another night at the teahouse. for some reason...probably the balmy weather....i felt like dressing up. i took a seat near a window and adjusted my red skirt, looked around and felt it was going to be a nice evening. there was a boy on the floor, playing with a black puppy and smoking. he was at the feet of a girl with wild blonde hair and shiny metal hoops dangling from places on her face i wouldn't have imagined they could. dangle. she suddenly broke the hum of muffled conversation in a clear, gentle voice, and asked if anyone would mind if she were to play her violin for a bit. of course no one minded, so she stood up next to a yellow grandfather clock and played a simple melody. it sounded like something i might have heard before. it sounded like a song someone sang to me when i was very young. or like a walk through a forest. it sounded like lying on my back in the summertime, it felt like the sun and it smelled like warm grass. somehow.... it made me think of things i could well have forgotten by now. a pretty woman in rome who sang sweetly every morning as she hung her laundry out the window across the alley. skipping barefoot around a norseland farm in a cream-colored petticoat, tugging at my father's sleeve so he would lift me high enough to peer at the sheep on the other side of the fence. the wonderful gifts my grandparents used to buy for me on their travels. brightly-painted horses, handmade moccasins, little woollen skirts and coconuts carved into scary faces. sitting all night at a place called holy hill, making magnificent plans, sharing childish dreams with a girl i thought had it all. a funeral for a girl i only knew by name. i thought of my friend dan. of people i don't see anymore. of people i wish i could see. of things i wish i were brave enough to do. things that i could do instead of hiding away night after night in the teahouse, quietly joining in a modest round of applause from strangers behind walls, in darkened rooms. i thought....that i shouldn't stay any longer.... i walked slowly down the orange stairs to find the place nearly empty. two behind the bar. one at the window. two at a little table, studying history and getting drunk. the reverend in the corner, setting up his amp. looking sad. he's a good man...a chain- smoking minister who twinkles his eyes and sings the blues. the last time i saw him, i was wearing a plaid coat and standing in line for a drink. he half-sang, half-shouted "wooeee an' we gotta baby girl inna plaid jacket, boys, you know what they say bout them girls in plaid jackets" and a few people yelled "WHAT?" and he just laughed a smokey sort of laugh and shook his head. it didn't make any sense, and he knew it. but the reverend is the sort of man who says things for the pure enjoyment of saying them. he came upstairs later and sat with us....i forget who else was there. he gave us some good advice, and he gave us his business card. the card said he would play "weddings, funerals, private parties, bookshops, coffee shops, bars, and revivals." i remember that. i thought it was funny. but i've forgotten the advice....of course. i tend to forget the useful things. tonight, the reverend just called me "honeypie." i went to my car, and i'd had to park in this awful lot on the corner. it's always full of panhandlers, shady characters, brawling sailors...i've seen things...ugh. there was a woman there one afternoon a few months ago. she told me she was hungry. i took her into subway and she ordered this gigantic roast beef deal, a large fountain soda and a bag of chips. fine. THEN she hit me up for bus fare. okay. i'm a sucker. she asked for a few more bucks. i didn't have it. she got sort of mad. tonight she saw me getting into my car. i locked the door immediately, as i always do. she hurried over and started saying something to me, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together and spraying out her lips as she spoke. i started the car and shook my head. NO. she kept at it, though. she started tapping on my window, and i would have driven away but i was searching under my seat for tigermilk. i kept looking up at her and saying NO and shaking my head, and then she reached for the door handle and tried it. i was so glad i'd locked it...i might have been scared, but i think i was just angry. or disgusted. or scared. i don't know...i stepped on the gas. this is what happens. love kirsten Care2 make the world greener! http://www.care2.com - Get your Free e-mail account that helps save Wildlife! +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. 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