Conspiracy Vignette (After May 7)

I am listening to Comet’s Tail as I write this—an attempt to clear the haze that has clouded my mind since our most recent tryst. I guess the mist in my mind will remain there for a long time. But I am fine, surprisingly, save for the fact that I can’t keep my mind from wandering off to that night at Conspiracy. The scenes and the sounds continue to play back in my memory.

Like now. I am sitting there again, with you beside me. You are fervently holding my hand, like you’re afraid I would drift away the moment you let go. Cynthia is propped up on her humble throne in front of us, singing and strumming our secret story, while leading the rest of the audience to believe that this is their night, too. Once in a while, she flashes a sly smile—the only clue to the three-way conspiracy.

We are oblivious to the crowd. To us, they are non-entities, faceless people who just happened to be there. Unlike you and me and Cynthia, who are all there with a purpose. This is the night that we begin to write our symphony. Right here, in this dark, intimate room, with another kindred spirit to keep us company.