Her Name Was Lola

52 More Dark Than Light

March 1998. The vernal equinox again. Max feels it inside him. The world of it. He sees Lola pull up in the E-type. Sees the names and arrows large in front of them, small behind them. Sees her ribbon fluttering on the grass stem on Mai Dun. Tastes the Cristal and her mouth. Smells her skin, her hair, her breath as she names the stars of Ursa Major. In the evening he steps outside with a starfinder and a printout of the constellation from an astronomy website. He finds Ursa Major and reads off the seven names: ‘Alkaid, Mizar, Alioth, Megrez, Phecda, Merak, Dubhe.’ His throat aches. He goes back into the house, gets a bottle of Glenfiddich and a glass. He walks over to the common, looks up at the stars again. ‘Absent friend,’ he says, and pours some whisky on the grass. Pause. ‘Absent child?’ he pours some more. Then he pours himself a large one and drinks it standing there. ‘Will there ever be anything,’ he says, ‘to equal what I’ve lost?’

No answer.