They walked away from the bar – she had asked him to walk her to her car. It was a couple of blocks up a subtle hill. Downtown was lively- it was a late Saturday night. Maybe the city buzzed, she can’t remember now because the alcohol had her buzzing loudly in her head – her mind alive in conflict.
He walked in big strides a few paces ahead of her. He asked her, “Where’s your stride?”
She replied, “About 3 inches shorter,” her shoes were the cause of her slow pace and when they stopped together before a cross walk she continued in a tight voice, “and I have asthma.”
He took out his headphones and plugged them into his phone. She took the one he offered. The song they recorded earlier that day played in their ears. She felt an unwelcome surge in her chest. It was warm, yet conflicted.
They walked in their music, she held onto his arm and he suggested edits to lyrics. It was his song, she encouraged him because it sounded like he needed affirmation.
They walked a few more paces, she sensed they were nearing her truck and felt a sudden need to draw out the time. She was tired. She asked him to hold her. He picked her up and cradled her. His long arms wrapped around her body with ease. She sighed a heavy breath. He asked her, “are you tired?” “Yes,” she murmured, “tired of living.”
She closed her eyes as his went wide and his lips pursed. He understood.
He dropped her off at her car. She didn’t want him to leave.
“Stay a little longer,” she purred.
He stalled long enough to kiss her on the forehead. “Don’t drop out of my band, okay?”
He ran like a wild man listening to the recording back to the bar. “No way,” she whispered.
loosewater 