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She stands there, the flickering gaze of the fading streetlight casting a halo on the cracked pavement around her. From far away she is beautiful—the distance obscures the caked-on makeup, the deep wrinkle lines visible under layers of foundation, the graying roots growing in from under bleached blonde waves. She’s different from the others in her trade—she’s playing to an older crowd, a generation nostalgic for the days of their youth. A peace sign medallion dangles from her neck, the flowery mini-dress ending far above knee-high white go-go boots.

A car pulls up next to her, the window rolling down with a small hush. The man inside smiles at her, and she’s too burned out to care if it’s sincere or sinister. She saunters up to the car and leans down, peering into the interior and greeting tonight’s patron. “Hey there, mister,” she flirts, her voice breathy and high-pitched, a memory of how it sounded when she was a girl, “wanna get groovy?”

He shudders in anticipation and she knows she’s played her cards right.

Cold

They stare at each other, neither one daring to say the words that will ultimately make or break their relationship, and the entire hospital can feel the chill.

Wood

He’s been here for an eternity and for just a moment, and he chops wood while the eggs burn in the kitchen and his lover unknowingly awaits the news of his imminent departure.

Fragile

She’s not surprised when he, the expert on divorce (having gone through three himself), seeks her out to comfort her in the aftermath of her break-up just as she, experienced in coping with the death of a spouse, had counseled him after the death of his lover, and she thinks that this is why their unlikely friendship works, because she was strong when he was fragile, and now he’s returning the favor.

Fortress

He thinks he needs to be strong for her, and as captain she knows she has to be strong for him, and together they form a fortress for their far-flung crew, but all the familiarity they share in this or any quadrant can never break down the barriers she’s thrown up around her heart.

Friends

“I don’t wanna be friends,” Andy whispers against his neck, and while Oscar cringes at the way the salesman is half-singing the words (he just came out, does he really have to sing along with Lady Gaga?), his heart melts when their eyes meet.

“Please.”

She slows, paused on the threshold. Torn between staying here, in this room with him, and leaving, walking away from what could have been, what could be still.

Her slight pause is an answer to the unasked question, but she remains facing away. She can’t look at him, knowing the pain written on his face will be her undoing, and her resolve is already crumbling away.

“I’m sorry.” Her words are true. That doesn’t mean they hurt him any less.

“Stay.” A plea. She almost relents, but she’s shown too much weakness already. The door swooshes shut behind her.

His hands are shaking as he fumbles with the knot of his tie. Sweaty fingers scrabble for purchase against black silk, and as they slip once more he lets loose an exasperated sigh and moves to flop down on the couch. His brown hair falls into his eyes, the unruly mop refusing to be tamed even for this, the most important day of his life. He pushes his hair out of his face, then rubs his blue eyes with the heels of his hands.

The suit (not tux, he’d vowed to never again wear the same get-up he’d worn to their prom) is nice. Not too formal, not too casual. Not too expensive, he thinks, then laughs. It comes out much more nervous than he’d anticipated, a high pitched giggle. Not very manly.

The door behind him opens, and his best man walks in. He’s known Tom for years; the man is the only  other person in the wedding party he’s known for longer than his intended. The two were inseparable as children, living through the first days of kindergarten and fistfights on the playground, to the nerdy awkwardness that had overtaken them both in middle school, to Tom’s budding athleticism and jock status and his own position as student council president in high school. They’d gone to different universities, but had remained in close contact, always getting together to catch up over Christmas and Easter breaks. And now, his very best male friend in the entire world was here, to help him finish getting ready for his wedding to his dream girl.

A hand on his shoulder brings him out of his reverie. “Ready to go?” Tom asks quietly. He nods, standing and patting his hands dry on his pants as Tom pins a white rose boutonniere to his lapel.

They leave the guestroom and head outside to his parents’ backyard and the gazebo where he will soon be united with his bride. He waits for her now, but this few minute’s pause is nothing when he considers that he’s spent his whole life waiting for her, his soul mate. The music plays, he turns to see her. And time stops. She’s gorgeous, and his heart is fit to burst. It is truly the best day of his life.

And if his tie is a bit crooked, well, that’s okay.

He sits, quiet but not still, fingers drumming on his thighs and feet tapping on the floor to a rhythm no one else can hear. Energy hums in his veins, palpable to all who surround him, roiling and rolling and crashing off him in waves. The hard plastic chair unable to contain him, he pushes off and begins to pace, shoving his hands in his pockets and jingling the loose change accumulated there.

He knows there is much work to be done before he can let go, give in to the mounting anticipation. Steeling his resolve, he resettles himself in his chair, crossing his legs and propping his elbows on the armrests. He leans back and stares into the future, grinning enigmatically. For him, the future can wait.