This is one of my mumbleweed stories that I wrote the other night. After reading it in the daylight of the next day I thought to trash it as it didn't feel that good of a story, but on second thoughts I didn't and put it here to see if anyone likes it...
In the ‘yes but’ kind of things again where love was so far off I found I was still but dust in the wind of it all, and so took off my hat and whirled it around in the breeze and then threw it into the air.
Not dead yet then, said the postman, walking past me?
Not yet, I said; and catching my hat I put it back on my head and began going backwards, even though I had no idea where I was going; and shuffling, shuffling.
When I got to the bus stop, even though I never took a bus anymore, I stopped and looked at the timetable, and as I did so the pretty lady who was waiting there, looked up at me.
“Hello,” I said, noticing her fully.
“Is time not your friend then?” she said, wearing a thin cotton dress from out of her soul and looking up at me and moving her legs so that the bells around her ankles tinkled.
A round of hope shivered through me and caused me to look to heaven where I was found wanting, so I looked back down to her from my transcendental expose, and smiled.
She smiled back a ray into my heart.
I sought out my best mumbleweed and wound it up, and was just about to spring it on her when the bus came and took her away.
So much for that I thought and headed off in another direction.
Several hours after dark I came upon a jazz band blasting it from an open doorway, and so sat down not too far away at a table of one to listen to them.
A barmaid came around and settled a glass on my table and asked me what I wanted it filled with so I said: wine; and off she went into the dark bowels of the club to get me wine.
I was lucky to find an empty table, for bodies were coming fast from out of the night to fill them up; and it wasn’t long before eyes were eyeing up the space I was in.
And then I heard bells tinkling.
“May I sit here?” she asked, as I looked up into her eyes, once again, to the lady from the bus stop.
She was still wearing her cotton dress, with bracelets and beads, and bells on her ankles.
I stood up and moved around to the nearest chair and pulled it out for her.
A hint of something was in her eyes as she moved to sit.
Smiling, I pushed the chair towards her a little, for her to sit down, and then went back to my place.
I was feeling marvellous all the way to the end of the jazz number the band were doing. And then, bowing, the band left the stage, which is when the interlude came, and I turned towards her.
But before I could say anything the barmaid came with my wine and poured it into the glass before me, and then looked at the lady beside me for her order.
More wine was ordered; and then the bar lady went off muttering about working too hard and stupidoes not getting the rounds in all at the same time.
I gulped my wine down and determined I would order another one when the barmaid came back.
I must have looked forlorn or something, for the lady sitting next to me said: “I’ve never seen you here before.”
I could have told her that was because I’d never been here before, but instead I said: “There’s a first time for everything.”
Maybe she’d already made up her mind about me, her eyes certainly said so, or maybe she was still checking me out; I was looking to know which one it was when, the legend came from her lips: “I love a good jazz band; don’t you?”
I was winding up the mumbleweed again in reference to this and fighting it for all I was worth when the barmaid came back with her tray filled with drinks and placed one on the table and turned to the girl for her payment.
“Can I have another one please? I said, lifting my glass to show it was empty.
The barmaid turned her long suffering eyes towards me and took out her note book to take my order.
I was not sure if I was waiting for a random life change or something, but I was double tiding the notion or two that I was not going to get off lightly tonight. Anyway, I gave out my order to her and wrenched my eyes away to look at something else.
And as I did so the girl beside me moved a little bit and brought my attention back to her.
I couldn’t help thinking that I would ask her later if she wanted to go with me, but right now I was happy to be with her.
And then the band was back on stage and calling out for their horn player.
“Look, I have to go now,” I said as I bent down to get my horn from its box. “But if you’ll wait, I’ll come back for you?”
“You better be good,” she said, and let me go.
I was but a mumbleweed in the wind; what did I know of being good?
Taking my place onstage I took off my hat, and threw it as high as it would go, and then raising my horn, I played mumbleweed for all I was worth.
And all the while she looked at me as I played for her.
Image from Pixabay
