text: A Dissonance The cloud of smoke hung in the air like some type of confused ghost, fragrant with apples and herbs. It shifted in wild colors, infused by the neon lights that blanketed the walls. Marta passed the mouthpiece of the hookah to John. He took a long pull. It simmered under the force of his breath. The bar itself was borderline deserted. Besides John and Marta smoking in one of the back booths, there was only the owner of the bar standing behind his desk, a prismatically illuminated display of different tobacco options lighting his heavy face, and one other group of people seated in another booth across the room. The music played quietly, its bass an almost subliminal pulse. “You like it?” Marta asked. “Yeah, it’s not bad. I’ve never been here before, honestly didn’t even know it existed before you mentioned it,” John answered as he took another hit. There was a shout and a laugh from across the room. One of them beckoned the owner over then started complaining loudly about some arcane aspect of the service. Marta looked over at them with a sneer. “You’d think they were hot shit, the way they’re acting over there. Especially that obnoxious bitch with the weave. Look at her flaunt it like that sacks of concrete are anything to write home about. I’ve seen better tits on a horse. It’s pitiful, an older woman acting like some dopey college girl. It makes me sick,” Marta murmured as she watched the owner argue with them. “Fuck it, who cares? Let them have a good time. God knows we’ll probably be the same way at that age.” John took another hit from the hookah then coughed, trying to calm the burn in his lungs with a drink of coffee. “Shit, and they don’t even serve alcohol here. The cheap bastards. Too greedy to splurge on a liquor license. But those people over there are right about one thing: this stuff does kind of taste like dogshit. The more I smoke it, the more I develop the subtle aftertaste of burnt applesauce that seems to like to linger.” “Oh, don’t complain. You are the one who wanted to come here after all, John. Don’t give me that shit now.” John sat back and looked at Marta for the first good time that night. Frizzy brown hair cut short that always smelled of flowers as they baked in the summer sun, tucked back behind the left ear as usual. Dark eyes peering back, so bright that at times it made him uncomfortable to return their gaze. The whites were strangely bright in the dim bar. Her tan skin awakened in him the awareness of Earth’s potential for fertility, an awareness of its texture in an embrace. The owner finally managed to pry himself away from his angry customers. It was quiet again, just music. Marta leaned over closer to John and whispered. “If you can get these curtains closed, I’ll suck your dick.” John choked on the smoke still in his lungs. He looked over at the owner sitting behind his desk. The man was leaning against it, defeated, with his head cradled in his hands. John handed Marta the hookah’s mouthpiece then started to untie some of the ropes holding up the curtains that obscured their booth. He managed to get only one down before the owner noticed. He stormed over with a look of absolute hatred hidden just behind his smile. “Sir, you can’t put down the curtains. It is against the fire code for them to be within a certain distance of an open flame, and when they are let down, they stretch past that point.” The man said all of this with an air of barely suppressed annoyance. “We can’t even let them down a little? Some of the lights are giving me a headache,” asked Marta innocently. “No. It is forbidden.” With that, the owner tied the one down curtain back up to the side of the booth and walked back over to his desk. He sat down behind it with an utterly blank face. John sat in shock, now completely demoralized. “Well, maybe if you move your chair beside mine, we could . . .” Marta cut John off with a stern look. “If you think I’m going to debase myself in front of all these people, you are greatly mistaken. You had your chance, and you blew it, mister. Besides, the vibe is all wrong now. I just know that guy is going to be watching us all night now. He can sense we are up to something.” John accepted his defeat and allowed the reality of that fact to flow through him. All at once, he realized that his coffee didn’t taste quite as good as he remembered. He took one last pull from the hookah, suppressing a cough as the harsh smoke burned his lungs, and with great expectation let out a depressingly small cloud of smoke. He tossed the mouthpiece down on the table and checked the time on his phone. 10:32 pm. Outside, there was only a matrix of dense ink beyond the glass. “Let’s get out of here,” John said. “We came and tried it, no one can blame us for that, but I can say with confidence that I will not be coming back. You pay for all that and they can’t even afford you a little privacy. You were right. We probably should have just hung out at my place like usual. I hope you’re happy.” “Yeah, let’s get the hell out of here. This place blows.” They got out of the booth, Marta giving the other group of customers a sour look as they walked by. John held the door open and the two of them walked out into the parking lot. The air was warm and humid, scented by an earlier rain. Back in the car, John drove without talking through the dark city streets, the windows open as Marta listened to her music. She smoked a cigarette, letting it dangle casually between her lips as she talked. He pulled into her apartment complex; a sprawling thing overcast with ancient trees that now broadcasted weird shadows from the streetlights. Lately an aura of history had haunted the place for John, emerging whenever he neared like a solid force. Too much history is contained beneath the branches. Parked in front of her place, both sat in silence in the car, unwilling to separate quite yet. “We can smoke a little if you want,” John propositioned. “Sure. It’ll help me sleep.” John fumbled around in the dark for a moment as he rolled the fuzzy buds into the proper shape. A small flame from a lighter. Thirty minutes later they were sitting quietly in the off car, their seats leaned back, looking up at the night sky and the few stars which had managed to penetrate the city’s light. John couldn’t help but smile. Moments like these were what sustained him. He was the first to speak. “Nights like this always make me nostalgic. Remember that time, when we were younger, and I had taken you on a trip to the beach?” “You and your beaches,” Marta joked. “Yes, I remember. That was what, going on about six years ago now. Man, we were practically kids back then. Now look at us. We’re heathens.” “What makes you say that?” “Well, I mean just look at us. If you would have asked me back then if I could see myself drinking and fucking and getting high, I would have been appalled. You know how it is: a white dress for the wedding. Have to be a virgin to earn that honor.” “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Those are only antiquated ideas best left for dead anyhow. Nobody gives a shit about that kind of stuff these days. Besides, you weren’t exactly an angel back then either. I doubt you would have gotten that dress if you tried.” “True,” she said. John rolled over onto his side and looked at her. “Well, may I continue?” he asked. “Of course,” Marta answered. “Please, go ahead.” “I think we were down there for New Years, or something around that time of year, and I had managed to find a little condo we could rent for a few days. It was your first time seeing the ocean. We had originally planned on going to the big party, seeing the fireworks and having some drinks, but one of us, I can’t quite remember who, wanted to go for a walk along the beach instead. We went to the beach and walked along it for a long time. I had never seen it so empty.” “You try to make it sound so romantic, but what I remember is freezing my ass off on that beach. I must have been sick for a week after that.” “You going to make fun of me or listen to what I want to say?” John asked somewhat irritably. “No, no. Please, go on, John. I was only kidding. Just don’t make things sound better than they really were. I was there too. There is no point in trying to sell it to me.” “Okay, fine,” John conceded. “I just get a little carried away at times, I guess. But the point I’m trying to make is that we spent hours on that beach together, laying on my jacket on the sand and holding each other, trying to stay warm. Hell, I even remember the way the planes looked as they flew by in the night overhead. Jesus, I admit it wounds cheesy as hell now that I say it out loud, like a scene in some horrible soap opera, but I must admit that night has stuck with me through the years. It’s almost like there is some form of significance in it.” Marta was silent for a moment. She lay on her side, looking over at John from the passenger seat. The light was so dim he could barely make out her face. “I distinctly remember you thinking those lights were satellites in orbit, or some nonsense like that. Said something about them being too high up to be planes,” she said. “And this is coming from the one who thought they were UFOs. Them being satellites is far more plausible than that.” “Then let’s just say they were planes and agree to disagree.” “But doesn’t some part of you kind of wish you could go back to that? You know, back to a simpler time when things didn’t seem so overwhelming,” John asked her. Marta considered this for a time. She twirled a strand of her frizzy her around her finger as she thought. Her proposition from earlier came back to John suddenly, and he wished to reach over the seat and embrace her, but instead restrained himself. Somehow, it didn’t feel like the proper time for that sort of thing. The fumes latent in the air were intoxicating. “I get what you mean by simpler times,” she finally responded. “There is an allure in that idea, it can’t be denied. Things can get overwhelming these days and there have been times when I have just wanted to curl up in a ball and run back to something more familiar, but the way I see it, that is just a lie. A false promise. I’ve always felt like memory lies to you, if you know what I mean. Like if you’ve ever tried to remember somebody from childhood, and this exact thing has happened to me before, so I know it is real, and when you ask someone in your family about that person you find out that they never existed in the first place or that they are somebody else. Your mind has a nasty way of playing all kinds of dirty tricks on you in ways you can’t even dream about. Sure, were things easier back then? Yeah, in a way. Were they better? That I don’t know. They must have been good if you remember them so fondly, but I doubt that if we were to go back things would be any different than what they are today. Things haven’t really changed, it’s just out perspective on them that has.” John searched for something to say. He wanted to argue the point, demonstrate his own point of view on the matter, but wasn’t sure how to phrase it. “How’s that for a deep and insightful comment?” Marta asked. “Not bad. You should be a poet in your spare time.” “The way I see it,” Marta continued. “Even if things were better back then, we can’t go back. Even if you wanted it more than anything else in the world, would be willing to kill for it, die for it even, none of that would mean the slightest thing. We all know it. Intrinsically. Time moves in only one direction: forwards. It’s pointless yearning over something that you will never have. And this is one of the few times where you can say that for certain. So why dwell on something that is now long gone, deader than the dust on the ground? It’s fine to remember, think back on something to enjoy the memory, but anything more than that is a mistake. I just focus on the here and now, do my best to enjoy it. That is the only reality there is.” “Well, I’m glad we got that sorted out then,” John said uncertainly. Marta shrugged and yawned, stretching out impressively. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to shit all over your parade, John. I remember that trip to the beach and I can admit that it is a good memory for me. But that’s all it is for me. A memory. I try not to dwell too much on the past. Not everything there is worth remembering. Anyway, we’re different people now. A lot can change in six years. I bet you if we were to go on that same trip again, we would be far too busy in the hotel to cuddle on some frozen beach.” “Fair enough,” John chuckled. “I just like to think back sometimes, you know. I think it’s good to remember what came before.” Marta lit a cigarette and rolled down her window, winding the hand crank with a grunt. The fresh air wafted into the car in hungry waves. John rose from his lazy stupor and looked at the clock in the dashboard. 1:43 am. He had no idea that much time had passed. “Thanks for everything tonight. I had a good time, you know. Call me sometime tomorrow and we can find a time to meet up again,” Marta said. She leaned across the center console and kissed John firmly on the lips. Without warning, she reached down and grabbed John’s crotch, gripping whatever she found firmly. John winced. “And don’t think I forgot about this little guy,” she jeered. “Mama was tired tonight, but after a good night’s rest she will be ready again, don’t you fear.” Mercifully she let go. John let out a deep breath. He turned the car back on then got out, going over to her side of the car to open the door. He stretched his cramped legs and breathed in the fresh air greedily. The temperature had dropped in the last few hours. “Alright, babe,” Marta said as she collected her things from her seat. “Don’t forget to call me. And get home safely, I don’t need to wake up to find your face plastered all over the news. I’ll see you soon.” John watched as she climbed up the stairs to her apartment. She fumbled with the door as she unlocked it then disappeared inside. Now John became very aware of how astonishingly alone he was in the dark parking lot, lost under the trees and their spectral shadows. A light turned on in her apartment. Satisfied that she was okay, John turned away and got back into his car. He sat there silently in the dark for some time, the windows rolled down as he breathed in the cold air. There was the scent of rain stuck to the pavement. Something pricked at the very edge of his mind. Was it just a fatigue from the drugs and the crazy talk, a symptom of the late hour? No, something entirely different lurked there. He tried to clear his mind to concentrate on the thing that bothered him like an incessant gnat. And then it dawned on him. In one decisive swoop him came straight to the core of the problem. Dissatisfaction is how he described it. The sensation that while overall things are pretty good, there is something subtle just under the surface that keeps you from getting too comfortable. He hadn’t known this all along, but as soon as he realized this it was accepted as a fact instantly. What was it he wanted? John thought and found he wasn’t quite sure. But he knew that there was something missing, and without that unique ingredient nothing would ever feel quite right. Is that what he hoped to find in Marta? If so, that was a cruel responsibility to put on somebody, especially if they didn’t even know they carried it. That was a formula for bitter disappointment. It had happened before, but John promised himself never again. Yet that special thing he had felt back then had been lost and that was an undeniable fact of life. Could Marta really be tied up in that? He had still felt the thing when they were first together all those years ago. Everything seemed to be coated in this special tint that imbibed life with a sort of enchantment that gave life so much zest. After she was gone that too died away with time. Was she the cause? John dreaded to think that one person could hold so much sway over such a vital aspect of a person. No matter how much he hated the possibility, he had to explore all avenues for an explanation. Only then could a cure be found. But that’s not the whole story. It had fled once she left him, true, but the sensation had been there long before John had ever met her. So, she wasn’t the one who spawned it, but did she have the power to destroy it? John sighed and shook his head. It was pointless thinking this way. Maybe Marta had a point. It was pointless dwelling on the past like this. It is dead and gone. But one thing was for certain. They wouldn’t last. How could they? The whole thing was founded on a misconception. The real Marta and his personal conception of her did not add up. When he thought of her, what entered his mind was a skewed image of an older version, the one that had walked with him on the beach that night, not an accurate projection of her based off present reality. It was almost like an out-of-date caricature of her. Yet who she was now is not what bothered him. Every moment he had spent with her had been a pleasure, liberating even. The issue stemmed from where these two versions of Marta conflicted. He searched for answers in a person that doesn’t exist anymore, if they even existed at all. The mind does have a habit of omitting the unsavory parts. Such a dissonance in his mind could only lead to strife. They would have their fun for a couple of months, laugh, drink, get high and fuck, maybe go on a trip and fantasize about a new life together, never telling the other what we truthfully think of. Pretend like we find any source of legitimate comfort in each other’s arms. And the best part is that John would go along with every second of it until one day he became disgusted enough with himself to suddenly call it off out of the blue. Letting things get to such a point could only serve to hurt her again. Why go through all the trouble? John laughed quietly to himself. There isn’t any harm in having a little fun. It brings a little spice to life. Hell, knowing her, she probably already knows all this, and when the time comes to break it off, she’ll be perfectly fine with it. To be honest, she has more experience with this type of thing than I do. In the end, John never found the answer to his problem. What that secret ingredient is, or even how it was lost in the first place, was a problem out of his reach. And for tonight he was at peace with that. But always through that peace, just beneath the surface, a sea of uneasiness bubbled. He knew he reached the same conclusion every night. He was fine with what he found now, but would he be tomorrow? Experience told him he wouldn’t be and kept him from getting too comfortable. John turned on the car. Switching on the radio, he found a station playing some old music and turned it down low, mining for comfort in the familiar sounds. He shrugged. Why worry? It’s not like he can solve all his problems tonight. It’s nothing that can’t wait until the morning, the beginning of which would be soon approaching. John put the car into gear and pulled out of the parking spot, turning out onto the empty road. At home, he lay in bed staring at the shadow of the blinds on the wall. The opium of sleep was working its way deep into his muscles, but he was not quite ready to give in just yet. It had started to rain, and he listened to the sound of the drops on the leaves. He was suddenly aware of how isolated he was, cut off from not only the thousands that surround him every day, but also from the person he once was, like some sort of creature had gained dominance of his body and he was now a prisoner, watching the creature as it calmly went about sabotaging his life. He closed his eyes and searched for shelter from the rain.