I’ve tried putting my arms around her, but she claims it hurts her back. Once I opted for touching feet, to have some human contact, yet somehow that too hurt her back.
With my arm stretched out towards hers, I take hold of her hand. She stops and complains that my palm is all sweaty.
“I’m actually kind of tired, Lizzy. We’ve been here most of the day. What do you say to a quiet evening at my place instead? We could order in, rent a movie and get out of this heat. I could use a shower.”
“What do you mean, you want to go? It’s Saturday night!?! People are just arriving.”
What she considers as 'people' are the young fashionable type, hip on all the latest trends, coming out only once the sun has set. “If you’re tired, why don’t you rest somewhere and I’ll come and get you later, in an hour or so.”
We’ve been here all afternoon at the jazz festival and I’ve hardly had a chance to watch a band play. All we’ve been doing is wandering around, people watching, lounging in café’s and outdoor patios
. “Yeah, ok.” I agree. “I’ll go see a band. I’ll hang out over at the main stage.”
“Where’s the main stage?”
“Right there,” I say pointing to the crew of people doing the sound check. “I’ll sit near that hotdog stand, to the right of the stage.”
Most of the seats were still empty. The band is not scheduled to play for another fifteen minutes.
“I can’t find you in there.”
“Just come by the hot dog stand when you’re done and I’ll keep an eye out for you. I’ll save you a seat.”
She gives me this dumb puzzled look.
“Yeah, whatever.”
I watch her turn her back and walk out towards the vendors. Her blonde and pink pigtails whip around and land just to the right and left of the butterfly she has tattooed at the base of her neck. It’s small, hardly noticeable and a cliché, but I told her that it was cute.
For the first time, I listened to the clicking of her heels
. The tempo is that of a prance-like strut that could not be more fitting with her attire. She is sporting a pair of white cotton pants
, so gripping that it appears to be sprayed on. Needless to say, they leave nothing to the imagination. She is one of those girls who wear a thong
on a regular basis, regardless of her mood. It doesn’t mean she’s feeling sexy. It doesn’t mean she’s horny and it’s definitely not an invitation for me to approach with desires. She can be rather cold. I sometimes believe she knows exactly what she is doing and plays me like a puppet, all her actions premeditated and calculated. Other times, I accept her lack of sensitivity as unintentional and believe that I could be misunderstanding her entirely. Perhaps, I’m simply expecting too much. “It’s a little too dry. Can we have the guitar
strum a few more bars?”The sun is setting and a cool breeze is blowing in off the lake. I am thirsty and badly in need of a sugar high that only a cola
could fix. What can I say, I crave the fizzy sweet nectar and the boost of energy associated with a near fatal dose of caffeine. The closest food concession is jammed with people searching their pockets for bills, not coins, expecting to pay triple the fair rate. I shuffle through the crowd hoping to find a not so popular cotton candy or pretzel stand.[To be continued...]
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