detler, jack.
he gnaws against his cheek, a futile effort, because really, no brilliant idea has ever come from bothered gums. he’d suggest a trip, but it seems like a cop-out, a last resort only for when they’ve exhausted all the fun that black springs has to offer. ‘ you’re talking like a defeatist, emma. ’ a poignant tinge laces his retort, downturned lips accompanying the thought that the last time he broke a rule was when he forgot to bring his own shopping back to the grocery store and had to get a paper one. a deep breath realigns his posture, forcing himself to persevere with the impenetrable positive attitude. ‘ okay, say we are the most interesting people here. heck, we might even rank pretty high up in the whole town. i mean, that immediately makes us eligible to like, i don’t know, start a band. or a business. or a protest. the possibilities are endless ! ’
She’s already halfway slumped over the bartop in a relatively ‘ defeatist ’ position, cheeks pressed into palms and eyes cast downward when he finishes, and she’s ready to lament more, but the idea of them starting a BAND without a fraction of musical talent, or a BUSINESS without the monetary tact, or a PROTEST without anything worth fighting for seems so ridiculous to her that she has to laugh: bright and reenergizing and somehow bringing her a modicum of hope that maybe the night isn’t so dead. But as giggles that coat his less than desirable ideas subside, she looks halfway to forlorn again, the heaviness of nostalgia settling on her like a blanket of thick snow. It’s the strange type, one where the feeling of missing something is not a memory that’s attainable — something locked away, perhaps never reached. “ Yeah, well, if we could have met and had that lovely revelation a decade ago, Jack, we might be getting somewhere right about now. ” Missed opportunities threaten to swallow her attachment to the past whole, catching the forlorn reflections she clings to in the belly of the beast. She’d never been too keen on letting go. But words aren’t mean or bitter, and a FAINT smile still traces her features — words are instead sad. Perhaps teenage years gone more fulfilled and introductions to a world of possibility would have done her better: but not when she’s settled into her life, and waiting for something BETTER to come along










