Your Mark on Me

Chapter 29: One Hour

As I glanced at Mark's profile while he was driving, my mind buzzed with a million thoughts, yet I couldn't find a single word to say.

"Shall we turn on the radio?"

"Umm? Oh, yeah, why not."

A dance beat blared in the speakers. Mark turned it down and swept through the frequencies; "Sexy Back" was quickly replaced by Berlin's "Take My Breath Away".

"I like this song", I said. "I swear they made better music back then."

Mark looked amused. "Back then? What does that even mean?"

"I don't know", I replied flustered. "The 70s, 80s, whenever this was out. It's a really old tune, isn't it?"

He smiled a dreamy smile as if transported far away, to some distant memories awakened by the music.

"Have you seen Top Gun?"

I looked at him confused, not seeing the connection. "No, but I've heard of it. It's the one with Tom Cruise when he was young, right? He's flying planes or something."

Mark chuckled, but it was a weird chuckle, a mixture of amusement and, I realised seconds later, nostalgia. "Can you imagine it? I've seen that film at the cinema. This song was on the soundtrack. Top hit in 1986. That's when I was sixteen. Or maybe it was 1987. Well, you get the idea."

I gulped. When he put it like this, the gap seemed like an unbridgeable chasm.

"90.6 FM", I said. "WETA".

"Pardon?"

"Classical radio."

The sounds of an orchestra and a solo violin replaced the dated drum beat and synths. It was a violin concerto which I only recognised because Mom had played it before.

"Mendelssohn, Violin Concerto No. 3". Did you know that?"

"Actually, no." He sounded impressed at my knowledge.

"But it's nice, isn't it?"

"Yes, of course. It's lovely."

"Think about it: this was a 'hit' not twenty, but two hundred years ago. And yet, we both enjoy it, just as much."

We were both quiet for while, listening to the serene, lyrical andante, appreciating the perfectly controlled high notes of the violin.

"What else is there?" I said against the background of the music, pretending I was thinking it through just then. "We both like books. I mean reading them, of course, because I don't write. I mean, not that I don't like reading what you write. Or that you don't read."

I cleared my throat. This was not coming out quite the way I'd imagined it. Nevertheless, I continued; it was better than not saying anything, or ruminating on what ancient things Mark did when he was sixteen.

"We both like playing the piano. We both like late night walks. Quiet evenings. Rain rapping against the window, with a hot cup of tea. The smell of rain, after it's over. A good concert. Theater. Long talks, about the meaning of life, books and what-not. The color blue. White roses. I never told you that they were my favourite. Red wine."

"If I asked you to go buy a bottle of wine or a pack of cigarettes, they wouldn't serve you."

"Well, good thing you don't smoke anymore. Thanks to me. And you're probably better off choosing the wine anyway."

"Of course. Because I'd drink it on my own. I'd have to get you an orange juice."

I let out a long, frustrated sigh. This wasn't working. We were just about to get into DC, it was nine in the morning, the sun already shining strongly in the right side of the sky. We stopped briefly for the red lights. As I glanced at the people on the sidewalk, all rushing, caught in the maelstroms of their own lives, I wondered if theirs were less complicated than mine felt right now.