“Mmm.” I savor the taste. When I glance at Kyon, he’s watching me with fascination. It unnerves me enough to turn away from him.
I push my long sleeves up to my elbows and thrust the cherry-red sugar bead on the end of my stick into the fire. Trying to copy what Kyon had done, I roll the skewer between my palms, but I lack his technique. Mine quickly becomes a lopsided cobra weaving chaos on the end of the stick, and then all of a sudden, it explodes with a loud pop and falls into the fire. I laugh as I make a face. I pull the empty stick from the flames. Smoke wafts up, spreading the odor of burning sugar. “Aww! I’m so bad at this! I broke mine!” I feign a forlorn expression, and then laugh.
“Do you want to try again?” Kyon asks.
I nod vigorously and hold my stick out to him. He expertly impales another cherry-colored sugar bead to the end of it and then helps me with my technique as we cook it together. When we pull the stick out of the flames, the corners of some of the petals are a little singed, but it’s not too bad. “You did well,” Kyon says as he bends his face nearer to mine.
“Thanks,” I say breathlessly. Turning away from him, I take it back to my seat and pull it apart slowly, eating it as I watch the fire flicker. Kyon sits by my feet, eating the other sugar flower.
When we’re finished, I help Kyon clean up. Then we sit again in front of the fire and Kyon feeds it huge logs, making it leap and dance. It feels good, staving off the chill of the night air. Kyon sits in the large seat next to mine. He lifts a guitarlike instrument from where it was propped against his chair.
“Do you know how to play that?” I ask as he tightens some of the steely strings. He doesn’t answer, but begins to run his fingers over the instrument. The sound is poignant and sweet. Strings of paper hearts are cut from the sound to float up to the stars. Shivers move down my shoulders. It doesn’t take long for the hypnotic strains of the music, the haze from the alcohol, and the dancing heat of the fire to conspire and make me drowsy.
My breathing slows. I exhale a curl of cold air from my lungs as my fingers turn arctic and clutch the arms of the chair. Unwillingly, my consciousness leaves my body.
I don’t know where I am when I come to rest from my flash-forward through time. I don’t even know what I’m seeing right away. Looking around, I’m in the middle of a beautiful park at dusk. A wild group of unaccompanied young boys about twelve or thirteen floans old fly by me on boards that resemble snowboards. The decks of these devices hover above the walkway while flame-blue light shines beneath them. Rounding a tall lamppost at the end of the path, they shoot back around, as if they’ve turned on a berm. It’s really the force of air beneath the board that flips them back in my direction.
The baby-faced one in front has shoulder-length brown hair and wears a tall, licorice-black hat. His canary-yellow jacket flaps in the wind as he nears me. He has the best smile—infectious. As he passes, I’m able to see the word flipcart embossed on the deck of his board. My mouth drops open. It’s such an “aha” moment for me that I turn and follow them along the park path that cuts through the trees.
Ahead, there’s a lake where a few people have gathered with their children to race authentic-looking toy boats. I pause here while the flipcart riders keep going. An older gentleman stands over a leather bag for a long moment. The boy beside him is maybe five or six floans old. The child waits with shining anticipation. “Are you going to let me steer it this time, Grandsire?” he asks.
The older man hefts the object from the bag, revealing a Viking-like ship with a carved wooden dragon figurehead. He shakes the dragon’s fangs at the boy as he roars at him. The boy squeals in delight. The older man laughs and straightens. “Do you think you can keep it from crashing into the shore?” he asks his companion.
“Yes!” The exuberance of the answer brings a smile to the man’s face.