The look in his eyes was straight sex.
Usually, there was laughter or sentimental stuff floating between them, diffusing the space between them. Soft clouds, a fine haze, but she had to catch her breath on how suddenly everything was clear.
The clock radio was playing next to the bed. A song that he thought was romantic, or at least direct. A big folk singer, in his "alternate voicing" stage. She thought it sounded like a bad Jim Neighbors impression. Testing his audience, daring them to laugh at his insanity.
She only heard the song that reminded her of her father. That song that her mom hated because it was from a girlfriend of his, back in the old country. It was "their" song, a song of a previous life. As if the wedding ring magically could render all previous love, events and emotions null and void.
Her father's daughter thought of the phrase that she had read in the dead man's journal. "Perhaps I should have embraced everything she had to offer. When I had the opportunity,"
The girlfriend her mother was jealous of never even seduced him out of his virginity.
And now, here she was, looking across a big brass bed, at a man who loved her.
The hinge of his hand. He lifted up his shirt, in a shy way, revealing a surprisingly muscular stomach. She could fly from this space like a bird. Or she could stay and accept everything he had to offer.
Was this a matter of simply saying yes when she had so often said no? Could this man wield his instrument like a sword, poisoning her, initiating her into his curse?
She would only let herself do it if she couldn't bear to tear herself away. If he carried a curse, she wanted the moment to be worth it.
He smiled at her one more time, like that first time he winked at her from behind the mic at the radio station. Her stomach dropped and she could feel herself melting from the inside, like a glass candle.
She held her breath and smiled back, like she was a black and white movie star. That's who she wanted to be in this moment, strong and with a big band behind her. Her fingers rolled the dial until the room changed flavors and colors, out of his comfort zone and into soft lush tones that she was comfortable with.
==
The grainy taste of a brown sugar cookie mixture she made with her grandmother on a warm summer day. Before it went into the oven, when she could steal a fingertip behind her back and lick it off before she was caught.
She saw sand on cement down a path, a wooden fence post-so far gone from the weather that you could see the splinters. Maybe a parking lot. Cape Cod, the sun was different there.
3000 miles from the West Coast to the East. From the East to the West. What does it matter if the person you love is on the next coast or in the next room. Even being inches away from someone is too much sometimes.
She floated through the music, from song to song. Senses displaced and mixed, memories flooding in, all the sensations surprised her but she let them come freely. His skin was new to her, but she had no place for new details in her mind.
From
Lay Lady Lay by Robert Zimmerman
Usually, there was laughter or sentimental stuff floating between them, diffusing the space between them. Soft clouds, a fine haze, but she had to catch her breath on how suddenly everything was clear.
The clock radio was playing next to the bed. A song that he thought was romantic, or at least direct. A big folk singer, in his "alternate voicing" stage. She thought it sounded like a bad Jim Neighbors impression. Testing his audience, daring them to laugh at his insanity.
She only heard the song that reminded her of her father. That song that her mom hated because it was from a girlfriend of his, back in the old country. It was "their" song, a song of a previous life. As if the wedding ring magically could render all previous love, events and emotions null and void.
Her father's daughter thought of the phrase that she had read in the dead man's journal. "Perhaps I should have embraced everything she had to offer. When I had the opportunity,"
The girlfriend her mother was jealous of never even seduced him out of his virginity.
And now, here she was, looking across a big brass bed, at a man who loved her.
The hinge of his hand. He lifted up his shirt, in a shy way, revealing a surprisingly muscular stomach. She could fly from this space like a bird. Or she could stay and accept everything he had to offer.
Was this a matter of simply saying yes when she had so often said no? Could this man wield his instrument like a sword, poisoning her, initiating her into his curse?
She would only let herself do it if she couldn't bear to tear herself away. If he carried a curse, she wanted the moment to be worth it.
He smiled at her one more time, like that first time he winked at her from behind the mic at the radio station. Her stomach dropped and she could feel herself melting from the inside, like a glass candle.
She held her breath and smiled back, like she was a black and white movie star. That's who she wanted to be in this moment, strong and with a big band behind her. Her fingers rolled the dial until the room changed flavors and colors, out of his comfort zone and into soft lush tones that she was comfortable with.
==
The grainy taste of a brown sugar cookie mixture she made with her grandmother on a warm summer day. Before it went into the oven, when she could steal a fingertip behind her back and lick it off before she was caught.
She saw sand on cement down a path, a wooden fence post-so far gone from the weather that you could see the splinters. Maybe a parking lot. Cape Cod, the sun was different there.
3000 miles from the West Coast to the East. From the East to the West. What does it matter if the person you love is on the next coast or in the next room. Even being inches away from someone is too much sometimes.
She floated through the music, from song to song. Senses displaced and mixed, memories flooding in, all the sensations surprised her but she let them come freely. His skin was new to her, but she had no place for new details in her mind.
From
Lay Lady Lay by Robert Zimmerman
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