The Northern Lights

Chapter 5. A New Adventurer

France, 2003

A barely functioning motor slowly echoes throughout a foreign landscape, ever so slowly breathing noise into the dead countryside once again. A petite ocean-blue car whizzes by each of the trees as though it were a comet travelling through the vast darkness of space. The two are travelling to the country side of France. A spontaneous trip for Azra's birthday to the French vineyards before a new family member joins them to explore the world.

Azra does not fit the dress she wore for New Year's Eve anymore. Her belly begins to expand ever so slowly like an aging star. Eden is nervous, they are three months away from the due date. His knuckles are pale on the wheel, his lips have been longing for a cigarette for six months.

Azra notices how green the summer tree's leaves are. They glow today, "Do you remember the first time we talked?" she asks, temple resting on the window, she is tempted to run away into the golden landscape.

"Vividly," Eden replies, eyes glued to the road. They are almost there.

"Go on then," she says, testing Eden's story telling abilities.

"I remember drawing a map, of all the places I was going to see."

It has been a while since Azra's laid eyes on one of his artworks, "You've always been an artist,"

"I remember the kids in our class talking about a new girl. Teasing her home."

"Me too." She says, memories of gossip and pain flicker in her mind. Azra fiddles with her bracelet.

Eden notices, "I remember seeing a set of caramel eyes in the doorway. A pretty girl. I remember how shitty her French was," he grins, gets smacked on the arm, though it doesn't disturb his driving, "I remember falling in love that day." He whispers to himself, as though Azra weren't in the car.

"We still have so many places to see," she says, a memory of Norway present in her mind.

"I know. When he is born, we will go." He points to her belly, after parking in an unfamiliar landscape.

"It might be a she," she says, rubbing the expanding star insider her. Azra feels as though the sky will burst into colours that resemble the grapes in the vineyards and leaves of the summer trees as she tells Eden, "Tromsø is waiting for us."

Eden hops out the car, telling Azra to stay put as he sets up. The sun is close to being dragged down under the horizon. They have a few hours of sunlight left before the horizon is met with a sunset as sweet as honey, as soft as silk. They had been driving for far too long.

Eden lays down a thin white and red checker blanket on the verdant ground. The summer breeze wipes his skin, he can feel the heat simmer between his lips. He pulls open the trunk of the car, Azra watches from the inside of the car, her eyes locked onto the drive inside Eden's eyes. He pulls out juices, cookies, baguettes and a meal he had cooked himself, following a recipe from a friend of a friends, a meal that Azra had missed so much. Yabak. Azra laughs inside the car, she recognizes the sight of the Syrian dish. It provokes a million memories.

He brings candles and places them on each corner of the blanket. Eden had always been a hopeless romantic. He lights them with his sky-blue lighter and opens the door for Azra, "Bonjour," he says, greeting Azra like a waiter in a fancy restaurant.

They giggle and flirt in French like when they were children. That passion between them was fiercer than any flame on a candle, than any sunset. Eden no longer craves a cigarette to fill his chest or lungs. Instead he desires a baby boy in his arms. A new friend. A new adventurer.