A Chemical Fire
Page 18
“I may need your help with that.” I exhale, my shoulders sinking. “Listen-”
“I heard you before,” she stops me, “When I was sleeping. Anyway you don’t have to tell me I’m right, I already know.”
I remember something, reach into my pocket and take out a piece of folded and dog-eared paper. “I’ve been learning how to write music,” I tell her. She takes it and opens it.
"What song is this?"
“The last conversation we had.”
She smiles. “How does it sound?”
“Like shit,” I say, and we laugh, the sound of it on every surface and every wall of our house, every corner and every angle, filling the indefinite spaces and putting everything where it should be.
“I wanted to ask you- what does 'dis manibus' mean?”
“For the ghost gods.” She sees my face and says, “It’s not my favorite Latin. If I had to pick one, it would be 'caetera desunt.'”
“What does it mean?"
“The rest is wanting.”
We turn to the window, her hand in mine, darkness beating against the pane.
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