Time - it isn’t as precious a commodity as it would be in a big city - with all the commuting and what not. Back in my smaller town, time is endless. You can arrive anywhere in just under ten minutes, leaving enough time for you to twiddle your thumbs another twenty before your food shows up. That is what we do once we arrive back home. Even though it’s only been a short trip, it feels as though I haven’t been back for ages. Nothing is amiss and no more bulbs have burnt out, but I notice right away the difference between it and the places in the city. Those places, while interesting, could never compare to the customization I have put into this small studio apartment. Every hole in the wall or scuff on the floor has been made by me. I have - after all - lived here since it was remodeled to a once pristine condition. That is how I know I can own all of its flaws as having been created by me; just another muddled canvas that will never sell now.

“Oh my god, is this what you were hiding?” Viloria enters first and I cringe, having forgotten the mess I left behind. My girlfriend walks in and leans over to pick up one of the papers on the floor. “Figure practice? I thought you said you couldn’t.”

“Not with someone looking over me, I guess.” I smile and hurry over to begin picking up the sketches to clear a space for us to walk, and to hide their nature from her.

“They are quite good!” Viloria picks up a handful and piles them neatly on my bedside table, staring down at the top sheet for a while before turning around, “We could have sex.” She smiles, giving me a look as she crosses the floor and lands on my couch. My expression must not match her own because hers quickly fades, “Orrr not. Waiting it is.” She exhales so that her lips flap from the forceful passing of air, then she crosses her arms and looks over to my art corner - or graveyard. “Have you thought of painting any more?”

“No.” That last one might have been a fluke.

“That last one was amazing. I’m not going to lie, I’m a bit jealous you get to show it, so far away…” Viloria leans back to look up at the vaulted ceiling.

“You know, it wasn't my idea… I should've just painted another floor tile.”

“Huh?” Viloria looks at me with a frown.

“You know, a worthless piece of art.” I gesture to the resting place of the last hundred works I've done. They might as well be floor tiles. In fact, that'd be an interesting installation idea, I think - then I file the thought somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind, where all good ideas go to die.

“But I'm glad you're back on track, Vin. Don't get me wrong. This will be good for you.” She looks again to the ceiling and sighs, “I don’t want to hold you back. No matter what that means.”

And just as the doom and gloom nearly hits the fan, there is a knock on the door. Never have I wanted cheap chinese food more than I do now, and the teenage delivery driver is more than eager to exchange it for a tip. He waits just beyond my door with a large paper grocery bag and a face pockmarked with puberty. I take the bag and drop what I owe into this hand, plus a twenty, “Keep the change.”

“Thanks, dude!” The kid turns and struts toward the stairs with renewed self-worth that will probably follow him till he wastes the money on just another momentary joy. It is all really fleeting; just as our food will be.

I turn and shut the door. Viloria pops up from the couch and claps her hands as I walk over, “Oh oh. Yum. I’m starving. Hurry!” The smell has my stomach growling for the both of us to hear as I seat myself beside my girlfriend on the couch and open the bag. Inside, there are two styrofoam boxes containing our food and a separate take-out box with our rangoons. Viloria grabs hers and tears into it with a fervor I copy as I open mine.

Between mouthfuls and delighted sighs, there isn’t a word spoken between us till our food is gone and our bellies are content, again. The rest of the time between now and the time that we leave is spent with idle conversation; both of us are careful not to mention London at all.

***

“This is your surprise?” It’s a few hours later when Viloria and I pull up outside of our old high school while a stampede of teenagers piles through it’s old creaky doors, leading to the gymnasium.

“Yup! I couldn’t have timed this better. Just be glad I didn’t make you dress in your pajamas.” Viloria pulls me out of the car, up to the tall brick building, and jabs me toward a ladder on the West side - out of sight from the crowd and the bouncers. Each time the heavy wooden doors open, a stream of loud music trails out to our ears. The music these days sounds as if it belongs in a strip club more than it does at a children’s dance - but, even thinking that makes me feel as if I’m only mere years away from shaking my fist at all the youngins’. I cringe and reach for the first rung in the ladder to ascend slowly into the evening sky - admittedly, in cadence with the beat. Behind me, Viloria hums before catching herself and growling for me to hurry up. “You’d think they could play something decent.”

I reach the roof of the building and pull myself up before turning around to grasp Viloria’s hand, “Was it really ever decent?”

She reaches and allows me to help her up, and we move our way to the center of the large open space. “You have a point. But, we’ll make the best of it.”

Viloria stands for a moment, looking out over the town and waiting till the current song ends. Neither of us really have any idea what it’s like to be down below with the crowd of students, but we had always talked about it. Her and I shared a common idea that most of the kids were arranged in cliques on the floor. Those, like the chess and art geeks, were congregated near the wall while the jocks and cheerleaders were out in the center having the time of their lives, pretending to be madly in love. Up here on the roof, however, we stood against the cliches. Down there, I would’ve been on the wall, and she might not have even shown. But, here we are again - Just as we were back then. I can’t say that it feels exactly the same, but it’s close enough. “They installed skylights, you know.”

“They did?” My interest is piqued. After all, it isn’t every day that I can find out whether or not I’m right - since I’m mostly a hermit. I’ve come to rely on always being wrong. But after spending most of my life people-watching, I fear I can’t be wrong about this and I’m curious.

“I read about it online. Those, there - they must be it.” Viloria grabs my hand and leads me over to where large glass panels jut out of the roof as large, elongated pyramids. They spared these newer generations no expense when it came to actually seeing the sun. “Shall we take a look, then?” We both kneel down and peer through the panes to the floor below us where at least a hundred teenagers are milling about - in tuxedos, sequins, and frills. Sure enough, at first glance, the crowd is clumped into smaller groups that are scattered around the room and along the walls. Having very little knowledge of the people below, I can’t say which group is which, but it’s fun to pretend I know.

“I was right. Look, those kids along the wall must be the chess club.”

“Is that so? Well, then those near the stage must be the athletic club.” And she is right. They certainly look the part; all wearing the tightest gowns and tuxedos. I can already imagine what the real world will do if they don’t continue their daily exercise regimen. Their current ensemble will serve only as a hand-me-down to their kids. I know because I’ve seen it. At least half of the athletes in my graduating class are now learning the hard reality of calories in and calories out; without exercise and after adding a dozen kids. Meanwhile, my metabolism trained hard to be a couch potato, surviving on a diet of frozen pizzas and take-out. If I were to begin working out now, my body would probably shut down.

I focus on the couples below us as they team up and ready themselves for the next song, being careful to avoid bumping shoulders with someone from a different group. The makeshift dance floor comes alive with the intro to a newer dance song performed by some artist I don’t know. I know I’m getting old when I no longer recognize the songs that other people seem to know all the choreography to. And it is moments like this where Viloria and I love to improvise. She stands and pulls me away from the window just as the beat drops. It isn’t one of those songs you slow dance to; instead, we both move in a way which could be seen as a seizure. And since I’ve got two left feet, I can only imagine how terrible it looks. “What is that?”

“What?” I stop after I realize that Viloria is watching me and she laughs, “That! Is that dancing?”

“I was copying you.”

“Don’t tell me I look that ridiculous. Where’s the sloooow songs, anyway? I can do those things.” Her cheeks turn a crimson red as the embarrassment flushes to her face. Even after all this time, she thinks I’d really judge her. If anything, her awkwardness is adorable.

“I don’t know. I kinda dig your moves, baby.” I put on my best handsome man visage and reach out a hand for her to join me in a classic boogie woogie. It’s the best that I can do, in the ways of actual stylized dancing; something I learned from my Grandmother growing up. She had always said that women loved a man who could dance. What she failed to teach me was how girls would inevitably change their tastes. Viloria, on the other hand, seems to love me without condition, and that includes being rhythmically challenged. She grasps my hand and we sweat out the rest of the current song, and the next, before a slow tune begins - to which she pulls me close and places my hands near her hips. I’m a foot taller but she manages to rest her hands on my shoulders and I lead her into a relaxed swing from side to side. It feels exactly how it did back then and when the song is over, we linger a moment before pulling apart to dance the rest of the night away.

Around ten O’Clock, the music finally quiets and the noise moves outside as everyone heads home; all except for Viloria and I. We resign ourselves back to the skylight to watch as the center of the room empties first - so the jocks and the cheerleaders - then, the wallflowers follow out last. There are a few stragglers that stay behind to locate a missing coat or corsage, and a few more who appear as though they’ve fallen asleep. Two adults circle the room and wrangle up the remaining youths, pushing them for the door. After they are alone, the two work their way up the rows of tables picking up items left behind and throwing cups and plates into a large white bag at each of their sides. “The one on the right took this job just to get away from his nagging wife, while the other lives alone with ninety cats.”

Viloria leans closer so her breath fogs the glass, “But, perhaps, they both took this job to see each other.” She reaches out and wipes at the pane fervently as the two below us begin cleaning closer together. I can almost hear my girlfriend encouraging something, as if she were casting a spell.

“Calm down, cupid, they were both just volun-told to help tonight. I’m sure they have someone waiting at home - annnnd I’m wrong.” The two adults drop their bags and reach for one another, gearing up to dance to their own imaginary slow song. “What are they doing?”

Viloria edges closer to me after giving up on her foggy window pane. “Oh my God. Are they going to do it?” I can’t help but relate this moment also to our childhood prom spent on this rooftop - because she sounds like a teenager right now.

“Do it?” I raise a brow at her, even though it’s probably too dark to see. “They’re obviously dancing - annnnd now they are kissing, and undressing.” I reach over and cover Viloria’s eyes, “Don’t look.”

We both start to laugh and roll over onto our backs; neither of us are really that curious anymore. Up above, a new interest is revealing itself - in the form of a billion stars. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, the sky lights up like a hundred city lights. If I look close enough, I can just make out the milky way painted as an enormous cloud in the night sky. There is no more wondrous sight than the space above, when it is unobstructed from lights.

“It’s beautiful.”

Viloria grasps my hand and squeezes it while her eyes focus on the stars, “It sure is. Not much has changed about it from where we are, but a million stars must’ve died since we’ve lain here last.”

“It really isn’t all that different from us, then, is it? On the outside, we really look the same. But, the inside is where all the changes happen.” I have changed; though, not in profound ways. Just small stars in me - thoughts or habits - which have died.

My hand is squeezed again before Viloria turns and kisses me, “We both have grown. And that is what the universe does. It grows too.”

I can’t help but wonder if she is right and that London may change me. That success may change me. I like to believe that I won’t become my parents, but many generations before myself have said the same, and now they bare most of the hereditary and environmentally-trained traits they had disliked about their elders. If that doesn’t doom me to a future of early onset gray hair and a lifetime left of pessimism, I don’t know what will. After all, history has a damned way of repeating itself. Hopefully, some sort of trickle down effect is real and that I will be somewhat more tolerable than them.

My girlfriend must be reading my thoughts, “It hasn’t always been easy, but I wouldn’t have liked to do it with anyone else.”

I smile and kiss her back. “How long are we staying?”

“Well, if we leave before the lovebirds, we might get caught.” Viloria slowly turns and peers into the skylight, followed quickly by a look of regret. “We’ve got time. Let’s just wait it out.”

I’m on board for not moving at least another eight hours, “Okay.” Already, my muscles are angry with me, and standing right now would be agony. “At least there is no possible way for bears to find us here.”

“It is bear free.” She leans against me and falls asleep not long after.

I sit and wait for the sound of the door closing below, followed by two figures heading for the parking lot. Somewhere beneath one of the dim lights, their cars await them; possibly feelings of shame and regret as well. If Viloria was right, the man may have to create an excuse for his wife - and the woman, for her cats. I wait for both of them to climb into their vehicles, then watch their headlights as they turn and drive away from the school.

“They’re gone, Vil.” But something else is out there. I can hear it calling my name. My hand shakes my girlfriend’s shoulder.

“What time is it?” Viloria wakes and fumbles around for her phone, “It’s already midnight?”

“Yeah, we should get back. You can stay at my place. I’ll drive.” There is something suddenly uncomfortable about staying.

“Okay, You go down first, in case you need to catch me.” She motions to the ladder that can barely be seen in the dark. I descend each rung at a time, allowing my legs a moment to scream in between each one. By some miracle, I reach the ground and wait for Viloria to join me. Then, we walked to her car. She tossed me the keys somewhere along the way and I unlocked the doors so we could climb inside.