3:AM Magazine

The smoke from the last cigarette of the summer spread out across the slightly damp cement of the ceiling. Sam took a drag and offered it to Holly who was slightly dozing and laid curled into him. She wrinkled her nose a little at the smell of the burning tobacco.

“No thanks. I’m good,” she said, bringing her right arm up across his stomach and taking hold of his left shoulder. Under the weight of her head, Sam could feel the slight dampness of her hair against his chest. He wrapped his right arm around her back as she shifted on him a little.

“Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Let’s just stay like this for a bit.”

“I want a beer. Do you want one?”

She sounded more awake now. “I’ll share yours.”

“Okay. One sec.” Sam shifted off the worn out sofa with the broken spring and padded across to the fridge in the corner. Holly, still naked, curved her knees into her chest. Sam opened the fridge and took out one of the cold Skols. He turned and leaned against the closed fridge. The top edge of the door felt cold against the back of his thighs.

“What are you doing?”

“Just looking at you,” he said, popping the can with a metallic snap. “I was just thinking of how beautiful you are.”

“Come back here.”

Sam went and laid down next to Holly again on the broken sofa, placing the cold can on the floor. His feet felt dusty, yet Holly curled straight back into him. “I love you,” he said.

“Thank you. I love you too.”

“I think you’re wonderful.”

“Same here.”

Holly shifted and moved off his chest a little, coming up so they were face-to-face. “I liked it here, you know,” she said, “For the first time.”

“Sorry I couldn’t take you anywhere special.”

“No, I liked it, that we did it here. It was good.”

“Are you okay?”

“I think so. It hurts a little but I’ll be fine.”

“I love you. You know that?”

“I know it,” she said with a smile, and paused before clapping her hand on his chest. “What do you want to do?”

“Now?”

“No, I mean next year or 1998 or in ten years.”

“I don’t know. What about you?”

“I think I’d like to work with animals in Africa.”

“Africa?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. That’s what I want to do. I want to work with lions and tigers and bears. Be like a vet or something.”

“In Africa?”

“Yeah.”

“What about me?”

“I don’t know. What do you want to do? You must want to do something. What are you going to be in ten years?”

“Astronaut or something.”

“Be serious; I want to know.”

“I am. I want to be an astronaut.”

She took her hand off his chest. “You’re taking the piss.”

“No, I’m not,” he said, before reading the look in her eyes. “Okay, remember that movie we watched a few weeks ago?”

“Scream?”

“No, the other one. The one about the guy and the girl and they travelled around, killing people, and they’re in love.”

“Yeah.”

“I want to make films like that. Proper films.” Holly reached over to pick up the can, resting it on Sam’s chest. “Hey, that’s cold, you know,” he said, shivering a little.

“You want to make films? That’s so cool. I can see you as a film director.”

“Thanks.”

“Seriously – that is well cool.” She drank from the can. “Can I be in one of your films?”

“Are you an actress now?”

“I can be.”

“What about Africa? I thought you were going to work with animals.”

“I don’t know.” She drank from the can again. “I could do both, I guess. I think I just want to stick with you though.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah, I can be your muse.”

“I like that.”

“I like it too. Muses are cool. Can I have cards that say ‘muse’?”

“Sure.”

Holly lay down again, and started to drift. As she went under, Sam pulled an old blanket across them to keep warm. He squeezed her shoulder a little. It was getting late and cool, and goose-bumps were starting to form over both of them.

# # # # #

PC: I wrote this because I wanted really to write about someone’s happiest moment in their life where, to paraphrase The Shins, they haven’t noticed the stripes or the dirt in their fries. Originally, it was supposed to stand alone as its own piece but I realised, halfway through, that it worked perfectly as a prologue/companion to an earlier story of mine called ‘The Night Porter’.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Pete Carvill is a full-time journalist and one of the editors on 3:AM Magazine.

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Friday, February 29th, 2008.