The lights swirled through the living room: across the high ceilings, over the hardwood floors, up the wall yellow walls. Blue, red, and white kept sweeping over the pale moon of Kelly’s face as she reclined against me on the couch. On the love seat on the other side of the room, the colored lights described the contours of Adam and Debra.
I nodded in their direction so Kelly would look their way. The two of them were locked into some precoital position, though both still remained fully clothed in their formal wear.
“The tux is rented, Adam,” said quietly. “They charge more if you return it soiled.”
Debra, as usual, took it upon herself to deflect my sarcasm. “Ha ha,” she muttered in monotone. “Sounds like the voice of experience talking.”
The CD had finished the near-silent track it had been playing, and I heard the disc changer engage to rotate the next selection into place. The warmth of Marvin Gaye’s voice soon filled the room. But I could hear the dissonant interjections of police radio transmissions from outside. And some man began protesting loudly, if only semicoherently, about his rights.
“Can you see anything of what’s going on?” I asked.
Adam’s head lifted slightly. “Not really. I think they’re arresting him.”
I heard car doors slamming, engines being engaged. The dancing lights departed in groups as the vehicles moved away, and soon the room was almost completely dark.