Barbara Richards

Fiction Submission 07/31/18

WINE AND FIRE

The rain splattered on the leaves, rolling off them. The ground was saturated, the tree trunks
soaked.

Alli lay on the bedspread and stared up at the ceiling. A familiar room. A solution to so many
wants.

"I've wanted you to come over and watch a movie, for the longest time," Jan was saying. Her
voice seemed to come from far away, from deep underwater – from an ancient, sandy ocean
floor.

"Do you ever think you could leave her?" Jan lit a cigarette. Menthol smoke filled the air. Alli
breathed it in and glanced at Jan.

"Do you think you could ever love me again?" A voice in the darkness, "You don't seem to love
Ran."

Alli did not trust herself to speak. Instead, she looked out the window, at the endless lines of
water running down the oaks, in the summer night.

She didn't say anything. She turned around and slowly re-crossed her arms. At this moment in
time. At this juncture, at this crossroads, Alli wanted to reserve judgement.

Jan ground out the cigarette in the ashtray on the dresser and turned her full attention back to the
TV. A nightingale sang, unperturbed by the downpour.

***

Seaweed twisted and floated overhead. Dappled sunlight cut through the waves and rippled down
from above.

Alli was walking, on the shallow ocean floor, in a white suit. Gray, wooden buildings lined the
street, on either side, underwater. The doorways yawned, black, empty entrances, that doubled as
windows to oblivion.

The water was clear. Nealy also walked, far ahead, in a beige suit, instead – her beige suit. Her
orange hair floated behind her, longer than Alli remembered, dangling in a loose braid, stray
wisps sticking out in every direction. The halo on a sun. The corona, the crown.

Alli walked behind her, dragging an ax on the ground, holding the yellow handle in her left hand.
The blade cut up clods and carved out furrows of brown sand, which curled into clouds,
following in Alli’s wake.
Nealy turned and met her gaze. The green eyes that locked with Alli’s, over the thin shoulder
were unmistakable. Alli knew it was Nealy, but it could have been anyone. She barely
recognized her anymore. The memory was shredded to ribbons.

Alli woke up in tears, staring up into the cold, still night.

I did everything for you, her lone thought hung in the darkness, rattling in the air, like a question.

***
2003:

The clouds above were roiling and gray. The wind tore through the trees, ripping off small
branches. An untethered, rotted tennis court net flapped in the wind. Alli walked across the
leave-strewn hardcourt.

A house loomed, lopsided and in disrepair. Alli entered through the familiar red door, swinging
off its hinges, hanging by a screw.

She strode down the long corridor. The hall was lined with crumbling Corinthian pillars, some
with whole chunks smashed out of them. The rest of the room opened out on both sides of her –
broken windows letting in the cold, shattered mirrors, reflecting nothing.

Water from the afternoon rain poured down from holes in the ceiling. The cataracts framed the
room, like the off-white pillars, stained with mildew. Streams sluiced through the ruined floor,
irrigated by cracks in the tiles.

Nealy stood at the far end of the room, in her beige suit, smoking a cigar. She inhaled the
exhaled smoke back into her nostrils. Her eyes glinted in the darkness at the far end of the room,
away from the daylight streaming through the many gashes in the house – a sudden shift of light
in the background, like the quick flare of flaming ash. Whorls of smoke twisted away into the
blackness.

“Did you bring it?” she asked, spitting out a piece of tobacco.

“Yes,” Alli said, hefting the ax from behind her.

Nealy stood out of the way. Behind her, in the inkiest depths, in a shallow pool of water, was a
blue and black beast, a cockatrice at least the length of a Winnebago. Its leathery wings unfolded
at regular intervals, but it was wounded, conserving its movements.

“Get rid of it,” Nealy said. She turned away, toward the distant remnants of a torn-out window
pane, taking a deep drag on her cigar.

The wyvern’s neck heaved in a useless bucking motion. Its teeth clacked as it opened and closed
its jaw impotently. It couldn’t shapeshift anymore – it didn’t have enough energy. It was a dark
avatar, frozen in that form.

The constant patter of water flowing down from the roof was all Alli heard. The whole house
exuded the essence of soaked, dead wood, forgotten splinters. Alli smelled, at the edge of her
consciousness, a bright, green whiff of Honduras. She raised the ax.

***
1999:

The wooden blades of the fan chopped at the clunky summer air. Nealy and Alli sat in a booth.
Alli could see the night outside the window: grocery flyers caught the breeze and got stuck on
trash cans. She sat under the warm lamplight, in Nate’s Papaya Dogs.

They ate soft, flaky pancakes, dipped in syrup, the late-night breakfast special. “I love this
place,” Nealy said, putting another bite in her mouth. She was wearing a fuchsia button-down
shirt, with the collar open. A twine necklace, with a shark’s tooth on it, dangled from her neck.
She wore a delicate, twisting silver ring on her right, index finger.

Nealy sipped her coffee, black. The rolls and waves of her orange hair lay on her forehead, damp
with sweat. She took an Altoids tin out of the pocket of her chinos and rolled a cigarette with a
sprinkle of tobacco. Alli watched her tap the first embers in the cerulean ashtray on the table.

“So, you didn’t go to Peary,” Alli asked and didn’t ask. It came out like a statement.

“No, I went surfing in California instead,” Nealy said. She took a drag on her cigarette, and
puffed the smoke ceiling-ward, where the wisps were cut up by the fan. The waiter brought
another plate of sausages and whisked Nealy’s half-eaten plate away.

“Why?” Alli wondered, “I thought you wanted to go.”

“I did,” Some ash fell from the butt of the cigarette, crumbling on the table, “But I realized that I
wanted to stay with you more.”

Alli looked up from the checkered pattern, covered by some acrylic plastic, to protect against
stains and spills.

“I realized I wanted to be with you,” Nealy folded her hand over Alli’s on the table. Her hand
was fleshy and solid, wider than Alli’s, “We’re going to go to college together.”

Alli let the warmth of Nealy’s hand sink into hers, let it flow down, into her heart. The feeling
buoyed her up. Her head felt like a helium balloon.

“I didn’t know you cared,” Alli whispered.

Nealy exhaled through her nose, the smoke billowing upward. “I always cared,” she exhorted,
holding Alli’s hand.
They stared into one another’s eyes. Cars rolled down the street, speeding toward Downtown,
past the two figures sitting in the café window.

***

Rain bounced off the windows. Clouds hung low, caught in the last rays of the sun, burnt into a
fluffy, coral color. Drops inched down the panes. Jeopardy was about to go into the final round.
Alli and Ran sat in their usual position on the couch: Ran holding Alli and Alli leaning on her
shoulder.

The show cut to commercials. Alli ducked out from under Ran's arm and stood up, crossing the
room, with her glass of rosé. She alighted by the windowsill, staring out at the pink and yellow
tableau. The sky's painting of a sunset. Alli turned the stemware with the edges of her fingers
resting on the rim. The trees swayed in the spring rain. An advertisement for lawn mowers blared
from the TV and Ran turned down the volume.

"What's wrong?" Ran asked.

"I have to get over Nealy," Alli said, still looking out the window.

Ran sat back. Her heart pounded but she said nothing.

"I've been carrying her around for too long," Alli continued, looking over her shoulder.

"It's understandable," Ran got out.

Alli looked back out the window, at the water pooling around the storm drain, "I wonder if my
seeing you is a part of that holding on."

Ran muted the TV, "But I am here; she's not."

"You have me," Ran spoke again, after a pause.

Alli turned back around, framed by glass, her silhouette framed by the window and graying sky,
"Yes, but what if having you, isn't allowing me to get over Nealy?"

Ran got up and put her empty glass in the sink, "You can't live out your relationship with Nealy
through me – we're two different people."

"I know that," Alli seemed frozen at the window, wearing a green cashmere sweater, a button-up
shirt and jeans, frozen in amber, "The rational mind knows – but the heart sees what it wants to
see."

Ran stop pretending to be distracted by the faucet, and faced Alli, "Should we take a break? See
other people?"
Alli sunk inward a little. She looked down, but then looked up, right into Ran's eyes, "That
would be wise."

Ran turned back to the sink, and wiped her hands on a dishtowel, "So be it."

Alli opened her mouth to say something more but then closed it. She set the half-empty glass
down on the windowsill and rose to go.

I am sorry that my motivations were so muddled, Alli thought.

Alli took her black overcoat off one of the wooden pegs in the hallway and left, walking out into
the rain, toward her apartment. Ran, still inside, resumed washing the glass.

An hour later, Alli walked up the stone pathway, in the pouring rain. She wore a water-resistant
greatcoat, but her hair was soaked. Jan accepted her in, without question.

The fire leaped, bright in the hearth. Jan took Alli's coat and let her towel off. They sat in front of
the fireplace together, on the bear skin rug, wrapped in a huge afghan.

Her hair was drying quickly, in front of the flames. She turned to Jan and said, "I did it. I left
Ran."

The rain outside never let up. “I've been waiting for you to say something like that, for what
seems like forever," Jan murmured. Alli couldn't help smiling and turned to look at her, "Me
too."

***

1999:

"So, this is me," Nealy said, unlocking the door.

Alli came in and looked around. The stars burned in the navy sky and the rhythmic chirping of
crickets filled the air. Nealy turned on the light, and Alli saw the long hallway, leading to a small
kitchen, with a yellow and orange tile floor.

"Welcome to my new home. Our new home, off-campus," Nealy was saying, as Alli took in the
light fixtures, the mint green sofa, the aging television set.

They came into the living room. The kitchen opened into this space. The TV could be seen from
the tiny dining area.

Alli continued peering about, at the toaster, the Japanese chef knifes, the breadbox, the juicer.
Nealy stepped in front of her and caressed her upper arms. She smelled Alli's neck, took in her
cologne, "You're going to like it here, I promise."
A pause followed. They listened to the crickets, imagined the constellations whirling above
them. Nealy looked into Alli’s eyes and said, “You know that I truly love you.”

Alli grasped Nealy’s fingers in her hand, “Even a few weeks ago, I would have never imagined
this moment, here with you. My dream came true.”

Nealy grinned, “I’m flattered that I was in your dream.” She held Alli’s face between her hands.
Alli looked up at her.

The disk of the moon rose in the east and drifted through the stars. Tree branches rustled outside,
masking the two students’ muted conversation.