From Stone to Mirror

by Sofia Ezdina, 3.24am July 10th 2021
 

Espresso smokes in her lacquered white cup; the ice melts into whiskey, sinking deep in his
low glass, the rim broad and married to silver. Dark sunglasses hide his gaze; tight veil conceals her
face, his eyes like sardius; her eyes like sulfur lamps. Conversations buzz at the nearby tables.
Sometimes the laughs ring, reverberating and bouncing off the yellow walls of the café.


"Finish and go" she says, fixing her hat, which strives to slip off her unruly trembling hair
all the time. The locks flee, untethered, and sometimes it sounds like hissing.


"No need to hurry," he murmurs, absently tugging a red curl, the only among black ones.


She sniffs. The sound passes through her respiration like sibilant percussion.


"I can't take my eyes off you," she says, and they both laugh.


She is older than him, much older, yet at their age, it hardly makes any difference. She has always disdained men, but he connects with her the way two old beings can connect, and they never
demand anything from each other; they are equally unbound, equally unbothered, equally
unbonding.


He cradles her hand in his, skin dry and keeled, remembrance of scutum, his long nails clatter like chirping. She grins but tries to avoid looking at the reflection in his sunglasses.


"I love you, Meddy" he smiles.


"I love you too, Bazz," she replies.


They get up from the table, idiophone gasp, sharp turns: she unfolds her veil and looks to the
right, he takes off his glasses and stares to the left.


"It is a robbery" the gorgon and the basilisk say in chorus, "Everybody stays still", and then
they laugh again.