11.13.2010

Jazz

Jazz


I am sitting at Comma Coffee. It is nearly night. Little Cat has finished her nap and taken to strolling around the room again. The same band is still playing the same frenetic tune, pounding horns and staccato drummer smashing around his set, beating everyone over the head, stabbing the audience in the back with his rhythm. The piano player is running down the hill as fast as his long fingers will take him. Bam diddle bam... running up and down the keyboard looking for a way off. Bam bam bam everyone looks around wild eyed. Ha! Smash. Bam. His fingers catch fire and run up and down the keys screaming. More. Bam! His hands are burning. Bam zap run runninggggggggggg around. Bam!

Little Cat has stopped by to check out my feet. The piano player's hands lunge up the stairs, fly around the ceiling looking for a way out. Bambam. BAM! Waves roll through the room sweeping the furniture and people away. The only ones left are me and Little Cat who is smelling my shoe.

Night is settling down outside on the street. The horn is circling around the room like a mad hornet but night is falling like ashes over the city and with it a promise of peace at last, sometime. Peace. The horn is now on fire. It goes bam. Goes BAM!

I have a long way to go to get to the end of this day. I think about the hours ahead and sleep waiting like welcoming death somewhere in the night. The music is adrift, embers floating on black water. I look over the creaking pier at the ebb and flow of waves around the pilings. There are faces in the waves, familiar faces but I cannot recall their names. Perhaps they never had names. Some faces never had names. The tune ends to cheers and a long round of applause. The audience receives their thanks. I listen to the harbor horns, buoys clanging in the distance, watch the lighthouse beacon sweep the bay.


asha