Emma

chapter six - life

Guitar strumming was carrying the subdued mood.

     Emma had been quiet since the play and barely even spoke since they've reached the lounge Lloyd mentioned at the beginning of the evening. Rough brick walls and leather couches, industrial iron frames of the building - visible in a way as if the architect wasn't even bothered with fine touches - and unshaded bulbs lighting the casual setting from a high ceiling, made it the best place for finishing the evening. There were no pretensions or expectations; people just came there to chill.

     Emma was sitting cross-legged on a couch, playing with a strand of her hair. The subconscious act made her head tilt to the side as she looked at the band. Three guys played a relaxed set for the frequenters with an intimate setup to one side of the room. They were background music, but the vocalist got the attention of most of the loungers with a slow, lyrical song. A curly lock of his own hair fell over his forehead as he sang.

     The few people scattered around clapped as the last notes drowned out.

     "That's how you play a lounge," said Mei, eyes lingering on the guitarist.

     "Didn't you used to sing at practically every party in high school?" asked Todd.

     Mei's chest puffed up with pride, "Yeah I did," she said as if it certified her baller status in life. "And I remember that you used to slay those high notes in the shower,"

     Todd laughed, playing off his shyness by playing along with her banter. "I'm no Mariah, but I like to go off every now and then."

     The siblings laughed together and Lloyd joined in their chatting, but he was magnetically aware of Emma not taking part. In fact-

     "I'll be right back," said Emma.

     "Sure," said Mei, but Emma didn't really wait for them and Mei was too distracted by her current conversation to notice anything odd about her abrupt exit. Lloyd traced Emma to where she came up to the vocalist at the bar. Lloyd tried to make out their conversation over their group's own.

     "Did you write that song?" asked Emma.

     "Yes," he answered without hesitation. He turned to look at her.

     "Your writing is beautiful."

     "I appreciate that so much, stranger."

     "Emma."

     "Joel."

     They shook hands, of all things. Lloyd was tuning out the talk around him to listen to what they were saying. Emma's voice was steady and alluring.

     "I've always wanted to write songs, or just basically anything," said Emma. Joel didn't say anything as he searched her face. "I wanted to write everything I could."

     Joel didn't answer for a while and Lloyd almost thought he was waiting for her to say something else as well. After running a hand through his curls, he turned fully towards her. He was talking to an equal.

     "Why don't you?"

     Emma's eyes observed the singer's face, looking for what other meanings he was intending with his straightforward reply. Lloyd knew when she realised that Joel hadn't left anything out. He had said exactly what he meant. Lloyd himself had a similar internal question. He's always wanted to make films. Short films, documentaries, feature films, music videos - he wanted to master the spectrum of videography.

     Why hasn't he?

     "I don't know," said Emma thoughtfully.

     Joel put his hand on her arm and waited for her eyes. Theirs met.

     "I almost died two years ago. I realised that didn't want to be where I was when I actually died. Since, I've been chasing those golden feelings."

     "Are those bits of gold enough, though?" asked Emma.

     "The gold doesn't matter. The feeling does." He thought about his words, head tilting from side to side and then he decided. "But yes, it's all I wanted. Even if it's not fame and glory."

     Lloyd tried to think forward. The future. Tried to see past that pressing unknown and figure out what he wanted to be. What would make him happy? It was hard. What would be enough, what could be enough when life is so short and kind of meaningless?  Did whatever he wanted to become even matter? How could doing what he wanted to do, change the world? Would it even? Did that matter?

     He ran his hand over leather. Voices made words around his existence, but none of it mattered. Light pulsed from every point of origin in the room to where it was reflected or absorbed. Currents of air slightly shifted on his skin and his steady breath sounded loud within his own world.

     Lloyd thought of the moment he saw Emma for the first time. She ran into Vivace, ducking from the rain. Her short hair was sleeked down from the water and the light in her eyes were bouncing as her breath made a small cloud.

     The moment Mei made a joke when she ordered a cinnamon dolce latte for the hundredth time, suddenly turning from a customer into an acquaintance, flashed in his mind. There was a moment when he first saw his crappy new apartment, where the sunlight poured in through his chipped window and he fell in love with it. Lloyd remembered a speech the global goodwill ambassador of the United Nations gave four years ago so vividly - especially the chills he felt after he heard her last words in the video. A moment, a few minutes before midnight on the fifteenth of April, he had written about the shittiest week of his life, because there wasn't anyone he could talk to about it. Looking back on it, he felt stronger - not better, but stronger. Watching the sunrise on his birthday. Looking into the eyes of the girl he liked, on the third-floor hotel room they snuck into the day before her birthday. Listening to a choir singing Team by the artist Lorde on the steps of a stone staircase winding to the top of a University building with his friend. Breathing the earthy air of a forest after the rain on a school camp. Flying with his brother down to another city and back in one day, just because. Befriending strangers. Talking about life with a kid. Finding out what he thought about life in a lounge.

     "Let's head back. There's one more thing to do."