Join the Dance

ii. Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature's first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

- Robert Frost

22 December 1899

Rafe leant against the rooftop ledge that looked across to his old apartment.

The square window on the left three stories up was perfectly framed in his view. There was the old brick, there was the moulding frame. Moonlight fell on the windowsill like silver water.

Any moment now, the old woman would be up to turn on the light. This winter - like each one before it - was freezing and dark, but she was a beacon of hope, switching on the bulb every night at eleven without fail, always knowing Rafe was there to see it.

It was his vigil. To sit here and hold his breath as he waited; to ball his fists into his pockets and press his back against the stone. It was uncomfortable, but he didn't care.

Any second now...

He could see his breath taking form in the air.

Any second...

He checked his pocket-watch, stolen several years ago. One past eleven.

He imagined he could hear a faint click, and the light flickered on. The old woman started shuffling about, dusting the floor and straightening the covers on the guest bed. Her silvery hair glistened in the electric gleam.

Rafe exhaled, letting out the tension in his shoulders, though he kept his emerald-green eyes intent on the window. If he focused, it was almost as if the old woman wasn't there, but it was just him and his Ma. He could see himself at the window. He was playing the violin, his small nimble fingers sliding over the thin strings and drawing the bow back and forth.

He was sure he could hear the melody of the violin. Or maybe it was Ma humming a lullaby when he couldn't sleep. It was soft and sweet, drifting into a dream.

The light went out.

Rafe shivered in the sudden reminder of darkness.

In the distance, he could hear slow music from one of the dance halls on Bowery nearby. The faint tune mingled with voices and the sounds of trains. Around him, the grimy air smelt of smoke, horse and factory metal, and he buttoned up his coat against the cold, but as he listened, everything else fell away. He just listened.

Eventually, he pulled out his lighter from his pocket. He had forgotten his mittens, so his fingers shook, but he managed to click it on. The flame flared up like a small beacon. Rafe held it up to his eye-line, so that the dark window three stories up to the left was behind the weak golden fire.

The fire and the dark, he thought absentmindedly, still listening to the distant music. The dark and the fire...

He snuffed out the lighter with his fingertips. The flame touched his skin, but he wasn't burnt. He rubbed his palms together. The leftover warmth built up beneath his skin, until his hands were so warm it was like reaching out towards a fireplace.