Bon Voyage... and All That Jazz!
October 21st 2006 02:50
Hey Beloved Loyal Readers,
I shall be incommunicado for the next 2 weeks whilst I lap up the sun in Thailand. Fear not, though for I have left you with a short story I wrote a few years back.
I hope you enjoy it!
Love Chantal
Midnight Blues
She exited the apartment right on schedule. Each step she took was measured to be light, even when her home was a whole block in the distance, as though she was still afraid he would hear her.
The music pumped so loudly it could be heard as she approached the street, lucky for the owners it was surrounded only by industrial buildings. I entered shortly after her, heading down into the basement where dwelled the musicians.
She sat as she always did. Her back straight, her eyes closed, her perfectly manicured fingers hanging off long, delicate arms resting in her lap. Her slender, smooth legs were crossed and fell to the right. It was clear to anyone who witnessed her, with her eyes closed and her body still, that the music consumed her.
The bar was basically deserted at this early hour of the morning. Her, the band, a few canoodling couples and myself were the only ones beside the bartender. He polished glasses half-heartedly, counting down the hours till close.
The music transported me to a time long ago. I tapped my feet to the jazzy rhythm, not removing my eyes from her form. She was so beautiful, so much like her mother had been. A lump grew in my throat at the memory of her.
In the beginning I was subtle about following her. I kept my distance and remained hidden. I didn’t want her to know I trailed her every time. I needn’t have been so careful, she was so entranced she noticed no one. At times it even seemed that she looked directly through me.
The band played their final song, always the same, as if specifically for her and I. She smiled demurely at the band, her only acknowledgement of other life. The song faded out and so began the walk home, me ever so closely behind her.
I never tired of this ritual. I had long since stopped feeling hurt and offended that she didn’t notice me. I felt the simple act of her almost sleepwalking to the club every night was her way of strengthening our bond. We didn’t need words or physical contact. She closed her eyes and there I was, holding her like a child.
During the day, I slept. Just like the club itself, I was a nocturnal creature. I only looked forward to the nights when I knew I would see her and be reminded of the woman who bore her, the woman I loved as I now loved her.
This night the sky was a perfect midnight blue, the stars sporadically scattered it’s mass and sparkled like diamonds. The lights in her apartment went off. I watched the stars as I waited for the usual hour. She always left an hour after the lights had been turned off, yet I never risked her having left earlier or later. So I kept watch.
To my surprise, the lights came back on an hour later. My heart thumped wildly as her silhouette was complimented by a male one in the window. Their arms flailed wildly and it was clear they were having a passionate argument.
Twenty minutes later the lights were switched back off and again I waited patiently. As time went by, fear grew inside me. I felt as though she was forsaking me by not participating in our nightly ritual and I was furious with him for having caught her out.
The following night I returned, faith renewed. Our love was too strong to be compromised by another. The lights went out as usual but to my astonishment she exited almost immediately. He was close behind her.
I had to be more discreet as I followed the two of them. He was holding her hand but I was happy to note her steps still showed the same urgent purpose and when she sat, she assumed her usual position. This comforted me, as though he could never truly come between us. I almost respected the way he sat and moved a little to the rhythm but did not disturb her.
After the club had shut up, they didn’t head directly back home. They walked to an all-night café and drank coffee until the sun started making it’s way out. Neither seemed to talk much but they’d touch each other occasionally and stare deeply into each other’s eyes. They shared an unspoken something between them that instilled in me the sinking feeling that her and I would never share that again.
The day had truly begun when they left the café, the city came to life and I sat sullen on a park bench as they entered the florist and emerged with a large bouquet. As they approached the cemetery, I stayed on the outer edge. Too many memories made a glass wall around the place and prevented me going any further. I assumed the flowers were for her mother. I retired after that, not feeling the need to follow them any further.
The next night I waited after “lights out” unsure of whether she would take him with her again or go by herself. I waited what seemed to be an eternity. My eyes grew heavy but I refused to close them, so sure she would eventually come. She didn’t. I waited for her every night of the following week until, finally something occurred to me.
It was now bright day on the morning of my eighth disappointing wait. This was the last time I was to wait for her. I summoned all my courage and energy and almost ran towards the cemetery. As I forced myself through the barrier my breathing was deep and I was filled with great sorrow. Tears welled in my eyes as I read the tombstone before me:
Madelyn Sumpter
Beloved Wife and
Devoted Mother
1959 – 2001
The flowers I had witnessed them buy, now slightly withered, did not rest on this grave but the one next to it. Realisation hit me square in the gut as I read the next headstone:
Mark Sumpter
Beloved Husband
Devoted Father and
Brilliant Jazz Musician
1955 – 2001
I backed away slowly not even realising my feet were leading me to the club which was in it’s daytime slumber. The place where I, Mark Sumpter, had played for 25 years. Where my daughter and wife had come and watched me every night.
Everything began to fade around me and pure white shining light replaced it.
My daughter had held on to my memory for so long, she’d kept me in a state of purgatory. Old jazz music filled my ears and my heart as everything finally dissolved leaving only that one last song, the one I’d dedicated the day she was born.
She had finally set me free.
I shall be incommunicado for the next 2 weeks whilst I lap up the sun in Thailand. Fear not, though for I have left you with a short story I wrote a few years back.
I hope you enjoy it!
Love Chantal
All pix sourced from Wikipedia
Midnight Blues
She exited the apartment right on schedule. Each step she took was measured to be light, even when her home was a whole block in the distance, as though she was still afraid he would hear her.
The music pumped so loudly it could be heard as she approached the street, lucky for the owners it was surrounded only by industrial buildings. I entered shortly after her, heading down into the basement where dwelled the musicians.
She sat as she always did. Her back straight, her eyes closed, her perfectly manicured fingers hanging off long, delicate arms resting in her lap. Her slender, smooth legs were crossed and fell to the right. It was clear to anyone who witnessed her, with her eyes closed and her body still, that the music consumed her.
The music transported me to a time long ago. I tapped my feet to the jazzy rhythm, not removing my eyes from her form. She was so beautiful, so much like her mother had been. A lump grew in my throat at the memory of her.
In the beginning I was subtle about following her. I kept my distance and remained hidden. I didn’t want her to know I trailed her every time. I needn’t have been so careful, she was so entranced she noticed no one. At times it even seemed that she looked directly through me.
The band played their final song, always the same, as if specifically for her and I. She smiled demurely at the band, her only acknowledgement of other life. The song faded out and so began the walk home, me ever so closely behind her.
I never tired of this ritual. I had long since stopped feeling hurt and offended that she didn’t notice me. I felt the simple act of her almost sleepwalking to the club every night was her way of strengthening our bond. We didn’t need words or physical contact. She closed her eyes and there I was, holding her like a child.
During the day, I slept. Just like the club itself, I was a nocturnal creature. I only looked forward to the nights when I knew I would see her and be reminded of the woman who bore her, the woman I loved as I now loved her.
This night the sky was a perfect midnight blue, the stars sporadically scattered it’s mass and sparkled like diamonds. The lights in her apartment went off. I watched the stars as I waited for the usual hour. She always left an hour after the lights had been turned off, yet I never risked her having left earlier or later. So I kept watch.
From Flickr
To my surprise, the lights came back on an hour later. My heart thumped wildly as her silhouette was complimented by a male one in the window. Their arms flailed wildly and it was clear they were having a passionate argument.
Twenty minutes later the lights were switched back off and again I waited patiently. As time went by, fear grew inside me. I felt as though she was forsaking me by not participating in our nightly ritual and I was furious with him for having caught her out.
The following night I returned, faith renewed. Our love was too strong to be compromised by another. The lights went out as usual but to my astonishment she exited almost immediately. He was close behind her.
I had to be more discreet as I followed the two of them. He was holding her hand but I was happy to note her steps still showed the same urgent purpose and when she sat, she assumed her usual position. This comforted me, as though he could never truly come between us. I almost respected the way he sat and moved a little to the rhythm but did not disturb her.
After the club had shut up, they didn’t head directly back home. They walked to an all-night café and drank coffee until the sun started making it’s way out. Neither seemed to talk much but they’d touch each other occasionally and stare deeply into each other’s eyes. They shared an unspoken something between them that instilled in me the sinking feeling that her and I would never share that again.
The day had truly begun when they left the café, the city came to life and I sat sullen on a park bench as they entered the florist and emerged with a large bouquet. As they approached the cemetery, I stayed on the outer edge. Too many memories made a glass wall around the place and prevented me going any further. I assumed the flowers were for her mother. I retired after that, not feeling the need to follow them any further.
The next night I waited after “lights out” unsure of whether she would take him with her again or go by herself. I waited what seemed to be an eternity. My eyes grew heavy but I refused to close them, so sure she would eventually come. She didn’t. I waited for her every night of the following week until, finally something occurred to me.
It was now bright day on the morning of my eighth disappointing wait. This was the last time I was to wait for her. I summoned all my courage and energy and almost ran towards the cemetery. As I forced myself through the barrier my breathing was deep and I was filled with great sorrow. Tears welled in my eyes as I read the tombstone before me:
Madelyn Sumpter
Beloved Wife and
Devoted Mother
1959 – 2001
The flowers I had witnessed them buy, now slightly withered, did not rest on this grave but the one next to it. Realisation hit me square in the gut as I read the next headstone:
Mark Sumpter
Beloved Husband
Devoted Father and
Brilliant Jazz Musician
1955 – 2001
I backed away slowly not even realising my feet were leading me to the club which was in it’s daytime slumber. The place where I, Mark Sumpter, had played for 25 years. Where my daughter and wife had come and watched me every night.
Everything began to fade around me and pure white shining light replaced it.
My daughter had held on to my memory for so long, she’d kept me in a state of purgatory. Old jazz music filled my ears and my heart as everything finally dissolved leaving only that one last song, the one I’d dedicated the day she was born.
She had finally set me free.
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