Intaglio: Dragons All The Way Down (9 page)

“An atheist,
huh?” Oliver said curtly. “Well, life might throw some things at you every once
in a while to question that.”  He laughed harshly.

 “Doesn’t make
any sense.” Cole grumbled. 

Next to him,
Ava’s fingers found their way to his hand, holding tight. 

“No, it
doesn’t,” her father replied, “but there’s a lot of crazy shit that happens in
life that science never explains... and the ripples of events – past and future
– go both ways, forward and back.    Most of what we’re doing now is our focus,
but big events change us.  Call it a parallel universe if you want to... or a
past life... or just misfiring synapses.”  He tapped the side of his head as he
said it.  “I don’t really care how the hell it gets explained, but the ripples
happen, and they go both ways...”   He gestured between them, the cigarette
forgotten in his hand.  “I think that’s what’s happened here.”

“So what do we
do about it?” Ava asked.  “I mean, is this a warning?  Something that’s going
to happ—”

“It’s already
happened,” her father barked.  “You remember that.  Alright?  It’s done now,
Ava.  Done!”

She could tell
he was upset too.  He never raised his voice.  It wasn’t her father’s nature. 

“But how could
this...?”  Ava mumbled, not even knowing what she to ask, just that she was
feeling lost, and wasn’t sure where to go now.  Cole leaned closer, his
shoulder pressing against hers.  Balancing her. 

Across from
them, Oliver set the cigarette butt into the saucer at his elbow as he blew
smoke to the side. He rubbed his ragged face.  There were rings under his eyes,
skin waxen.  He wouldn’t be reading any more teacups any time soon.

“I don’t know
how it happened, Ava,” he said wearily, “but the woman with wings is here, and
you dreamed her, and the voyage ended in death.” He glanced at Cole, voice
hard.  “I know what I saw... and if you dreamt about it and so did Cole, then
it’s obviously done and gone.  So it’s this life you should be thinking about,”
Oliver said, knuckles rapping loudly on the tabletop.  “What to do
now
should be your focus.”

There was an
uncomfortable silence and then Oliver glanced to the side as if hearing
something.  Without a word, he got up and headed into his bedroom, returning
seconds later with a dog-eared book.  He flipped through the pages as he
walked.

Clearing his
throat, he began to read.

“This could be a
good time. There’s a river flowing now very fast. It’s so great and swift that
there are those who will be afraid. They will try to hold on to the shore. They
will feel they are being torn apart and they will suffer greatly. Know the
river has its destination. The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off
into the middle of the river, kept our eyes open, and our heads above the
water. And I say, see who is in there with you and celebrate...

“At this time in
history, we are to take nothing personally. Least of all, ourselves. For the
moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey come to a halt...

“The time of the
lone wolf is over. Gather yourselves! Banish the word struggle from your
attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred
manner and in celebration...

“We are the ones
we’ve been waiting for.”

He glanced up as
he finished.  Ava felt a sense of déjà vu... she’d had a dream once about
another man talking to her about a boat.  He’d told her about the time to head
out into the water, and the time to wait out a storm.  Her throat was tight,
too many emotions under the surface.

‘My father died,
leaving us all behind… and I had to choose because of it…’ 

She blinked and
the almost-memory was gone.

“Who wrote
that?”  Cole asked.  His voice was raw with emotion.

“No one knows the
name of the author,” Oliver answered, “it was before the advent of written
language.  It’s a Hopi prophecy about our time.”

He sat back down
at the table, lifting the cigarette.   He gestured between Ava and Cole, ashes
swirling.  

Set adrift…

“This time
around,” Oliver said with a nod, “in this life... the two of you are in the
river together.”

Ava's last
semester of university appeared in a series of flashes.  The first were bright
and intense: Christmas with Cole’s family, the fight at New Year’s, the teacup
reading with her father the night of the Student Show.  Others had the muted
golden hue of 1960’s prints, poignant and wistful.  They were single events
that would someday form a nostalgic illustration of the end of an era. 

These times
reminded her of the photographs now lining one wall of her studio, random
moments captured in a blur of light and colour.  There were weekends partying
with Chim, Suzanne and Cole at The Crown and Sceptre, late weeknights at the
university print-making lab, trying to adapt the multi-print zinc plate into
ten variations, sharp memories of biting her lip to stay quiet in Cole’s
thin-walled dorm while he moved on top of her.  Individual moments marked the
passage of time.

Some of the
snapshots on the wall had been developed at the local film shop, though two
strips were from the two dollar insta-booth in the mall – one with her and
Cole, and another with all four of them, squished together in the booth, Chim’s
Marley cap down across his forehead.  Lately a growing number of these pictures
were the oddly-shaped self-developing ones; names and dates scribbled in the
band at the bottom.  Wednesday at the Crown.  Suze and Chim.  Hiking in the
river bottom.  Sunday in the diner... 

Chim had located
the old Polaroid camera at the downtown thrift shop and they’d all pitched in
for film.  These quick snapshots had become an impromptu art project; there was
a growing collage, supplemented by drawings on napkins and doodles on
receipts.  Each snippet decorated the space that had become, over the last
months, the agreed-upon meeting place for the four of them.  Ava couldn’t help
but feel like she was recording this all for later. 

Each week moved
her toward graduation and all of its challenges.  There were decisions to be
made about the future.  Chim already volunteered for Amnesty International; his
supervisor had offered to extend his role into a paying position starting the
following summer.  Now the rest of them were beginning to realize that these
last few months were, in many ways, their last ‘free’ time together. Jobs and
mortgages and life would soon take over.  It was both exhilarating and
terrifying.

Suzanne was the
one who’d come up with an answer.

She had several
friends who were planning to spend their Spring Break volunteering at an animal
sanctuary on Martinique.  With their help, Suzanne located an inexpensive
chateau to rent down the coast from Trois Îlets. The place she’d found was a
private residence that fronted a secluded beach.  With the change in currency
and a split four ways, they would have more than enough money to pay full price
for airfare.  Cole grinned as Ava insisted that they plan on snorkeling when
they were there.

“You’re
cheating, you know,” he said, raising his eyebrow sceptically.  “It isn’t
really coming true if you force it to happen.”

She lifted an
eyebrow.

“Cole, you don’t
even believe in teacup reading,” she replied, dryly.  “Not sure why you care
how it works.”

Dubious or not,
the two of them had been changed by Oliver’s words.  The story of their dreams,
and the sudden awareness of the connection between them, was yet another piece
that simply “fit.”  Ava found herself thinking about it on occasion, bits of
dreams – a wooden bird, the two of them holding hands in the rain – coming at
random moments.  These past echoes gave her comfort, but they weren’t the only
part of her cup she intended to see to fruition. 

Tonight in the
Crown, it was the future rising up across the side of the cup she was focused
on.  Across from them in the booth, Suzanne pulled out a pamphlet from amongst
the rest of her travel guides.

“If we do decide
to go snorkeling, I’d like to go to the Trois Îlets Wildlife Sanctuary,” she
said, tapping the paper in front of them.  “They’re repopulating the Hawksbill
Turtle population there.”

Ava glanced at
Cole and this time she was the one smirking.

“Fine, you win,”
he said, throwing up his hands in defeat.  “Maybe your dad did see something.”

Ava turned to
him, her voice dropping. 

“Maybe…?” she
scoffed.

Under the table,
one of Cole’s hands slid up her leg.  Her knee jerked in surprise, bouncing the
glasses, and Chim gave them a knowing grin.

“He’s right more
often than not,” Ava said, voice squeaking, “but you’ve always got a choice
about what you decide to do.  Nothing’s fated.  You can change anything, you
know?” 

Cole grinned,
fingers moving higher.  She closed her eyes as his hand began tracing over her
inner thigh.  Across from them, Marcus rolled his eyes, turning back to
Suzanne; in seconds, they were lost in their own conversation. 

“But how can he
see it, if you’ve got a choice?” Cole teased.  “Doesn’t make sense.”

She thought of
her wish – the two of them together – and in that moment his hand slid in the
rest of the way, leaving her gasping.

“I don’t care
how it works,” she gasped, squirming under Cole’s roving hand.  “I just know it
does.”

: : : : : : : :
: :

It was a Friday
night in early February, and Cole and Ava were staying in Frank and Nina's
guest suite.  The Spring weather was blustery, and with the pressure change,
Nina had developed a migraine.  After dinner, she and Frank had retired to bed,
leaving Ava and Cole to fend for themselves.

Coastal suburbia
was dead for a Friday. After a late supper at the downtown pizzeria, the two of
them came back for the night.  They tiptoed up the stairs, laughing like
teenagers before climbing into bed, listening to gusts of wind around the
eaves.  Ava lay on her stomach on the bed, bare feet propped on her pillow,
flipping through television channels.  Behind her, Cole lay propped up against
the headboard, a black notebook in hand.

“What’cha
doing?” Ava asked, twisting to look over her shoulder at him.  He’d been
scribbling steadily for the last twenty-five minutes, pages turning one after
the other.  Cole glanced up, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

“Well, if you’d
strip down, I’d offer to sketch you... but since you’re wearing too many
clothes, I’m doing some work instead.”

The scratching
of the pen returned.  Ava flipped through a few more channels, her curiosity
growing. The figure drawing suggestion had some merit, she had to admit.  It
was nice having her dad back in town but his presence had put a damper on
Cole’s visits.  The dorm was no better.  His next door neighbour had given her
lascivious looks the two times he’d run into her leaving.  Ava was definitely
too loud for Cole’s bedroom. 

She rolled
sideways, propping herself up on an elbow to watch him. 

“What kind of
work are you doing?” she asked, nudging his ribs with her toe.  He smirked,
catching her foot.

“Writing,” he
admitted, rubbing his thumb along her instep and making her giggle.  She
squirmed until he let go, turning onto her back, her hands now behind her
head.  The minute his pen dropped back to the page, her toes prodded him.  He
kept his eyes on the sketchpad, ignoring her.

“Okay,” she said
with a grin, “I’ll play.  What kind of writing, Cole?” 

Her toes wiggled
against his armpit, moving lower until they hit a particularly sensitive spot
and he jumped, snickering.  The book dropped and she could see the lines of
text filling the white pages.

“Writing for
Marta,” Cole admitted, reaching out and pulling her up the bed, so that her
hips were now next to his.  The fingers of his free hand dropped down to her
waist, finding the seam between her top and yoga pants, working underneath.  He
propped his book against his knees, writing once more.

“Marta, huh?”
Ava said, eyes narrowing.  “Should I be jealous?”

Cole snorted,
fingers of one hand tugging at her waistband while he continued to write.  The
pauses between scribbles were growing longer.

“Depends...”
Cole said, grey eyes taunting her, “what would you do if you were jealous? 
Hmmm....?” 

Ava began to
squirm as he got hold of the top of her pants, pulling on one side roughly,
exposing her panties, then sliding over to the other hip and doing the same
thing.

“I dunno,” Ava
admitted, a line of irritation between her brows.  “What does she look like?”

Cole glanced
away as if remembering.  Meanwhile, the fingers of his free hand slid her pants
lower until they were puddled next to him.  His other hand was still poised on
the paper, but no longer writing.

“She has long
dark hair,” he said.  “Really nice hair, actually.  And brown eyes.”  He
smirked.  “Very pretty.”