LAVA LAMP

Emma Skyte

He was sitting in front of my lava lamp. Seated before my coffee table, his legs were crossed, arms limp as they rested against his knees. His shoulders were slumped, his head tilted as if in a trance. Inside the glass, clumps of wax floated up and down. Repeatedly, he watched it float. Up, and then down. Sometimes they collided, submerged together, or repelled. But they’d never float up and down the lamp the same way. 
        I found it strange, how besotted he seemed to be by this inanimate object – an object I’d owned for years now. It was merely a Christmas gift to the family from some old friends. I’d lost count of how long he’d been sitting there, the room practically dark save for the strange light coming from the lamp. There was no music playing, the TV wasn’t on. It was late in the evening on a Sunday – usually by this hour we’d be sprawled across the sofa, debating which film we should fall asleep to.
        ‘You’ve lost the plot,’ I spoke at last, breaking the bizarre silence. 
        ‘You’re only now realising this,’ he mumbled without sparing me a glance, as if he’d somehow known I’d been there for a while.
        I shook my head, suppressing a smile. ‘Do I dare ask why you have been staring at that lamp for God knows how long?’
        Humming, he straightened his head, then tilted it to the opposite side. ‘It’s thought-provoking.’
        I laughed. ‘How? All you’re doing is watching it move.’
        ‘You’re watching me,’ he said.
        ‘No,’ I amended, my lips curving despite my best efforts. ‘I’m watching you watch the lamp.’
        He fixed me a look over his shoulder, one that had my grin widening. He’d caught me there. 
        ‘Touché,’ I said, walking over to him. I took a seat on the floor nearby, mirroring his position by crossing my legs and draping my arms over them.
        We sat side-by-side for an immeasurable amount of time, quietly gazing at this lava lamp while it moved. Up, and then down.
        ‘It’s an ugly colour,’ I said. 
        He smiled, nudging my shoulder with his. ‘I thought that.’