MONO ISSUE 2 - Flipbook - Page 54
PRAGUE SPRING
by William Suboski
THE BUILDING IS ONE of many, a concrete block in a line of concrete blocks, stonily
non-descript yet superficially decorated, in an inexpensive way that borders on
cheapness. They are on the roof, they came up so he could smoke, from her twelfth floor
apartment.
She is Káca Srajerová, a Czech national, living in Lakewood and working in Cleveland.
He has been dating her for just under a month. Today they spent the day together, it is
mid-evening, and he is reflective. The building has a nautical theme, literally on the
shores of Lake Erie. The apartment doors have cheap brass doorknockers in the shape of
anchors. The egress to the roof is fancy, in its way not unlike the bridge of a ship. But the
roof itself is tar paper, the perimeter held by a small fence, then a sheer drop.
It is dark, he can see Káca at the far end, she is looking out to the lake. Still frozen, it is
patchy, light and dark areas, a motionless plain fading into the deepened dimness. Káca
has a small excitement in her voice when she says that they can feel the ice in the
breeze from the lake, and she is right, they can, not cold, but austere coolness.
He pointed out stars to her. The bright one, almost at zenith, is not a star, but the
planet Jupiter. She asks how he knows this, and he says, it is the only object so bright in
the sky at this time of night. Another bright star, low to the horizon, to its right he makes
out the three belt stars, and Káca says, the hunter. He tells her that this low bright star is
Sirius, the brightest in the sky, notwithstanding planets. She tells of how many bright
stars were in the sky when she was in Australia.
But this was minutes ago, and Káca has wandered to the corner of the roof, away from
him, barely visible in the darkness. He looks around, to the south city lights stretch away
to haze, and he wonders briefly if he can see Kent. He catches himself, it is too far, these
are just lights to the horizon.
To the east and west are apartment buildings identical to this one. He looks at the
next, and sees a checkerboard of light and dark squares, the light squares in subtly
different shades of grey, so many different shades of grey. In some he can see people.
He feels a moment of voyeurism, He sees himself as an intruder, and he actually glances
away for a moment.
It is dim and Káca is a figure at the edge. The curve of the shoreline, inward, is hidden
by the next building. Where the shore curves out again, into view, he sees the buildings
of downtown Cleveland, several miles away. There is something entrancing even in
generic skyscrapers, seen from this distance. It is a city of light, hovering on the horizon.
And that is part of this…even as Káca is only a dark figure, there is light, so much light, in
this dimness. Point sources and smeared halos, and even when he draws closer to her,
he will see Káca only in shadow.
His cigarette is done. The day was good; they talked, laughed and grew ever more
comfortable together. He is where he wants to be, in a place not of certainty, but
growing hope. This is epiphany, time of pause, a balance point of possibility and clarity,
possibility is born in hope, and nurtured by clarity. And this inventory of the now, of
where they are, in this moment, sharing a view from a height: in this dimness, they are so
very very possible.
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