Did it happen at the same time? Didn't it? It seemed to all happened to us. Well maybe to us and all the dogs in this city. Serendipitous moments only exist to those of little faith that wake up everyday hoping for their lucky numbers to hit; praying for the rainbow's path to appear at their footsteps. Dirty footsteps that we use as we tip toe around the real atrocities in life so as not to leave any markings or incriminating evidence of our meaningless existence. Little do we know that the snow and mud will always rat us out. It's as simple as that.
The seat belt opposite of mine still utters the perfume that your pores released as the dusk became dawn. I wonder if the momentous scar it left on your neck is more visible than the scar I left by your side as I failed to reach your lips with my own dry lips? You didn't seem to mind and tilted your head like when a mockingbird hears a distanced but distinct melody. The telephone wires and concrete streets served as our backdrop to my coyness and desire.
We sat there, without looking past the windshield, breathing softly as we listened. The music, the songs of the helpless, the misguided. I hoped, or maybe wished with every cell in my being, that "that" song would play next. As I became lost in the opaqueness of your hair I prayed to whatever god existed to play that song. To call it "our" song would be both cliche and distasteful. It was very much part of me even before I first saw you and you expressed to me, in trust, how that was the single and only 45" you played in your younger years to drown out the vicious screams of your father and mother as they fought, as they argued about...noting. Just to argue, just to make you feel excluded and broken. You described the immense scratches, the grooves that small vinyl disc accumulated via thousands upon thousands upon thousands of plays, of fights. The record player's needle needs to slightly damage the skin to play the melody, to play the sounds that made you feel normal again, the order to drown out the chaos just outside your bedroom door.
Keeping your hand on top of mine, you uttered, "would it be too much to play the song.....(trailing off into a whisper)?" I looked into your coal black eyes and gave you the slightest smile, the kind of smile you give someone that looks lost, the kind of nod you give to the person on the street playing their beloved instrument looking for nothing more than the change in your pocket. Me, not knowing whether to be amazed or dismayed that we were again thinking of the same thing, turned to the music player, not daring move my other hand, and found that ballad that meant so much to both of us. I dared not further explore the intimate parts of your body as I pressed play and took your hand into mine.We awaited in awe, with the anticipation of a suicide. It wasn't too long until the perspiration in your eyes started to overflow with emotion. The tears came, and slowly seem to dance down your defeated brown cheeks as the song's string section omitted their cries. We sat, in silence until the last seconds faded from the mellifluousness speakers. I immediately pressed repeat as the song's last moments played.