October 9, 2006

• MY AFTERNOON – PART DUEX

   

  She stood to walk away and tossed a wink over her shoulder like she was throwing pennies in a fountain for luck. I was pretty sure, though, that it was my luck that was about to change.

   

  I was so anxious to finish my set that I launched into the Minute Waltz and played it in only 45 seconds. If I had played it any faster, the tempo police would have shown up and given me a speeding ticket.

   

  “I have be cool about this,” I thought, so I forced myself to bide some time by sketching the little skunk on the “are you an art school candidate?” advertisement printed on the inside of a discarded matchbook cover. My skunk stunk but I held onto it because I thought that if I was a good boy I might get to hang something on her refrigerator.

   

  “That sexual euphemism was even worse than my drawing” I thought, as I headed for the elevator. I tapped lightly on her door jamb and said “room service” in a voice that I hoped conveyed what kind of service I was really thinking about. “I didn’t think you’d come” she said as she opened the door. “I don’t think that’s going to be an issue” I said, as I walked into the room.

   

  I turned and began to slowly undress her with my eyes. I started at the top of her head and intended to work my way down to the floor, but my journey came to an abrupt halt when, in the bright light of the room, I encountered a prominent Adam’s apple only a few inches into the trip.

   

  “Is there a problem?” she said, in a voice that suddenly seemed much huskier than it had in the bar.  “No problem at all” I said; my voice cracking like a 14 year old boy sucking helium. “But I just remembered that I have an appointment to get my teeth cleaned and I want to be early because I like the cleaning to be thorough… I, uh, really like things to be thorough,” I added redundantly. “Then I won’t be a disappointment” she said coyly.

   

  I heard myself scream.

   

  Somehow I found myself back in the bar behind my protective shield made of felt hammers, wound wire, and brass fittings.  As I began to play, I let the music wrap around me like a security blanket fresh from the dryer. If I could have played and sucked my thumb at the same time, I would have.

   

  I was playing on instinct; paying no attention to what song was pouring out of my fingers. But when my head began to clear, I suddenly recognized the theme from “La Cage Aux Folles.”

   

  I heard myself scream again.

  • 12:18 am
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