She's married…not happily I assume based off the way she kept her left hand suspended low below the dark marble counter top of the café she is shyly tending…
She has a prom queen's gaze projected through green eyes and 20 years under her belt since she rode that float..She doesn't keep eye contact for too long and you can tell through her distant flickering stare that she lost track of the times or rather the time lost track of her.
She used to dance and still has that desire..Her husband shares the same affinity for that expression. He rather finds his release in the bottom of a Coors original and lack of praise for his patient wife at the end of his day with a floundering construction company, but then again that moment at the end of the day is no different than his lunch break,, where he and his partners in the trade exclaim over their 3rd lunch brew that "it keeps the joints loose"..It also keeps him drunk and her sulking into Gilmore girl reruns in hopes that if the girls can find their peace of mind so can she.
She probably still dances…alone, when the house is empty and the moment is right and she doesn't feel so wrong..She will 2 step w her imaginary man. The same one that brings her flowers on his lunch break and breaks her away from the grind for ocean side retreats to walk until the sun sets and make love until the sun rises…Her shoes are spotless though. They've never seen a dance floor as all clubs have a strict "no shoes, no shirt, no service" policy, and barefoot and topless, fresh from the shower is the only time she steps with that rhythm of the latest country music, "this isn't my life but, I'm gonna run away and find it!" Jam…But she still dances alone.
Her down time at the new wave ultra world friendly café, is spent knitting..not texting or finger fluttering the world wide web in search of her newest MySpace friend…she knits…As if trying to bind together 2 strands of her life lost long ago or mend a rift that keeps a white gold wedding set in a dark pocket in hopes of a bright conversation…
Maybe she's manufacturing a small escape in a pair of warm socks that she can run in, inspired by a country song serenading her soul in a steamy bathroom, or maybe a scarf that can be worn around her neck to shield her from the vampire like suck that life has tried, ironically, to drain from her.
She's probably stronger than she looks, but she would have to be with 20 years of the life she has chosen to endure…
A Gap sweater and "skinny" pants along with a crisp pair of Pumas, would look good on any 18 year old, and she defiantly puts up a good fight…she looks the part, at least part of her looks and the rest hides behind light brown bangs and an all to practiced flustered expression.
I flashed her that crooked smile that says "there's obviously something more to what I'm saying" and lingered in that scotch and velvet radio voice that's a perfect blend of mild arrogance and under lying entitlement…like a voodoo king at work she responded in perfect form. A 10 year old with his first fish on the hook knows more what to do with his catch than she did with the one that jumped in the boat…
She is and always will be a dancer…alone? Ill order another cup and see.
No comments:
Post a Comment