The Rest is Silence by Scott Fotheringham

lights of Queens shone beyond East River. A bench rested against the wall and they stepped onto it to look over the edge. Far below, a tug boat plied the river.
    â€œHey,” Benny said, pointing at it. “It’s Little Toot. Toot, toot .” Right on cue the tug tooted its bass horn two times as if in response. They looked at each other and laughed. She leaned her back against the wall and gazed up. A few brave stars winked at them.
    â€œI come here every Friday night,” she said.
    â€œBy yourself?”
    â€œMy roommate came up with me a couple of times when we first discovered it, but it creeps her out.”
    â€œYou’re not scared?”
    â€œOf what?”
    â€œIt’s dark. There’s no one around.”
    â€œThat’s why I come up here.” She pointed below them. “All those cars, and we can barely hear them.” At that distance, the lights on FDR Drive moved slowly. “To see so much and barely any noise.” A plastic shopping bag flapped by them on an updraft. “Low-density polyethylene.”
    â€œYou’re obsessed.”
    â€œIt’s one of the simplest polymers that exists. Once it’s digested, all that’s left is carbon dioxide and water. We’ll make them literally evaporate.”
    â€œBut if you get rid of bags what will replace them?”
    â€œWhat did we use before plastic?”
    They were silent then, leaning on the wall and looking out at the horizon. She seized his hand.
    â€œThere was a reason I thought you’d like it up here, and it wasn’t to bore you about plastic.”
    She pulled him across the court to the south side of the building. There was another bench and they climbed onto it together. Spread out before them were the beautiful buildings she was in awe of. The Citicorp building on stilts with its beam of light cast heavenward. The Empire State Building, shining pinstripe blue and white in honour of the Yankees winning the ALCS that afternoon. And the one she liked best, the Chrysler Building, a corporate cathedral with its spire piercing the sky and gargoyles made of car parts. She let go of his hand and pulled herself halfway over the wall, pivoting on her hips, so that she could see the roof of a lower portion of the hospital and, through a gap between buildings, a slice of the traffic on York Avenue. She pointed down. He shook his head. She jabbed at the air again. Three floors below and built of twigs and grass on a small ledge.
    â€œPeregrine falcons,” she said. “They breed them upstate in Ithaca. This one was released on Mount Desert Island and damned if the silly bugger didn’t fly here.”
    â€œThey’re beautiful,” he said. “I remember a hawk, swooping down on the chickadees on our feeder. But I’ve never seen a falcon.”
    They descended to the street and walked home. Once in their building, Leroy headed for the elevator. She touched his arm and steered him toward the stairs. She attacked the stairs, two at a time, and was a flight ahead of him by the time he figured out what was happening. He took her charge as a challenge and caught up to her by the fourth floor. They were both winded by the time they got to their floor. They walked to the door of the apartment she shared with her roommate, Annika. He leaned in to kiss her and she turned her head so his lips landed on her cheek. He said goodnight and turned to go to his room.

11
    Margaretsville
    I have spent the day at Art’s talking, eating lunch, bringing in firewood. He offers to let me spend the night on his couch. He pulls a sleeping bag from the cupboard, finds an extra pillow. The moon is huge and the trees drop their shadows onto the blue snow as if each of them has stepped out of a skirt that now lies around their feet. Talking aloud about Benny has tired me, and I long for the cold air to invigorate my lungs. But it’s the thought of my tent, buried in white, that has kept me