Shadows of Self

He spotted her.

He didn’t like that he still got butterflies. Even after nearly a year. Like she had some power over him.

"You’re late." She looked sad. Him the cause, no doubt.

"I’m here, right?" His answer, he realized almost immediately, sounded like he was trying to be mean. And didn’t do much better when he added to it, "Now you’re pissed?"

"You know—you don’t know me like you think you do."

"What that’s supposed to mean?" He watched her eyes darken and tilted his head to get a closer look at her face and what message was in it.

She looked away and he took the moment to try and think about how to change the direction of the way they were communicating.

His eyes scanned the room. Red velvet, dark mahogany wood tables and booths, the flickering gold glow of candles, and more people than a few minutes ago. The music was louder and he liked the song that was playing.

"Okay…" he said, making his voice soft and warm, hoping she’d give him another chance to say something she wanted to hear from him.

But then her friend, Clive, was right there. He was sporting a big smile and was obviously too into the state of mind that was creating the goofy grin, that he didn’t bother to notice that-- he and his girlfriend were having one of those moments. One of the kind of moments that only had enough space for the both of them.

But he was going to be nice, because he liked the guy. "Hey." It was the best he could do under the circumstances.

"What’s up, man?" Clive patted his arm and reached out a hand of greeting and then, "Hey, can I steal her? Last set…"

He studied her face for a second. Her abundant brown eyes, the same ones he was crazy over, were shiny. And he thought about refusing the request so that he could find out what he’d done to make them fill up with tears, but he gave a nod and let Clive walk off with the woman he was almost sure he’d marry one day.

He took a seat in a corner, watched Clive slip on his guitar and waited.

"Hi Handsome," Chloe, the youngest barmaid at the club teased. Shoving an ice-cold Heineken into his hand, she also gave him a disapproving scowl. "Late again, I see."

Offering no defense, "I know," he admitted.

The lights dimmed and the young girl pointed to the stage. "Oh, they’re starting"

His eyes settled onto the stage… on to her.

She was singing.

It was a new song. A romantic folky soulful number and– and maybe it was telling their secrets, but it was glorious and he didn’t care.

When it was over, the crowd had cheered, some folks stood up, and he was clapping, too.

A guy in his early twenties in a seat nearby, tugged at his arm and shouted at him. "The band’s great. Who are they?"

He leaned over, so he wouldn’t have to yell. "Shadows of Self."

"Wow, man that chick can blow!" The guy proclaimed.

"Yeah, she’s sumpthin’."

"What is it? Shadow and Cells?" The younger man was trying to get the name straight.

"Shadows- of – Self," he clarified. It wasn’t the best name for a band and he had suggested she pick something with more magic in it 'cause…magic, that’s what she was.

"They got a CD?"

He nodded.

She started singing again and those damn butterflies, junebugs or dragonflies—whatever they were, mocking him once more with the power they had over him, starting dancing…setting off a familiar fire in his groin.

Damn, she was so beautiful.

And later, he’d tell her so.

A hundred times if she needed to hear it.



(fini)