Glitch and Cody

Chapter 11 - Let's Get this Party Started

Glitch

Cody, the boy with the fairy lights reflected in his eyes and the smile that speaks to mine in words neither of us knows how to say out loud, is holding my hand. Grass blades are sneaking into my sandals, tickling my toes, and the breeze that tried to steal my veil and blew Cody and me back into each other's lives is playing in my neck, stirring my hair.

My heart is alive. The evening is crawling closer, slowed down by the heavy load of promise it is dragging along with it.

Gazing into Cody's slate grey eyes, I am vaguely aware of my facial muscles starting to ache a little bit. I haven't smiled this hard in a very long time. I'm not smile-fit.

"You wanted this, right?" he asks, his eyes becoming hooded when my smile falters to give my face a break. "I didn't ambush you or-"

"Yes," I say, nodding my head to make sure that there is no confusion. "I wanted this more than anything."

I don't ask him if he feels ambushed or whether he wanted this too because I can see it in the smile now lighting up his face, filling his eyes again. I knew it without any doubt the moment my veil shifted from forming a wall between us, becoming a window instead, showing me his face filled with the dawn of recognition. He knew I wanted it too, but doubt is a nasty enemy.

"Good eve-. Is this thing on? Good evening... is it on?" Humphrey Richards has stepped onto the stage at the far end of the town square, looking like Don Quixote de La Mancha, on the verge of tilting at windmills. He is not attacking any imaginary enemies; his only target is the microphone on the stand in front of him, which he is tapping with a finger, sending loud rhythmic booms out into the atmosphere. Sick of being assaulted, the microphone screeches in anger, its piercing scream cutting through bone and marrow, calling a chorus of protests from the birds loitering in the branches of the trees scattered over the town square.

Cody's amused chuckle ripples pleasantly through my heart, stirring to life sections I've thought to be long dead.

"Good evening, everybody," Humphrey tries again. "Today's proceedings will be set in motion by honourable Councilmember Weber. As you know, we are all gathered here together for our annual-"

"Don't make speeches about the speeches that are going to be made, Humph!" someone shouts from the small crowd, gradually forming at the base of the stage, and the suggestion - or warning - is seconded by many others.

"We've finally all agreed that we can start now," Humphrey hurriedly changes track. "If honourable Councilmember Weber would just be so kind as to put down that pie and come onto the stage to-"

"When I'm good and ready!" A handsome middle-aged man with untidy hair and a badge-covered denim jacket shouts at Humphrey, causing the lanky man's Adam's apple to bob nervously. "And call me honourable Councilmember one more time if you want to become a permanent part of that stage structure!" he adds, waving his fork in the air in a rather threatening manner. Honourable Councilmember Weber has a big voice and knows how to use it.

He is seated at the counter of Aunt Suzie's pie stall, enjoying one of her luscious pies, and he is eating it from a plate, using utensils like a civilized person. Jack Weber doesn't generally do civilized things. Watching him cut bite-sized pieces from the pie and spearing them with a fork is almost obscene.

I giggle happily, enjoying the show. Humphrey and Jack are virtually always at each other's throats. The only time they are not arguing is when they're sharing a pitcher of beer and a basket of French fries while watching Ultimate Frisbee matches on the big-screen TV in Lola's Diner, Phantom's Rest's favourite hangout. On those occasions, they argue with everybody else who would rather have the channel set to football, cricket or the Olympics.