May 26, 2011
For Rob & Joyce Baker
She is a child of the ocean--the salty water runs through her veins, savory in its coolness, as she floats from home to the crossroads where lost souls meet and kiss. Up the slope to her artists' bar in violet light and jazz music, a soiled Canadian flag waving goodbye to memories of green yard and slashed youth. Her husband from a foreign land, a torn man taunting his own loss, his passion running dry between dirty martinis, musicians on a make-shift stage and the dryness of his skin. Oh, how the guitar weeps.
It all crumbles like ashes at 4am as he stands outside the glass doors, waiting for the bartender to put the chairs away--everyone must go. When all is bare and abandoned, he will go home and breathe. Breathe the hot and thinning air in his walled space. The night's veil will desert him before he touches it, holds it to his skin for a mock respite. It will soon be light.
She never leaves. She never stays behind the bar, where people reach out and shout for a sense of security. Everybody thinks they could own her for a minute if she makes their drinks--if they get their hands on the one who offers refuge, a moment of happiness away from home. They can love and laugh and cry. She does not give a damn. She is off to the ocean.
Inspired by Kendra's 'a river runs through me and i cannot'.
Love how you've created your characters within this scene, Nicolette. Very well done!
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