TICK to the TOCK (A Coming-of-Age Story) by Matthew Turner Page A

and a strange confusion, but unsure why. Danii arriving in Paris was unlike anything I could imagine, but each day since has taken me further from the place I feel I should be in. Progression, not regression, surely. Yet this strange burden clings to me. Until arriving here, that is. Walking beside the River Rhine with Danii wrapped under my arm and Ethan on my right, Wil on my left, I feel fresh and... not cleansed, but close. The air is cool and crisp, a sharp feel to it as each mouthful flows down my throat. It's chilled, but not the freezing uncomfortable kind; rather, the cleansing version present in the early morning haze before life taints it.
    It rained earlier, and although the air is bone dry now, the linger of disturbed river water and dirty autumn pavement remains, a distinct aftertaste after each inhale. It's nice, pleasant even.  
    With shining lights reflecting in the water below, and a city ahead basking in a gentle orange glow, the conditions are perfect. I've never understood why people like autumn, but I sense this is why. A dark, sensuous aura that the other seasons cannot replicate. Maybe it's like this in England, too, but if it is, I've never noticed; maybe I wasn't supposed to until now.
    "This is lovely," says Danii, moving her head further up my shoulder, her hair brushing my ear.
    "Yeah, much better," I say, actually believing it this time.
    "Look, look, guys , this is why we came. This is why we're here! The Hohenzollern Bridge and Cologne Cathedral—together as one, practically touching and kissing. Aren't they a marvel? Aren't they a... a... a... bloody damn marvel!" Wil springs to life, one second a subtle member of the group, the next its lead character in a show of nighttime beauty, hopping from one foot to the other, his yellow chinos darkened at each rim from the leftover rain.
    Looking at the giant cathedral, I yearn for more. A few months ago, I'd marvel at it because it's a beauty to behold, but now I see more; at least, I wish I did. Its two spires, flush in a gentle, glowing light, climb high, the detail of every nook and cranny a work of art. It's still a distance away, but already I see the careful construction of love. But there's magic within its walls I cannot understand. I've never needed to understand, but the more I think and ponder, the more I wish I did.  
    Where the gothic style and ancient feel of the Cathedral ends, the modern spectacle of industry rises, an arching bridge—this time lit in a dark, golden yellow—creeping almost to its doorway. Brick and stone turn to iron and steel, but who am I to say which is better. Both were built by hands, and both will outlive me by a thousand years.
    "Do you see? Do you see? This is why we came, gents, this is the reason. How could we pass such a moment without taking both hands and cementing it in our memory? Promise me we'll live! This isn't the end of amazing awe, merely the beginning. We're surrounded by it. Each city has it. Each country and area and hidden corner of the earth. It's mine and yours and ours," says Wil, kicking his feet through a puddle.  
    "You chose well, mate," I say, tightening my grip around Danii.
    "Can we take a walk?" she asks, her head still on my shoulder.
    "Yeah, come on," I say, removing my arm and locking my hand around hers. I've missed holding her hand. There's something about interlocking fingers during a gentle stroll at night. Any fingers are good, but Danii's are perfect: long, elegant, pianist worthy—ever so slight and lovely. I could, and literally have, played with them for hours. "Guys, we'll catch up with you, okay?"
    "Fine, but don't leave me alone with this guy for long," says Ethan, shaking his head at Wil, who's already fifteen feet in front, waving and jumping.
    "Enjoy," I say, slowing down and allowing the distance between Ethan and us to grow. "You okay?" I ask, rubbing her index finger.
    "I’m fine. How about you? How are you feeling?"
    "I'm okay."
    "You don't have a