stradasphere

Because I Moved

Because I Moved

The bar was the perfect escape from the rain. Pushing the door open with my pocketed hand, I looked to the bartender; “should I shake off the rain or continue to my stool”? His smile told me not to worry about it. I welcomed the smoke and even more the sound. A girl sat at a piano, dimly lit, a large snifter with a few singles perched atop. I knew the song and hummed along though there were no words. Maybe Sinatra, maybe Dean. It didn’t matter. It took me to a place that fit right in with my vodka as it slid toward me. I smiled into the glass looking for faces in the ice cubes. Faces I loved, and even those I didn’t. I saw them all. Still humming I smirked and strained to see those I may have passed by too quickly, dismissed too suddenly, fighting off regret. Yet I savored the possibilities of missed chances as though they were still there. It was exhilarating.

With a squeeze of my lime, the song was gone. The girl leaned back and nodded in appreciation to the ladies night out table cheering her on. I took a moment to down my glass, nod for another, and light a smoke. My glass was met with a few smoke rings. My accuracy pleased me and the bartender agreed.

The girl at the piano started something new. She changed everything, including me. The unrecognizable tune crept in slowly at first with the occasional resolve, yet dissonance seemed to rule. I couldn’t help turn to her as if to ask how she knew me. How did her fingers know what to say as they bounced from white to black, black to white, black and white? And she moved. Her long curls waved deliberately in front of her face with each staccato. Her backlit smile slid across her with each legato. Turning back to my glass the faces were gone, but all of those that were there before had left their mark. In an instant I was crying. The darkness hid my heaving, the raindrops hid my tears, and she played. As the movement moved, so did I. Tears of loss, tears of pain, tears of regret all fell at once…until the key change. Whether D minor, or F sharp it mattered not. Not at all, because I moved. I missed the other tears, the tears that outnumbered the first. My heart and mind flew as fast as her fingers, and followed her down a road of pure joy, peace and purpose. Yet it was an electrifying peace, perhaps a bit void of the conventional rendition.

I had gone where I need to go, and she took me there. Turning away from my vodka and tears, I honored her retardando and resolution. A slender, ringed finger signaled the end with a smile and a sole black key. The ladies night out table took a moment to respond. She more confused them than moved them. At least this time around. I doubt she heard my hand clapping but I know she saw my face as moved toward her jar. Maybe she knew what she had done. My eyes have never been good at hiding, especially when they are red. My hand reached for a couple singles as the other went to shake her hand. Her grip was gracious yet told me not to complete the transaction. She got what she wanted and I got what I needed. We shared a knowing grin and she went back to what she does. The ladies night out table knew this one. I did too. Definitely Sinatra, but I had heard what I came to hear.

Labels: music, soul, writing

posted by Unknown @ 10:27 AM