Page 49 of Dark Verse

Messy.

My mind is feeling out of control, so I busy my hands with touching up every minor imperfection in my makeup. I spritz myself several times, unsure if bus smell is a real thing, but suddenly feeling like I smell like it. I’m halfway through restyling my hair when I force myself to stop.

What are you doing? He just saw you. You look fine. Go!

I put my pink braids back into the half-up style I had when I walked in, put all my items back in my purse, and take three deep breaths to calm my overactive nervous system. Then I leave.

If I was expecting Knox to get less hot in the five minutes I was away, I am painfully wrong. He’s removed his jacket, giving me a close-up view of his arm tattoos. My core spasms a little at just the memory of the alleyway. Thankfully, the installation demands my attention almost as soon as we step under the archway, and I have something to distract me from Knox’s arresting arms.

The first few spaces are like colorful storyboards, setting up the world we are about to experience. Framed poster explaining certain mystical minerals. Interactive game consoles that also give convenient directions. Maps of the worlds and planets we are about to enter rendered entirely in moss art.

It’s like the dream before the fever starts.

It’s behind a triple layer of heavy blackout curtains that the real magic begins.

We’re bombarded by the sight and sound of hundreds of musical instruments hanging from the walls and ceiling, all playing themselves. The drum kit suspended above us keeps tempo as the piano tickles itself. The keys of saxophones and trumpets are pressed down by phantom fingers. Phantom arms move the bows of violins and violas. They all sway side to side, bursts of light coming from inside each instrument.

Knox and I cross the space and climb the stairs that lead into a dark, narrow hallway. Our hands keep brushing against each other periodically, sending a jolt through my system. At the end of the hallway, a new room opens up, and I feel as if we’ve entered into an all-white cave system. The walls sparkle and shimmer with iridescent light, stalactites in every possible color hanging from the ceiling. We follow the spiral staircase downward, finding golden stalagmites at the bottom.

“What is this madness?” I ask aloud as the golden stalagmites give way to an epic, massive forest scene that stretches across two stories.

Knox turns to me, “Do you not like it? We can go somewhere else if this isn’t your thing.”

“Absolutely not. Alice in Wonderland has nothing on this place,” I say, running off to a corner to view some odd creature. Its humanoid face is growing out of the wall.

“Alice on acid,” Knox offers, coming to stand right beside me.

“Yes!”

The longer I’m in here, the more I feel something like childlike wonder surface in me. Anywhere my attention lands, there is something else to look at, touch, or listen to. It’s chaos held together with a narrative through line.

“What’s this room?” I ask, looking down at the map in my hand as we at last leave the forest and enter a new environment.

“It’s called Soundless Subspace.” Knox glances up at the small plaque above our heads.

Knox pulls the handle, and we look inside the hatch.

It’s a cozy, bright, cocoon-like space. It’s not much bigger than the back of a small car, only big enough for two or three people to crawl in at a time. The room smells faintly of sunscreen and dust. Every inch is covered in clear, thick plastic, and I see it’s filled with water. It’s like a giant waterbed-like area, pink and white crystals floating inside. We both climb inside, Knox closing the door behind us before he joins me in a lying position to look up at the ceiling.

The viewing screen above us shows a silent snippet of the installation’s storyline, but I quickly lose interest, distracted by Knox’s closeness. Our sides nearly touch as we lie there. Every ordinary sound from outside the booth—the hum of hundreds of voices, the thrum and thunder of passing human weight—has been blocked out by the closed hatch. All that’s left is the sounds of our breathing.

Knox’s hands rest on his stomach, fingers tapping an unheard rhythm. When our eyes meet, we both smile too quickly, looking away from each other. I suddenly feel like an awkward teenager.

“So…” he says, his thought left unfinished.

The word is eaten up by the space.

“I think the designers accomplished making it soundless in here,” I say.

“A plus for them.”

I laugh softly, not because what he said is funny, but because it gives me something to do. Like his voice, my laugh doesn’t fade so much as be swallowed whole by the soft materials surrounding us, and all that remains is the quiet, thicker now. Expectant. He shifts closer, the waterbed dipping slightly as he does. That small movement feels significant, his nearness all-consuming. His heat soaks into my skin, his smell fills my nostrils. Clean and sharp, and welcome. I match him, turning onto my side so we face each other.

My heart hammers as his forehead meets mine, a tentative touch, like he’s giving me time to change my mind. It’s so different from that first night in June. The almost manic energy between us subsided into something wholly different yet no less intense. It feels like a first kiss as our lips meet in a soft collision rather than a hard crash.

A last first kiss.

The thought arrives fully formed and sends a shock blooming through my chest and limbs, a held minor note finally resolving into a pleasant major chord.