Sam says, “Are you describing this scene, Coast? It’s so beautiful, for a city.”
“You describe it and I’ll write it down.”
“Okay, can I have some more of that vodka first?...Yum, thanks. Okay, the mystical tree line is dark with mystery—”
Kate says, “Wo, wo, wo, no. Mystical means magical, and my sweet lost friend you need to learn how to describe the real world. The trees are black.”
“The trees are silhouetted, I can say that, and because we don’t even know what that shoreline is, it’s..um...mysteriously black and silhouetted and...um...full of fairies probably. Oh, I’m no good at this, but yum, I love this vodka.”
Kate says, “You have to describe what’s silhouetting the trees. The city. The lights glowing from the skyline of Toronto behind the trees. Most notably its big fucking tower, which peacocks a light show up and down its shaft, as if it’s stroking itself.”
I say, “You know, my description was actually pretty good. You guys are messing it up.”
Sam says, “Read us your description.”
“Well…okay…they’re calming, the way the lights are set in black, because there’s no stars here. What you see from a fishing boat, when you can see every star there is, it’s like this. As dense as the city lights in some places, and as scattered as the sailboat lights in others.”
Sam says, “That’s nice, Coast.”
Then something appears along the tips of the trees — a plane. And it’s lights are a nice part of the picture.
Claire says, “There, see that? That’s a passenger plane. There’s an airport on the other side of the trees. I was watching from the lighthouse. That’s where we’re going. You’re paddling me to that airport, and Alex you’re buying me a ticket.”
“Yeah, okay,” I say.
She’s right, it’s a passenger plane. A twin propeller one. Taking off from…but I don’t feel like describing anything anymore. Everyone goes quiet; Sam passes the bottle back. We’re just crossing the water, going to the city so Claire can fly back to Montreal. That’s it.
Kate says, “You’re such a fucking buzz kill, Claire.”