Distance, Getting Close

(The Island C Paul Brady; Used Without Permission)

Two weeks after everything went down, he saw her in an airport in Houston.

She was holding the hand of a little girl with deep red hair and light green eyes, barely more than a year old. She was his daughter. He knew that.

Notoriously unflappable, she enters his range smiling coolly. "Mark," She said.

"Tori,' He whispered, his voice coming from some well deep within his guts.

"Poor boy," She touched his face, "How are you bearing up?"

She meant with everything that had been going on in the world as of late, but if he understood her meaning he choose to ignore it, "I'm alive, Tori."

"But do you live?" She asked him. He felt that her tone was facetious and refused to answer. She sighed, "Natashya, this is Mark. Can you say Mark yet?"

The redheaded baby gurgled and smiled at him, froth bubbling past her carmine lips. He reached out with tender fingers and wiped them away. "Heading out to a concert."

"Waiting for Arthur to properly charter me a plane," She laughed.

Mark nodded, "Hey, anything that gets me off the ground I'm willing to do at this point."

She gives him a sardonic look, "Anything, Mark?"

"Hey, what did you say once?" He laughed, "Live for the day? I guess that's my only option, nowadays." He saw a piano, sitting idle in the lounge. He titled his head in the direction of the instrument, "You feel like playing?"

Tori grinned and handed Natashya to him, "Take good care of the nice man, honey." She joked, settling down on the piano's rickety bench. She took a good moment to compose herself, pressed her fingers to the keys and sang:

They say the skies of Lebanon are burning
Those mighty cedars bleeding in the heat
They're showing pictures on the television
Women and children dying in the street
And we're still at it in our own place
Still trying to reach the future through the past
Still trying to carve tomorrow from a tombstone...

But Hey! Don't listen to me!
This wasn't meant to be no sad song
We've heard too much of that before
Right now I only want to be here with you
Till the morning dew comes falling
I want to take you to the island
And trace your footprints in the sand
And in the evening when the sun goes down
We'll make love to the sound of the ocean

Only Tori would refuse to give into the sentimentality of the moment and give voice to her despair this way. Mark listened attentively to her.


They're raising banners over by the markets
Whitewashing slogans on the shipyard walls
Witchdoctors praying for a mighty showdown
No way our holy flag is gonna fall
Up here we sacrifice our children
To feed the worn-out dreams of yesterday
And teach them dying will lead us into glory...

But Hey! Don't listen to me!
This wasn't meant to be no sad song
I've sung too much of that before
Right now I only want to be here with you
Till the morning dew comes falling
I want to take you to the island
And trace your footprints in the sand
And in the evening when the sun goes down
We'll make love to the sound of the ocean

The piano breaks were so remarkably gloomy, almost icy and chill. Everything around the piano had come to a hushed silence, and everyone in the airport paused to stare at Tori.

Now I know us plain folks don't see all the story
And I know this peace and love's just copping out
And I guess these young boys dying in the ditches
Is just what being free is all about
And how this twisted wreckage down on main street
Will bring us all together in the end
And we'll go marching down the road to freedom...
Freedom

She looked up at him, covered in sweat, when the song came to a halt. Their daughter slept peacefully on his chest.

"Are you coming with me to Galvaston?" He asked suddenly.


Go On