I Have No Idea What Happened After That

It's Friday. I'm sitting in my parked car under the veil of night's darkness watching the raindrops join the river water. Thoughts overwhelm me as I try to distract myself by singing but the song's lyrics only trigger a descend into deeper thought. People come and go all around me (mostly cars packed with young girls parking while they go off with their boyfriends to do who knows what) but after a while, all I hear is the mid tempo taps of the rain off the car's windshield. I don't think I'm even singing anymore. I'm absent and lost in thought...until my phone rings.

I don't really feel like speaking but I manage to say, Hello?

...No response. I listen a little while longer then repeat, Mm. Hello?

It's him. What up?

I grimaced. I hate when you say that.

What's wrong? Why do you sound so down? I smiled on the inside but it didn't translate to my face.

Nothing. I lied. I just didn't want to share. I planned to avoid acknowledgment as long as I could. I was mad at him but I couldn't bare telling him because it seemed so silly.

You don't have any reason to be sad. Where are you? He was always so sincere. (That's why I loved him.)

At the park. I still didn't feel much like talking but for him, I'd try.

At the park?! He repeated as if I hadn't spoken the King's English. What are you doing at the park?

Nothing. I paused. Thinking.

Thinking about what? I knew he would say that so, I fixed my mouth to lie again.

Nothing. (This response was rapidly growing old and I could hear the aggravation in his voice.)

He started to pose another question but instead said, I'll be there in a minute.

I couldn't help myself. The tears rolled down my face just as soon as I hung up the phone. I didn't want him to see me crying so I tried to wipe them away but for every one I swiped, two more fell in its place. Just as the well ran dry, I looked over my shoulder and he stood there in the rain. I unlocked the door and he got in. Neither of us spoke. I rose from my slumped position, met his embrace, and I have no idea what happened after that.

If I Only Had The Nerve

First, I must thank my dear friend, G-Code for kindly doodling this lovely design on my foot. I've wanted a tattoo on my foot for sometime now but I am too afraid to get one. I know it would hurt like the devil. She (G-Code) has a tattoo on her foot. "It'll make you cry real tears." Those are her words in response to my declaration that I will one day be brave enough to endure the pain and get the tattoo that I have longed for.

I want a series of small tattoos actually. I would love the letter L in cursive for a few reasons. It would represent "Love." and "Latham." Besides, I just think the letter is beautiful. I'd also like the typical rose just because I think they're pretty and feminine. I wouldn't mind a treble clef because I heart music. (Duh.) And of course, there are my maternal grandmother's initials, M.E. She passed way before I was born but for whatever reason, I've always felt connected to her. I miss her despite the fact that I've never known her. This could be a testament to my love for her as well as myself. --Two birds. One tattoo.

I'd love to have that treble clef on the inside of my wrist (the right one for some odd reason). I want that L behind my ear. I'd like to have a rose on my hip (down my side actually) and I'll have "M.E." on the inside of my left ankle to counterbalance the design on my right foot.

But because I am the cowardly lioness, these ideas shall reside in my imagination. Until I grow some knots, I'll wear the temporary designs drawn by friends during moments of boredom at its best and wash them off in the morning.

Prototype

I'm sitting on a tall stool in a cafe' wearing a flowing, umpire-waisted strapless dress in coral that sweeps the floor. Two messy french braids meet at the nape of my neck and my nose is so far in a book that I'm completely oblivious to the world around me.

This is my Saturday morning in the city.

There are lots of things to do and even more being done. But none of this matters to me. I'm at the best part of my newest obsession, I mean, book. I love books and reading them even more. You can find me resting here, reading here, and writing here--religiously. This window seat allows for just enough light to illuminate the pages perfectly and just enough cover from prying eyes. It's almost romantic.

Diggin’ this energy and well aware that this will never stay between just you and me because I can barely contain myself. Here I am, head over heels, heels over head, and nose wide open. Mine prefers your scent over any other. But you’re unavailable right now so I’ll leave this message after the tone-- yours deep, rich, and resonating through the drums in my ear. The cadence heavy on the 808 and careful not to bust the tweeter--yet.
**Beep** I know you hear me calling, the inflection in my voice rising and falling. Intonation. Articulation. Modulation.
You study my instrumental melody. There are no words even close to my lips. But the sudden dip in my hips sends you to the next bar. This sixteen just as euphonious as the first. Almost reaching the pinnacle but not yet. Pause. Run the tape back, flip it, and turn up the treble.
This message is getting long. Let the machine stop. There’s no need for its technology. My voice coming through crystal clear and almost loud enough for the neighbors to hear--you playing my song. Tune’s stuck in my head--over and over again. No words. Just sound. Pounding the speakers and I’m riding the beat.
Far from ignorant of bliss like this and hooked on your refrain….

Nikki Wright (also known as "Ms Write"). Oh, how I absolutely adore her candor and lyricism! As a matter of fact, I was so in love, I hadn't noticed the waiter waiting on me.

"Looks like someone loves poetry." he said.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you. 'Voicemail' is my favorite." I uttered while holding open my captivator for him to see. I hated being interrupted but he was only doing his job so, I decided to keep my, 'Go away! Can't you see I'm reading?' expression to myself.

"Would you mind if I take a seat?" (Insert raised eyebrow here.) "I mean, unless you're waiting for someone. Are you? I can leave. I should just leave, shouldn't I?" He stumbled all over himself.

"Someone sure asks a lot of questions. Don't you work here?" I managed to get in between his questioning and second guessing.

"No. I just..." I missed a little because I was too busy feeling a bit like a dunce for assuming that because of his disheveled hair and all black attire, he was a waiter. "...You come here a lot?"

"Maybe." I didn't want to divulge too much. I don't know this guy. He could be, well, let's just say this IS the city.

"You must think I'm some kind of..." Almost an hour later, I managed to break away from his blue-green eyed stare and smooth but sort of raspy tone to realize. I think I'm in love...AGAIN!