She had a broad smile. The kind of expanse that fills you with ease. I never got that. Those rich heart rich expressions. Annie only ever gave me glimpses. She used to smile that way when she was younger, before I met her. When she was young and naive.
I wanted to let my head hang. To give up into the drunk, but I guess I suddenly had company. So I drew back, dragged my acoustic into my lap and poured my soul over it. I picked out a melody that ran on and multiplied. She poured herself something and came back with a mason jar of elixir.
She used the canvas of her bag to draw her nails across like a brushed snare, and the matted carpet like a Tom-Tom. She found the heartbeat to suit the life blood of this semi-lucid melody.
We toyed with it for a minute, until she left it to plug my Strat into the box. From it she pealed out a somber phrase of notes and trepidation. The humanity of the song came alive, without the taint of lyricism.
We played on until door was rattled by the neighbor I’d as of yet not seen.
Then, we sat. She snickered and I cast a disapproving eye. But right she was and I fell into it. We laughed too hard. It was wonderful. There wasn’t anything wonderful anymore, and it was like virgin candy.
When everything diffused. The nervous humor and carefree surrender, we sat like old loves in a cool park after the sun had fallen.
“I should take off,” she said at last, and threw her last ounce back. I could feel the hot flavor going back into her young belly, and wished I was young again. She closed her eyes and let the hard burn take effect, and I longed for the days of simply enjoying the pain. Back when I was human, and that splash wasn’t just a meal.
She pulled her black hair back over her dark printed shoulder, that dense violet Locke doing what it chose, rose up and assessed.
“So, I’m gonna bounce outta here. You’re good though?”
“Adaline?” I responded. “This is me at my best.”
“Ok. A little depressing, but I can accept that.”
She took up her bag and was out the door as swiftly as she came.