Sunday, August 31, 2008

A Blue Yonder (Pt. 1)

She bit her lower lip and her soft little hand was hot, sweaty and squeezing mine hard. She listened to the announcer and she smiled with a squint, teeth still pinching, picking up her lipstick.

Our peaceful struggles and fearsome trysts played in my memory like individual taps on a jazz man's drum kit, perfect rhythm sometimes changing direction just to keep from boring itself. I played with her fingers and could feel her pulse. It had gently tapped for nigh on seven years. It was faster at the moment, and I wondered that I knew well enough to tell.

I smiled at her and she gave me a quizzical look as we headed to the gate.

The music in the airport bar faded behind us, and she squeezed her hand tighter around mine and kissed my neck, then whispered in my ear, "Oh my god, Frank. Here we go."

I couldn't help it and looked down with my mischievous, lopsided smile and said, "Oh Marcie, my little goddess," and kissed her forehead.

She rolled her eyes and we boarded, her hand relaxing just a bit, lying to me as her heartbeat picked up.