Big Dump

Cymbals
Yann Tiersen - La valse d'Amйlie (version orchestre)

“Cymbals.”

“Hmmm?” Jon turned to Thom – a blur of Thom in the dark. They were walking through the dark alleys, hands stuffed in their pockets.

“Cymbals would fit nicely as a soundtrack,” Thom said, “If you hit them fast and sharp with a drumstick. Or better yet, hit the garbage cans. The old fashioned ones.”

“That’s not how I imagine it.”

“How then?”

“Sort of like… Starting slow and dark, with the strings perhaps, and then inserting a bit of rhythm here and there.”

“No cymbals?”

“No.”

“Well, okay,” Thom sped up and turned around, walking backwards in front of Jonny, “What if I slip and fall, like that?” Jon jumped ahead to catch Thom who was nearly falling.

“Still no cymbals?” Thom asked, grinning.

“No.”

“The shoes against the pavement, the ringing atmosphere, the clatter of tightly shut doors, the vibrating windows from the passing cars…and still no cymbals?”

“What century do you live in? Windows don’t vibrate from cars passing anymore.”

“In some old houses they might.”

“Very old. Victorian old. These are recent.”

“Alright…what if I do this?” Thom looked around quickly and then jumped into the darkness on the side. Jonny stopped, hearing a few rapid footsteps going away, and then it was quiet. Blood was rushing past his ears and hell – the cymbals started their clattering somewhere in the back of his head.

“Thom?” Jon asked nervously, stepping from foot to foot, arching his neck slightly. A gush of wind blew a few strands in his face and he suddenly felt alone without Thom’s warm breathing by his side. The cymbals were growing and their sound was now pumping blood beneath his face.

“Thom-Thom,” Jonny whispered, hugging himself, looking in to the darkness. He jerked and cried sharply when warm hands wrapped around him and he felt Thom’s cheek press against his spine.

“There,” Thom breathed, rubbing his face against Jonny, “Now, this might have some strings. And not your dark and obscure ones, but tangy, lovely and thick,” he kissed Jonny’s neck, “Strings and some glockenspiel in the exposition.”

Thom placed several small kisses on his skin, each echoing in Jonny’s head as a faint bell.