head toward Amy. Her eyes were framed by dark circles, and they were open just enough to allow small parentheses of brown to escape.
“Can’t sleep?” Amy said. Her voice was harsh and deeper than normal. Colin reached to the side of his bed and grabbed his khaki shorts from the ground. He felt around the pockets and found a box of cigarette. Two remained in the pack and were smashed against the foil wall by a packet of matches. The sulfur invaded his nostrils as he struck a match against the red line. He felt around for a glass ashtray on his bedside table and rested it on his bare chest. The cold of the glass flowed through his body, returning to the spot the ashtray rested. He closed his eyes and tried for a brief moment to fall into the coma of sleep.
The smoke rose in curls, twisting through the glass ceiling of light. The grey smoke transformed into a blue flame when passing through the light. The twists and turns made spirals and question marks. The light slowly became brighter as the sun rose higher. Little by little, the light in the room intensified.
Colin raised his right arm and placed it around Amy. She curled into the area he created for her. A cylinder of ash fell on his chest, just missing the ashtray. He brushed it off in the opposite direction of Amy. He could feel her warmth against his body. She was usually warmer than he was; she called him ‘my polar bear.’
Colin felt the nape of her neck, his fingers glided smoothly on her skin as gracefully as an ice skater. He traced his name, her name, and drew small pictures of flowers and stars on her skin. She looked up at him, her tired eyes searching his face.
“What’s wrong?” Her eyebrows leaned in slightly; they reached out for each other.
“Can we talk about it tomorrow?” His whisper was louder than he expected, and he was startled by the sound of his own voice. Amy withdrew from Colin, propping her head on her hand. Her elbow forced an indentation into the mattress.
The smoke filled the room as Colin extinguished his cigarette. The red embers exploded in the ashtray. A thin line of smoke drifted upward, no deciding on a direction to float. It gently billowed across and through the blade of light. The angle had shifted with the height of the Sun. It moved lower in the room, closer toward the bed; the separation of top and bottom became increasingly disproportionate.
Colin was trapped in a crystal case; wall and Amy to his sides, bed below, and the light ceiling slowly caving in on him. He mimicked Amy’s position, mirroring her elbow and hand placement.
“No, we can’t talk about it tomorrow,” she said. Colin wiped away the small beads of sweat from his head, taking all emotion with it. He tried to engage her in a silent conversation. His eyes focused on her pupils, not moving, not flinching. He tried, but could not feel her budging.
“Nothing’s wrong.” He knew that it did not convince her. His elbow gave out like a pillar under a pier. The dock crashed into the water. He buried his head into his pillow.
“I thought we were past the petty lying.” The bed bounced again as she shifted to her right side, facing away from Colin.
The light faded from the room; the overcast day diluted the sun. It faded in and out, finally becoming bright again. The thin stream brightened the entire room. The smoke had mostly dissipated. The clouds had escaped through cracks in the window and ceiling, free at last.
The light was bright on Colin’s face. He squinted, trying to save his eyes from the harsh morning. He sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, his palms digging into his eye sockets. He turned to the left and placed his feet on the small island between wall and bed. The light was not dividing Colin, his top and bottom detached with contrast.
“I have to go to the can.” He sauntered to the door, barely keeping balance.
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