Lyrics Like Love’s Failed Reminders
“Sometimes there is no moral to the story; sometimes, it’s just a bunch of stuff that happens.”
-Homer Simpson
I lay in bed smoking a joint as she fondled my cock, still semi-hard and sticky sweet with our combined sex, her long and tanned legs draped lovingly over my own and I waited, with weary anticipation, for the words I knew sat poised upon her tongue.
“We need a song sweetie… I mean, we should have a damn song!”
Yes, well, a million wrong answers ran through my head like flapping sparrows, but I wasn’t nearly that stoned yet.
“I know baby…you said that earlier.” All I really wanted to do was finish this Marley, argue kindly about the quality of the current best-sellers list. Or the campaign of misinformation our five fingered Washington monkeys were feeding us, the possibility of life in outer space… anything really. I get ornery when I’m high sometimes and nothing bleeds that out better than good ole fashioned debate; instead, I’m lying naked, half hard and high and having THIS conversation, again.
But it’s worth it. It-is-soooo-worth it. She could be the one. All the signs are there after all.
“Three months baby, three whole months and we still don’t have a song.” Her voice raked through me like screeching peacocks and I watched the gentle patter of debate leave my head.
“You saw Annie and, and what’s his face tonight. They’ve got a song and they’ve only been dating like two weeks! And it’s a good song- that new Shark Busters song, with the little bit of harp in it.”
She mourned.
“Baby, they met at the concert for Christ Sake; Billy-what’s his face- stepped on her hand as the busters were playing the go…..”
I knew I was talking. I could feel the muscles of my jaw in motion, the air expanding and contracting in my torso, the noise of my words.
“And God, the way Jamie and Perry kept calling every song at the party-their song and dancing- it was embarrassing sweetie.”
Her delicate hands had left their perch as she talked; allowing me deeper thought and her mouth began to move with silent beauty.
She was absolutely gorgeous. All bouncy and warm, that perfect neckline resting on buttery shoulders and always smelling like warm sun and sea air. And she was smart. She’d passed the bar on the first go. “Good genes.” My father would say, but he was on his third marriage to ‘good genes’ so what the fuck did he know.
Three months? Had it been that long? It felt much less and strangely, felt five times longer…
What was I thinking? Look at her! Auburn hair thick and hand flowing perfect. Soft brown skin that bumped up and shuddered when I touched her just right, she probably hasn’t seen a zit in ten years. She brought me ice-cream, the right flavor, when I had the flu and fed me spoonfuls and rubbed my neck.
“Baby, are you even listening to me?” The reverie shattering peacocks broke through like errant baseball through a window.
“Course I’m listening hunny. It’s just that, I don’t know-I’m not saying it’s not important- I’m just saying I think things like that just happen. Ya know? You can’t make them happen, or wish them to happen. You can’t make a song for the relationship; the relationship has to make the song… I know plenty of couples that don’t have songs.”
“Like who?” She said with perfectly pouted lips.
“Well…well shit, offhand I don’t know but I know I know some.” I blamed it on the weed, it always muffles my memory.
“Well I agree with everything you said.” She said, pouring gallons of gasoline on my dim fire of hope.
“You’re right; we can’t just pick some stupid song just so we have one!” Her face lit up with a million light bulbs. “Were did we meet?”
It only smelled like gasoline, it was actually water.
“You know where we met sweetie, at Chris’s wedding.” I don’t know why, I really don’t, but I continued, “Why, think we should have the chicken dance as our song?” I couldn’t blame that on the pot, it wasn’t strong enough to make me that dumb.
She shot up from the bed, walking to the bathroom with that perfect little apple bottom winking at me and said over her buttery shoulder, “Don’t be an ass! Why don’t you try using some of that pothead creativity you’re always yakking about and figure out THE –SONG-WE-FELL-IN-LOVE-TO!
“Tough guy.”
Why’s it always ending with tough guy when she’s pissed? I started going through encounters from the beginning. I mean, we hadn’t really been on that many dates. We fucked in the coat closet at the reception while everyone watched Chris smear cake on his new bride, and the next day went to breakfast, fucked at her place, went to a movie that night and, and we’ve just been kind of doing stuff ever since.
I remember lots of songs along the way. Lots of great songs… think dummy, think! Oh, wait, what about the time I told her I first loved her! Driving back from Pete’s house and she was snuggled up all warm and soft against me in the dark car. I said I loved her and she had said it right back. And we meant it.
No, that was Ozzie; “Crazy Train” won’t work.
The toilet flushed from behind the door and she entered.
“Well… what’s our song?” The expectant trust in her eyes was a hammer blow.
“I.. I just can’t think of one right now sweetie, I’m sorry but I promise- If it’s that important to you- we’ll think one up tomorrow, all day if we have to.” My cross-town apartment was feeling much closer than the drive.
“Whatever, if we don’t have a song, then we don’t have a song. Not a big fucking deal.” She said with the words BIG FUCKING DEAL tattooed across her face.
“Look babe, I’m up early tomorrow for that deposition upstate…”
“Yeah, I thought I’d head out to my place tonight, Alan’s coming over early so we can work on that third act.”
A half hour later we stood at the doorway, she was wrapped in a sheet, I was wrapped in decisions made and unsaid.
“Call me tomorrow, Love you.” She said.
Love you too.” I replied.
The car was warm and wonderful and I was thinking as I turned on the ignition how early it still was. I pulled out of the drive as the radio obediently began playing an old favorite and Billy Idol’s voice washed through the car.
“… and I’m dancing with myself…”
Tags: failed love, Fiction, flash fiction
You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.