Green Grass

I can feel the words bubbling up in my throat even before we've switched on the microphones. Tommy looks uneasy, shooting a timid glance at Rachelle as he slides on his headphones and turns his chair towards the grubby table.

It has become colder in recent days, and I watch Rachelle's breath crystallize in the air around her. Flicking on the battery power to the mics, I flash an exaggerated grin her way, and begin the broadcast.

"Good evening revolutionaries and unintentional listeners, wherever you may be. Today, we're joined in our luxurious studio," I wink overtly at the two others shivering from the cold, "by a very good friend of a very good friend of mine." Tommy cuts into the audio seamlessly.

"And so, this broadcast is in dedication to reconnecting with good friends. For what would we be, independent of those who mean the absolute very most to us?" Rachelle smiles brilliantly at him upon these words, and Tommy turns away quickly, but I see the hint of a rare smile cross his expression. I can see why he would hold her close; Rachelle is quite something else. She has this spark of other that makes you want to solve her completely.

The pause is extended as I am momentarily pulled away by these thoughts. Tommy gives me an expectant look, and I snap back.

"Nothing. We would, in fact, be nothing without these people. And so, I'd like to highlight that it is of utmost importance that we not lose sight of those we cherish, especially in these times of social distancing.

The broadcast is running smoothly-- better even than it usually does-- Tommy and myself are easily fading in and out of each other's sentences, and Rachelle seems engrossed completely in the program. Unfortunately, we end on a sombre note, reading the list of missing people's names that we had collected. After a moment of respectful silence, we say our goodnights to the invisible audience, and flick the off switches on the equipment.

I am holding the missing persons list, scanning through the names, none of them familiar. These are people I've probably seen out in the city. I glance over them again, considering the possibilities. Where are you now?

"I want in," comes Rachelle's soft voice. Tommy and I both turn to her with equal expressions of surprise.

"You what?" Tommy finally asks.

"Want in, Tommy. Whatever this thing you guys are running here is, I want in on it. Don't sound so surprised either; I'm just as entitled as you two are to moving the masses. I have ideas too," I look at Tommy and shrug resignedly; I see no problem with it at all-- in fact, we could use strength in numbers at this point. The two of us running a late-night guerrilla radio station hardly constitutes mass revolution.

"I guess so... yeah," Tommy affirms, "do you want to be on the air, or--?" Rachelle cuts in abruptly.

"No. Oh my, no. I can do posters though."

The silence is a heavy one as we consider the implications of the statement. The only pictures we ever see are those which are used for company logos and advertising posters.

"How?" is my following question, "What do you mean?"

"Just trust me on this one," she says, and I'm inclined to do so when she hits me with a hint of a smile, "in the meantime, boys, come up with a catchy name for this business of yours. Call me when you've got one."

On that final note, she stands up and turns away, exiting the shack and swinging the door shut behind her. Tommy and I are seated in silence, and I observe him. He looks, to say the least, awestruck.

"She's something else, alright," I venture, amused by the dazzled look on his face.

Eventually, his gaze swings to me and he says, with a perplexed look, "she's different," and I nod in agreement. "No, I mean... from when I last saw her. So different."

Not that it's my place to say, but I find it difficult to believe that Tommy minds so much this so-called 'changed' Rachelle. I start putting away and covering up our equipment as he continues to gaze at the door in the utmost wonder.