Late Morning and the Carnival

     She brushed her hair from the side of her face but the way she was turned I still couldn't make out whether she was happy or angered by what I had just told her.  The room was bustling with noise but neither of us made so much as a peep we just sat there waiting for the other to clear the now musty air.  When she did speak it was out of the side of her mouth, not directly to me but not entirely to herself, "I wanna listen to something upbeat...light...fun, and you know, something jazz." 

     "How'bout some Sonny; what could be more light and fun then Don't Stop the Carnival, let that carnival roll on." 

     Her response was quick and in agreement to my suggestion, much of our common ground was firmly rooted in the intangible plane of music, especially jazz.  I always figured it was the sensuality of it, the raw power of breaking rules and genres, the unwillingness to conform while maintaining integrity, that made us love it so much, the passion was always so evident, right there in plain view to be grasped by anyone willing all you had to do was accept it and the music did the rest.

     "Oh, I love that part," I couldn't help but say so as Sonny's sax dipped and swelled, the sounds of which conjured images of peacocks strutting about, exposing their plumage for the world to appreciate and more so for the women.  Her hand slowly caressed my leg in that comfortable way and her head rested against my knee there we sat staring off into the soft blue sky of late morning with no where to be listening to Sonny say everything that needed to be said without ever having to form a single word.

Reviews

[emma]

A cute snapshot—not sure it's a story, but the imagery is explosive. I want to listen to some jazz now. Careful with the grammar after the dialogue in the beginning of that laugh paragraph. Maybe, "Oh, I love that part," I couldn't help but say as Sonny's sax..." (the 'so' messes it up). That line about the soft blue sky made my heart melt. This would be a great full story.