The Figure in the Frame: ch. 3 toronto

 

3. toronto




"Do you like the band?"

"Hm?"

Her attention is fixed on the CN Tower. Though shade protects them from the incredible summer heat, her chilly detachment comes from a swelling sense of dissatisfaction.


"I said do you like the band? They're kinda shitty."


She turns back to the stage: a four piece punk band blisters through a particularly aggressive anthem about teenage rebellion. It's all noise to her, anyway. She doesn't like punk. She doesn't even like the main band he's asked her to see. Press her, and she wouldn't even be able to name three of their songs. But it's a night out. An opportunity to see live music and have a few drinks.


A chance to maybe mend things between them, she reasons.

"Mack?" Owen says. "Did you hear me?"

She can't—the music's loud, but she's still lost in a daze. The tower, so like a needle piercing the clear blue sky, is hypnotizing. She wonders what it would be like to sit atop its circular hat—the silence, and the distance between her and everyone else. The isolation would be welcome, she thinks.

"They're fine, yeah," she finally says.


Owen glares at her. He purses his lips. For a while now the valley forcing them apart has become more apparent. He doesn't want to admit it. Doesn't want to acknowledge its existence. But it's there.

"Do you want a drink?" he tries again.


"Maybe in a bit," she says. Another attempt at prolonging the inevitable. She's not sure how much longer she can keep up this charade. All her cards are dealt. Every strategy played. The only thing she can do now is wait for the right moment to act, or else settle for the middle of the road.

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