He glanced over at her, watching the sharp definitions of her profile, streaming in the wind as the convertible hurtled down the narrow road. Her lips were mouthing the words (she didn't sing out loud to him...at least not yet...and he had never sung out loud to her and never would...he enjoyed her company too much). He wondered briefly how her voice sounded...in a song, not a sentence. He had heard her voice many times, memorized it like a braille word, could almost feel it...could almost touch it. He could conjure it up like playing back a voice mail. It was, almost, but not quite a song.
Now Al Green?
He could sing...and he was floating his words out over the warm Texas air, the afternoon heat roiling but cool in the convertible...
Spending my day
Thinking 'bout you girl being here with you
They were on Farm to Market 2483...the road that paralleled Salado Creek out of town and then crossed it continuing westward while the creek petered out down south.
Do you think all his songs sound the same, or at least similar? He asked.
Hush...I'm still listening. She was serious.
He laughed a tiny bit. He leaned back and listened to the music, the rhythmic bass and the nice brass. There was enough of a high note that when he looked at her she had to grimace a little bit to mouth the tougher parts...damn, she was getting into the song.
The sun shimmered and the creek was a stain of blue and silvery nickels...the music faded and she reached over to turn the knob.
Now. What? She had turned in the seat to face him. He could tell the song was still in her ears because her hands beat a tiny drum on her leg.
I'll wait until the song is over, he said.
It's over.
No, you're remembering it.
She smiled. It's been a long time since I heard it...so, I'd forgotten that I missed it.
I know exactly what you mean.
Being near with you, can't explain myself
I feel like I do, though it hurt me so
I was wondering if you felt like his songs were the same...if they sounded the same to you.
She turned back to look at the road. They were crossing the creek and she looked back as it faded past them.
I've been on this road a hundred times...and each time it's different.
Well of course it is...it's the first time I've been on it with you.
I don't mean it like that...I just notice different things...each time.
Well what you'll notice is me this time.
She smiled, shaking her head.
That's why his songs still sound different to me...even though he uses similar sounding background music...it's his words...it's his unique way of saying things.
I noticed he likes the words Sho Nuff.
She laughed. Yes! Exactly.
Sho nuff he intoned.
It sounds better when he sings it.
Figures.
The quiet descended slightly, and he welcomed it...he could hear her humming just a little...
I like that about the radio she started.
Like what?
I like that songs come up unplanned...you don't know what you'll hear next. You can't rewind and replay. It just comes and goes.
It definitely can change your mood...spontaneously.
Right? Exactly.
Well...just so you're aware he said, you are like my favorite song...that I haven't heard in many years...each time I see you.
She turned in her seat towards him.
So where's my rewind button?
At that he laughed.
That's the thing...each time I see you it's a different song. And I don't get to hit rewind. It just comes and goes.
I like that.
I like it even better.
In his rearview mirror he could see the slight cloud of dust raised in their wake...a hazy view of where they had come from and it was like a contrail of mustard and gray. In front of him was shimmering blacktop and Texas, from left to right limit. And a blueness that loomed large over them and was windswept and cloudless. But there was not another soul that was out there, not another car, not even a plane.
What are you thinking about she said...she had scooted over and was nearer to him.
I was just thinking about how it feels like we are the only two people in the world right now.
She glanced at the road ahead, and looked behind them.
I think you're right.
The car pushed forward into the afternoon.
I think I like the fact that you compared me to a song...
Oh yeah? he answered
A song doesn't have to be heard...it can be played in a snippet. It can even just be a note, or a few bars of music. And in that small moment you feel the entire mood even if it's just a short amount of time.
I think that sounds right...I sense the whole of you just seeing you...I know your voice, your touch. I know what's been said, what's been left unsaid...just by seeing you when I first see you.
Really? That's how you feel each time you see me?
He turned to look at her: sho nuff.
She smiled that whip-smart smile and her eyes narrowed and he could tell she was happy with his words.
He forgot about the rest of the afternoon as he reminisced upon it later...but he remembered the song, and the music and he remembered the moment she had gotten into the car, sat in the seat, turned to him and returned his stare.
He remembered that moment.
And he knew he'd likely never forget, driving down the Farm to Market Road.
No comments:
Post a Comment