the golden room

Her lip color was red. She made sure of it.
Her black eye liner was perfectly applied.

The piano’s opening chord repeats, and
repeats again like keeping time.

His brow is sweaty,
eyes stinging and red from the cloud of peppery smoke;
he struggles to see.

Her black, flowing dress is a sight to be seen,
swishing back and forth with electricity, excitement and anticipation
radiating with every step.

He shields his face with every inch forward,
trying to move in the cloud;
he starts to crawl, saunter,
trying to be unseen.

She steps into the gold gilded room.
Everyone’s eyes are on her.

Black and white ties greet her
with bright, white sparkly smiles.

He makes it to the dumpsters
in the center of the street used as a barricade,
shielding from the mass chaos.

He closes his eyes,
still burning,
still seething,
as he leans against one.

Everything is upended;
they shot and killed a man.

She makes her way into a room,
the music swelling as she sways.

Glasses are raised to her.

Couples are eating their luxury chocolate favors
from glossy boxes,
sipping wine.

A cascading amount of candy
and streams of liquid chocolate
are visible from each corner of the room.

She smiles and shakes hands
with all the tuxedoed men.

She is on display,
radiant.

The tear gas continues to swell
behind the dumpster,
the air acrid and irritating,
but he feels he can’t hide.

They can’t continue to raid his city like this.

He turns to face the crowd beyond the barricade,
people running in every direction.

Guns pointed at them.

He didn’t have a gun raised.
He stands still,
afraid.

She makes her way to the podium,
the music now a rising and falling crescendo
welcoming her ascent.

He makes his way just beyond the dumpster,
and takes a match out his pocket.

He has to draw attention.

This isn’t right.
They can’t do this.
They can’t get away with it.

They have to see what they have done.
They have to recognize
they’re purposefully eroding their city.

He looks up through the plume of peppery smoke,
eyes still stinging,
burning,
blood shot and angry,
fist raised.

And then he lights a match.

She stands underneath the glittery, shimmery chandelier,
as it pulses blinding white lights back and forth
across the dark shadows of the space.

The black sequins of her dress
catch in the glimmery strands
that stream across the room.

She stares into the camera,
speaking slowly, deliberately,
welcoming them to the premiere of something great,
something grand,
something that will take their breath away.

Something they won’t be able to believe with their eyes.

She points behind her to a wide screen.

The pianist plays with a rigor,
scaling the keys up and down with demanding intensity,
signaling the drama,
the valor,
the mystery ahead.

He holds the flame a tad longer up in the air
looking out,
squinting through the gas. He can barely breathe.

This is it.
This is his moment to draw attention
back to what is real,
to the truth.

He has to make them believe.
There is nothing left.

He throws the match into the dumpster,
and the flame bursts,
soars,
higher.

Embers floating,
falling.

She grins at the screen,
a sparkle in her eyes.

Are you ready to see America in its golden age?
The most unprecedented era has returned!

The screen flutters
and lavish jewels appear
and she is there in her black sequin dress
with a designer,
a new gown,
a new couture for a new age.

The fire now rages in the dumpster.
Raging for him.
Raging for the life lost.

He sees them coming toward him,
the masked men.

Guns are raised.

The shouts are swelling,
rising and falling,
whistles shriek and pierce the air.

He raises his hands up,
surrendering.

They push him to the ground,
the masked men.

He tastes the blood of his lip,
the asphalt.

The metal of the handcuffs
is cold against his sweaty palms.

There are screams increasing in intensity.
More,
and more.

More feet running his way.

He tries to bend his knee,
a shooting pain emerges.

Pain everywhere.

Everything suddenly goes black.

The crowd of black ties and black dresses
are clapping,
the sound erupting across the golden room.

She curtsies with delight,
and thanks everyone for coming
and encourages them to stay
for the four course meal.

The black curtain descends on the screen.

The room is dark
except for the pulsing crystal shimmers
that continue their staccato dance in the shadows.