Snow Space

Florescence

It was only a week later that Poppy had found Khamil's phone number etched into the wood of the movie store counter, and so the following Thursday she had called him, amused at his tactics. 

"I'm just calling to tell you it's actually against our rules to deface the property in our store," she said humorously, and Khamil could just picture her raised eyebrows as he grinned. He cupped his phone to his hand, leaning against the wall casually as he spoke. 

"They can't be very strict on that if you're still working there," he replied, a dimple in his cheeky smile as he heard her soft laughter from the other end of the line. 

"Touche." 

Khamil looked down the road as he stood leaning against the post office wall with one foot up on the bricks, before scratching his nose.

"Are you free right now?"

-

The two of them met on the pathway by the outside basketball courts, an area Khamil had become quite accustomed to as a kid, and one that was nicely set between Sutherland and Bateson Street. Khamil had arrived early, and so was throwing the orange ball through the old hoops, quite successful in his attempts, though every now and then he'd aim too far and have to catch it as it bounced off the wired net surrounding the court. As he tossed the ball, his army green rucksack lay at his feet, a few metres away from the hoop. Focusing, he held back the ball the prepare for another shot, but the sound of his name caught him off guard, and he turned around. 

"Hi," he said with a smile as he saw Poppy, a brown curl swaying in the breeze as she smiled back. 

"You're not half bad," she said, shrugging as if it was no big deal and Khamil grinned.

"No?"

He walked forwards, spinning the ball lightly in his hands as on the other side of the wire net she playfully walked backwards alongside him, her feet sounding lightly on the concrete. 

"You could do with a little less spin perhaps."

"Oh, could I?" Khamil replied, his eyebrows raised humorously. "I always thought it was the over-aim that let me down."

"Oh - that too."

Khamil laughed as she grinned mischievously at him through the wire. 

"So."

She came to a slow stop. 

"What's in the bag?'

Khamil smiled, spinning the basketball ball before rolling it along the court, and then grabbing the rucksack.

"Follow me."

-

Graffiti adorned the walls of the abandoned carpark: vibrant colour splashed across the dullness, with tags of people who'd made their presence clear. A few of those were Khamil, but things were always painted over in the attempt to leave a mark in some shape or form, as if confirming their own existence through artistic handiwork. It never looked impressive from afar, just a palette of colour, but upon closer inspection the detail was clear. Poppy watched Khamil with a budding smile as he swung his bag off of his shoulder, holding it between his knees to unzip it.

"Favourite colour?"

"Purple," Poppy replied without missing a beat, and Khamil rummaged through his bag, pulling out a silver can, with a rich purple lining the cap, before tossing it to Poppy. 

"How did you know?" she asked, still smiling as she turned the can in her hands. 

"Hunch," Khamil replied with a grin, pulling out his own red can, shaking it so that it rattled gently in preparation for the paint-job ahead.

"I don't know what to write," Poppy murmured as she looked at the spray-paint, and Khamil turned back to face her.

"What comes to your mind? It doesn't have to be profound. You just have to make a mark. Tell people you were here."

As he spoke, Khamil hoisted himself up onto the small brick wall that ran between an empty car-park space and the neon green exit sign, carefully walking along it to reach a high-up spot on the concrete canvas. Poppy thought, looking at the wall before walking forwards and shaking her purple paint. The pungent dye sprayed the wall in a steady line, the specks of violet settling on the bricks as she wrote her message - a steady concentration resting within her eyes. There was a moment of comfortable silence, when all that was audible was the calming hiss from the cans and the distant traffic below - all the people who were unaware of their small illegal act. As he moved his hand, controlling the paint, Khamil stole a look at Poppy, who's blue eyes were set on her work of art. When she finally stepped back, he quickly looked back to his own words, a quick heart-skip at the prospect of her realising he'd been watching. Her eyes flicking up to him for seeming reassurance was his cue to look at her work, and he read the neat letters, scanning them carefully. 

'Poppy Alsop stood here'. 

He smiled, looking at her sheepish expression. 

"It's not exactly profound."

"Doesn't have to be. I like it. Straight to the point," Khamil said with a grin, and Poppy laughed. 

"What did you do?" 

She took a few steps backwards to look to the top of the wall where Khamil had placed his art, her gaze softening a little as she saw it - and he hid the humbleness brewing inside of him through a jaunty shrug, putting his tongue to his bottom teeth. 

"Well now I feel stupid," Poppy exclaimed, and Khamil couldn't help laughing at her indignation. 

"It doesn't really mean anything."

"Shut up, yes it does," she replied, looking at him with a twinkle in her eye. Over the top of a black circle, and between a neon green signature and a white stick-man, with the upmost care in its shape and form, Khamil had drawn a small red flower, resembling that of a Poppy.