The streetlights were just turning to amber as Glasgow Girl picked up her pace. She wanted to finish the trail before it got too dark. Normally, she was not a fan of trails, but she made an exception for the Glasgow Mural Trail. Art always took her mind off things, and she had just spent the longest day trying to forget a guy. No, not that touristy Irishman, he was already forgotten. She had briefly allowed him to try to charm her, but when they were strolling through the Barras yesterday and she had spied a beautiful pendant inscribed in Gaelic, she asked him to translate it. He admitted he only knew Irish Gaelic, not Scottish. Well, that was the second strike and, since she wasn’t overly smitten with him anyway, it was two strikes and you’re out. No, the one she had spent all day trying to forget was that mysterious Glasgow Guy from the punk rock club, with the killer smile and eyes that continued to haunt her.
Before she knew it, she realized she was on High Street. Excited, she walked a little more briskly until she found herself staring up at the last mural on the trail. Granted, on the ‘official’ list this was the third stop, but she rarely did anything by the books, and always made her favorite mural the last stop on the trail. She took a deep breath and smiled up at the mural of St. Mungo. This particular mural gave her inner peace and truly said “Glasgow” to her. Relaxing, she opened her S’well water bottle and took a sip, sighing slightly as she relished the flavor of the cherry gin. Her ‘water’ bottle was just the right size to hold about four gin & tonics, and she was close to halfway in. She was making a mental note to herself to remember to swing by Valhalla’s Goat on the way home to pick up more gin, when she heard a rattling sound nearby. It sounded like beads or coins clanging against metal. Intrigued, she headed toward the sound.
The next block over, she saw someone dressed all in black bent over a small cardboard box. He stood quickly as he heard her approach. She noticed he was wearing a bandana covering the lower half of his face and, as she got closer, she was able to read what it said – “punks not dead.” Now she was more intrigued.
“The Exploited, great band,” she said. He nodded in reply. She glanced down into the box and saw close to a dozen cans of spray paint. She looked to the large, red sandstone wall behind him and back to the paint, arching one brow. He knew what she was implying, but he had no concern. Laughing, he gestured to the wall behind him.
“You know what they say,” he began. “The wall is but a canvas to our imagination.”
Glasgow Girl took another sip from her bottle and laughed with him. “Well, I’m pretty sure Thoreau said ‘the world is but a canvas to our imagination” but, sure, we’ll go with that.”
Graffiti Guy bent down and began rummaging through his cans, and Glasgow Girl leaned lazily against the wall. “So, what are you going to make?”
Graffiti Guy chuckled. “Ceridwen. She is the Celtic goddess of rebirth and transformation. She’s also associated with prophecy, poetry, the moon – ”
“Poetry and the moon?!” Glasgow Girl was beyond intrigued. “I need to be a part of this.”
“Sure, you can help,” Graffiti Guy replied. He stood up and held a can out for her. She stepped close to him and reached for the can. As her hand touched it, their eyes locked and she gasped. Those eyes! She knew that look, the look she had spent all day trying to forget.
Graffiti Guy’s eyes crinkled, she knew he was smiling at her.
“You never called,” he whispered.
© Dahlia Ramone: August 29, 2020
(This vignette was inspired by a friend’s post in this Blogophilia group)
This was written for Blogophilia Topic: The Longest Day
(1) Mention a deity (Ceridwen, Celtic Welsh Goddess)
(2) Incorporate a quote by Henry David Thoreau
(The world is but a canvas to our imagination)