Between rounds of Magic

The house behind us blocks the sound of Westnedge in such a way you can hear it, but it becomes almost a kind of white noise. When I look in that direction, I can see the light on in the kitchen, but no one is looking out over the sink right now. Looking into the light, deepens the darkness of the deck we sit on. Also behind us, against the grey wall is a grill, which has had the glass shattered, the result of trying to cook stakes in the rain a few weeks ago, when Brian was over. Brian couldn't make it tonight, which is why we are playing Magic, but is a reminder of the friends I have here.

Josh takes the chair beside the ashtray on the wood rail. Curls of smoke come off the ember of his cigarette and the environment takes on a sharp burning smell. He places the plain white coffee cup, which he seems to prefer over those we have with pictures or writing on them, on the plastic outdoor table beside his chair. I set my coffee cup down across from his, pull my chair away from the table, so it faces out into the backyard, and sit down.

Conversation between us is easy, it has been from the days we made fun of the stupid people we worked with at Arby's. The days when he would be counting down a drawer in the tiny office, while I sat on a milk crate behind him predicting how many of our co-workers could name four Shakespeare plays. It made and otherwise mind numbing job tolerable.

Now, as we sit on the deck, things are not at all the same. He works at a cards and comics and jewelry shop, while I'm doing technical writing for Pharmacia. We have been neighbors, but are not anymore. He and I have each bought homes and been married since those days. Neither of us are the same people, but we are friends of great conversation.

We talk about the strengths and weaknesses of a green and white deck, and weather you should play with the ever expensive dual lands. We considered how you would trim a deck from 60 to 40 cards, the we compared it to Jyhad, which we would be playing if Kevin and Brian were here. We talked about the storyline and shifted into Stephen King and Norman Mailer. We talked about great writing, storytelling and considered how we could write together.

In the pause, when we sipped warm coffee, we looked into the distance. The deck we sat on was about fifteen feet off the ground where we sat and hung out over the hill, which got much steeper at the back of the yard. Trees at the back yard gave homes to the insects we could hear and grew up much higher than the deck we sat on. They broke in the middle allowing you to see down into the valley and then where the hill of the University and student housing rose on the other side. Even though those things were there, you couldn't see them from where we were, looking out across time and imagination from a back yard deck. Trees and night hid them.

The one building you could see was my favorite building in the whole city, the old brick water tower. It was made of red brick and got larger at the top, as you might imagine a watchtower of an ancient castle. Then it had what looked to be a green, the color bronze patina, deep sloped roof covering the whole thing. I imagined it lovingly watched you everywhere you went in Kalamazoo, not that it sat on the grounds of a state hospital an artifact that was no longer used.

I considered playing my blue and red, spell deck. Interrupt and Burn. But I kept that to myself as we talked about our future as writers. Josh finished his cigarette, crushing the little bit left in the tray. We pick up our coffee cups and retreated back into the house. I closed the door behind us not knowing how much I would miss those moments.