Spoke in a Voice that Distrupted the Sky // [Courtney+Guest]

v a s c o 


But it's not real
And you don't exist
And I can't recall the last time I was kissed
It hits me in the car
And it feels like the end of a movie I've seen before
Before

Vasco twisted the rolled cigarette between his fingers and flicked open a blue flamed lighter. The red light cast over the porch and the clouds that threatened overhead.

He swallowed down the burn tobacco and marijuana smoke and held it at the back of his throat.

For the first time in weeks, no one had come to call. No how’re you doings, no little plates of fresh made empanadas or pintxos, and no one to sit with until darkness overhead threatened to redden into morning.

His brothers and cousins kept watch of the fields. His nieces and nephews swept up and kept the laundry fresh. He’d crawled from the dark of his room with enough strength to shower, only to find soup at his bedside.

Each day another step out across the soft crush of the carpet, less a gossamer and more a man. It’d been the morning he’d made eggs atop the stove and hummed, his voice itching at the back of throat. Lost, but not forgotten. He became determined to leave the house for his own adventure. Even if his steps had weighed like bricks stacked high upon his back, Vasco wouldn’t spend another night falling into darkness.

As he drew down the last of his cigarette for courage, he set off to ride the next bus into town.

The crank and hiss of the aching automobile’s gears left Vasco on the edge of town. He searched his memory for somewhere to meditate. He landed on the cellar of a bar that hadn’t belonged but been exactly where it’d needed to be.

He’d felt light on his feet as the smell of heady smoke and sour beer filled the air. He was greeted by the low light and crackling of an old record from his youth playing.

Vasco had heard her voice before he’d seen her. The offer of a seat. Her eyes (their inescapable courage that had been held back only by doubt).

It had been a lifetime since he’d stood on her porch with his daughter’s belongings. It’d been before anyone called him Mayor, and before he’d begun to wonder about the good of doing good. There was comfort in the familiar, and he took up a glass of whiskey in a toast.

“To tonight,” He’d said to the bar, and to himself. His face flushed after downing another. He’d laughed at the half shot and forgot about the beer that had been offered up by the bartender. He swam through self-imposed chaos and released himself entirely to this effortless present. Nothing could matter, for a few minutes, or hours, when the world outside cracked and groaned.

A storm would come, but not now.

When she turned to the stairs, he braced close behind. She led him and he couldn’t help but follow, propelled by the sight of how her hair fell along her shoulders and how she seemed to look right through him.

He reached to take her hand and like a live wire they snapped forward, through the impending mist and drizzle down an alley and across a thoroughfare until he’d been stood facing her, close.

Thunder echoed through the pouring thud of rain.

“Sometimes I think they’re following me.” He was too honest, but, he couldn't help it. Vasco was still out of breath and leaned closer to take Courtney’s other hand in his. He took in their warmth and stared back at her. “What do you think we should tell them?”