The Northern Lights

Chapter 18. Night.

France, 1994

A feathery dusk begins to settle among the streets below a long trail of Parisian hills. On top of one of the tallest hills, Eden's treasured motorcycle watches over the suburbs. Two madly in love souls lay with one another on thin blankets spread on the grass, staring at the sky in utter silence, waiting for the stars to appear. As the sun falls, the warm summer breezes begin to fade away, and the shivering twilight replaces it.

Eden takes his arm away from underneath Azra's hair, sits up and stretches his shirt back on. The thin layer of grey cotton isn't enough to stop him from shivering, but he passes his leather jacket to Azra, who wears nothing but a thin bra.

Azra sits up, quietly dressers herself, "When was the last time you wore something different?"

Eden grabs a lighter from his denim pocket, it easily bursts to life, "Like what?"

"I don't know, a suit maybe," she kids, though she has pondered what he'd look like in one.

A cigarette presses against his lips, but before he can light it, Azra pinches it away, tosses it somewhere off the truck. The young man chuckles, "That was going to be my last one."

Azra playfully kisses his patchy stubble, "No it wasn't. That lighter is blue. Your old one was yellow." She was right, he had just bought that one the other night, "No more smoking."

"Okay, I'll try," his head tilts up at the sky, "I promise I'll try,"

"I know."

The chirping of crickets and rustling of nearby bushes fills the period of silence between them as they stare at the unexplorable stars. They both sit up, knees tucked in their chests. Eventually, one of them speak, "Will I ever meet your parents?" Eden asks, before feeling the outline of his lighter back in his pocket.

"Will I ever meet yours?" Azra replies, arms wrapped around his neck.

Eden stares up at the sky, it has become a dark shade of purple, grape almost. They both know that their love is forbidden, a forbidden apple that both have bit into, "It's not fair," he whispers.

Azra rummages the blankets, finds her jeans, "They'll open up to it eventually," with one leg covered in denim.

Eden spots half the moon floating in behind an abyss of clouds, "What if they don't?"

Azra buttons her waste, "What if they do?"

Eden remains silent, pauses to think about how his family will never change. Azra stands, her hair shining under the moonlight. She reaches out her hand, pulls Eden up, they pack the blankets into a bag, hide it behind a nearby bush for next time. Each stride towards Eden's bike begins to shorten, if they leave this place, this utopia, they must face their problems, their families. Eden passes Azra the only helmet that hangs from the Davidson's handle bar.

His jacket keeps her warm, it flaps in the wind like a flag in heavy winter's breeze. The bike glides like a plane soaring through clouds. He loves every minute of every ride: the air that caresses his cheeks and ripples his hair, the way his best friend tightens her grip around his waist when the bike speeds up.

Azra's temple rests against the back of his shoulder, through the dark visors of the helmet, she watches the moon, wonders if it follows them. Bright dots light years away begin to scatter among the night sky. Eden slows the motorcycle down, it's exhaust pops and coughs, two, "Are you sure you want to walk?"

If her parents had heard the infamous roar of Eden's bike, they would know, "Yes, I'm sure," she insists, before hopping off the bike and returning the helmet.

She unzips his leather jacket, it falls below her waist and almost onto her knees. Eden stops her, "Keep it on, it's cold."

Azra pretends not to hear him, returns the evidence of his company. They exchange a soft kiss, "I love you," she has stopped saying it hesitantly.

"I love you too," his eyes scan each side of the street, searching for something he does not know of. Azra enters the door to her home safely. Eden straps his helmet on, drives off into the bitter night.

Before her foot has even touched the floorboards of her home she is bombarded with her father's voice, "Where on Earth have you been!?"

"We were so worried about you!" her mother adds, "do you realize how late it is!?"

"Were you with that idiot with the bike again?" Azra walks straight past them, as if they were ghosts. Her father's temper is tested once more, "Did we not forbid you from seeing him!? Answer me."

Azra locks herself into her room, jumps into bed and plugs in the earphones to her mp3 player, tries her best to drown out the sound of her father banging on her door. Azra's earphones fall out as she tussles in her bed, her eyes rest.

✧

Eden steps out his car and onto the driveway, head cocks up to the sky before yawning. His street is filled with crickets that sing and his car seems to be the last one that had been humming. He opens the house door timidly, hears his father snore obnoxiously. He tip toes past their bedroom door and towards the kitchen. He notices that the end of the hallway, where the dining room and kitchen is, the room is still alight. He knows exactly who waits for him in that bright room. He enters anyway.

His mother sits with bags under her eyes and a book in her hand, "Where were you Eden?"

"Out." He says bluntly, before fetching himself a snack and switching the kettle on.

"Out where?"

He takes a crisp bite into the crimson apple, its sweetness lingers on his tongue, "With a friend,"

"You know how your father and I feel about them."

The bitterness he feels from his mother's words contrast with the taste on his lips, "Them?" like the respect he once had for his parents, Eden's appetite begins to fade.

"You know what I mean," she shuts her book, looks up at her son, how has he grown so fast?

Eden stops, stares intensely into his mother's eyes, in search for a glint of the willingness to change, though he does not know what that looks like, if it even exists, "I don't." He walks away with one fist popping with veins and the other almost causing the core to eject from its apple. Eden's rage lingers in the air, boils inside him, his mother can smell the steam.

"Goodnight," she says to his back as he begins to walk up the stairs.

"Night."