It was the first tuxedo I'd ever worn, the shiny black lapels glimmered to compliment the bright red tie and cummerbund. I sat in the back of the church, not knowing what to expect, but a bit nervous. My Uncle Timmy, who is only fifteen years older than me, came up and said, "Don't lock your knees while up onstage. An old navy trick for standing at attention."
What?
I didn't want to ask him what he meant, "okay," I said.
My grandfather came up to me, placed his hand on my shoulder and said, "if you get nervous just look at me I'll be in the front row. And while you're standing up there - don't lock your knees."
"Okay, grandpa. Thanks."
What is this locking your knees business? How do you lock your knees? I didn't know, but was certain that I would not do what ever it was.
The crowd made their way to their seats while shaking hands and giving hugs to friends and family. I was told it was almost time to get started, so I followed the other groomsmen to line up in the narthex. I got ready to walk the aisle with my sister on my arm.
"Don't forget, don't lock your knees," said my soon to be stepfathers cousin Marty.
Alright, alright, I won't do what ever it is you're talking about!
I found my place on the stage and awaited the song signifying my mother would be walking down the aisle. I saw her come through the door with my grandfather. She was beautiful, and my grandfather was perfectly handsome. I hoped to be just like him when I grew up.
When he found his seat next to my grandmother in the front row, he smiled and winked at me. I returned his smile and scanned the crowd.
The next thing I remember I was being carried out of the church and set down on the curb by my grandfather. He leaned over and chuckled, "you locked your knees."
Throughout the reception as color came back into my face I was constantly asked if I was okay and my response with a smile was, "I just fainted so my mom didn't have to."
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
A Drive
As the door clicked shut behind me all my eyes could see was the minuscule glow from the garage door button, but my heart was calmed as I inhaled the perfect mixture of oil and wood, present in all garages used for projects. I reached up and pushed the button and its glow disappeared as the room was split in two by the morning sun.
Slowly the truck was revealed as if to build the anticipation of my adventure, knobby black tires, bright chrome bumper and the fire truck red of the body. I stood motionless in the comfort of the garage acutely aware of the trial that lay before me. I tightened my fists and felt the well worn key bite my flesh. Looking down I could see the key fob exposing the first few words of a prayer I knew all too well. "God grant me the serenity..."
I had driven before. I had driven this truck before, but not by myself. I approached it with the awe and respect one would approach a trained tiger. My eyes now full of the red body, I wrapped my left hand around chrome and pressed the black button. The door opened with a well worn creak. I had to step up and pull myself in using the steering wheel, sliding onto the woven cloth seats.
The door handle, once rough, now smooth and shiny, felt comfortable beneath my fingers as I closed the door. Centering myself behind the black steering wheel I took a deep breath and years of construction sites filled my nose causing me to close my eyes and revel in the memories.
My eyes flew open, I tossed the key in the air and caught it perfectly positioned to slide it into the ignition. Leaning forward a bit I gripped the steering wheel and pushed the key home. My feet positioned themselves without me thinking about it and I depressed the clutch, put my foot on the brake and turned the key.
The engine roared to life.
My right hand pulled the shiny black knob towards me and pushed it up. I exhaled. I placed my arm on the top of the seat, turned my head to look behind me, and rolled out of the driveway.
Slowly the truck was revealed as if to build the anticipation of my adventure, knobby black tires, bright chrome bumper and the fire truck red of the body. I stood motionless in the comfort of the garage acutely aware of the trial that lay before me. I tightened my fists and felt the well worn key bite my flesh. Looking down I could see the key fob exposing the first few words of a prayer I knew all too well. "God grant me the serenity..."
I had driven before. I had driven this truck before, but not by myself. I approached it with the awe and respect one would approach a trained tiger. My eyes now full of the red body, I wrapped my left hand around chrome and pressed the black button. The door opened with a well worn creak. I had to step up and pull myself in using the steering wheel, sliding onto the woven cloth seats.
The door handle, once rough, now smooth and shiny, felt comfortable beneath my fingers as I closed the door. Centering myself behind the black steering wheel I took a deep breath and years of construction sites filled my nose causing me to close my eyes and revel in the memories.
My eyes flew open, I tossed the key in the air and caught it perfectly positioned to slide it into the ignition. Leaning forward a bit I gripped the steering wheel and pushed the key home. My feet positioned themselves without me thinking about it and I depressed the clutch, put my foot on the brake and turned the key.
The engine roared to life.
My right hand pulled the shiny black knob towards me and pushed it up. I exhaled. I placed my arm on the top of the seat, turned my head to look behind me, and rolled out of the driveway.
A Smoke
Rhys asks the driver to drop him on the corner and he tosses him a twenty leaving him with a healthy tip for the ten block ride. Rhys pulls on his pea coat and wraps up in his scarf as he steps up onto the sidewalk. He sees his dads reflection with his grandfathers farm stained fedora as he walks passed the glass windows of an empty office space.
Reaching into his pocket his fingers wrap around the worn briar wood bowl of his pipe. He tamps down the tobacco and tilts his hat back as he strikes a match. His eyes fill with the red embers as he takes a few deep breaths to keep the pipe flowing. He starts to stroll up the street repositioning his hat with a tug on the brim.
A delivery truck rumbles passed and the smell of diesel and his pipe brings his father to the forefront of his mind and he tells him he loves him. Rhys smirks because he realized that he said it out loud. On his left there is a vertical parking lot, something he's never seen before and he stands and watches as cars pull in and out, drawing methodically on his pipe.
His destination is up the street and he can hear the silence of the venue which gets him moving again knowing he's not late, it is almost ten o'clock. The ironworks on the buildings are not ornate but they still beg to be touched and he runs his hand along metal that has been smoothed by unknown coats of paint.
As he walks up to the door he is expecting to see a pair of eyes peering out asking for a password like they did for the old speakeasy's but he just pulls the door and walks up the stairs, a little disappointed. He can hear the shuffle of feet and chairs positioning as he turns the corner and walks through the door. He sits down in the back as the drummer starts a slow rhythm on the snare with his brushes. He continues to scan the crowd looking for her, watching for the flow of her auburn hair.
He sits back and thinks he must have misread his calendar knowing that he checked more than once that on Halloween she would be singing. He enjoys the build up and the pianist starting in with a few hard notes and he watches the lead vocalist take the stage in her flats, black pants, and white open collared shirt.
The lights are still low and her voice carries well in this intimate setting but he still struggles to gain more detail than her black hair cut in a bob. As she turns to the audience and places her left hand on the mic and raises her right as the first notes are hit, the lights come up and she is in her full element. And Rhys remembers it is Halloween, and she dressed up.
He crosses his legs and gets comfortable in his seat, enjoying the sweet sounds of heaven echoing through the streets of New York, as she looks into the crowd and smiles at an old friend in the back.
--------------
The playlist had songs Rhys has never heard and standards - 'Sweet Hunka Trash', 'Compared to What?', and 'Louisiana Sunday Afternoon.' The band closed with a cover of 'Today' which took his breath away. She went from note to note effortlessly, physically caressing each upturned face with her voice. He anxiously awaited his turn to capture her gaze and to be lost there for eternity or a second. He could swear her eyes smiled only for him, but it was probably a Hollywood illusion.
There were brief introductions of the band and a promise to return in a few minutes and she was instantly bombarded by admirers and short time friends. He sits watching the crowd, enjoying the descriptions of people formulating in his head drawn from body movements, facial expressions, and accents. He had lost her in the crowd and had a moment of panic that she never actually saw him. Then there was a hand on his arm, a warm cheek against his, a whispered hello and she was pulled away again.
Afterwards Rhys found a stoop with a clear view of the exit, he sat and pulled himself into his jacket. With his back against the handrail he flipped up his collar to shield the wind and lit his pipe. It is two in the morning and it sounded as if it was five o'clock in the afternoon. There was a constant rumble of vehicles in the background, with the occasional blare of a horn and the stars were non-existent in the narrow strip of sky above.
She walked out.
The night had cooled significantly and as she pulled her jacket off her arm he captured every movement and nuance. The turn of her foot that caused it to slip out of the back of her shoe, they are black flats mimicking Ms. Wallace perfectly. The cuff of her pants dancing in an unfelt breeze. Raising her arms to swing the jacket around a touch of skin flashes the remnants of a summers tan, a stark contrast between the black pants and white shirt. Her jacket is long and envelopes her as so many of the men wanted to tonight. There is one piece of Mia that is missing, her short black hair has been released of duty. The auburn locks are once again free to decide their color - deep brown, red with a hint of blond or somewhere in between. As she flips up her collar and turns her head to look for him the night air flips and twists a strand of hair as if to capture every scent.
He stands and walks toward her and offers his arm. Taking it and sliding into step with him she rests her head on his shoulder. Rhys thrills at her warmth and tells her again about her beauty as they step into a diner to travel through their conversations and sip on coffee that is only good because of the company.
Reaching into his pocket his fingers wrap around the worn briar wood bowl of his pipe. He tamps down the tobacco and tilts his hat back as he strikes a match. His eyes fill with the red embers as he takes a few deep breaths to keep the pipe flowing. He starts to stroll up the street repositioning his hat with a tug on the brim.
A delivery truck rumbles passed and the smell of diesel and his pipe brings his father to the forefront of his mind and he tells him he loves him. Rhys smirks because he realized that he said it out loud. On his left there is a vertical parking lot, something he's never seen before and he stands and watches as cars pull in and out, drawing methodically on his pipe.
His destination is up the street and he can hear the silence of the venue which gets him moving again knowing he's not late, it is almost ten o'clock. The ironworks on the buildings are not ornate but they still beg to be touched and he runs his hand along metal that has been smoothed by unknown coats of paint.
As he walks up to the door he is expecting to see a pair of eyes peering out asking for a password like they did for the old speakeasy's but he just pulls the door and walks up the stairs, a little disappointed. He can hear the shuffle of feet and chairs positioning as he turns the corner and walks through the door. He sits down in the back as the drummer starts a slow rhythm on the snare with his brushes. He continues to scan the crowd looking for her, watching for the flow of her auburn hair.
He sits back and thinks he must have misread his calendar knowing that he checked more than once that on Halloween she would be singing. He enjoys the build up and the pianist starting in with a few hard notes and he watches the lead vocalist take the stage in her flats, black pants, and white open collared shirt.
The lights are still low and her voice carries well in this intimate setting but he still struggles to gain more detail than her black hair cut in a bob. As she turns to the audience and places her left hand on the mic and raises her right as the first notes are hit, the lights come up and she is in her full element. And Rhys remembers it is Halloween, and she dressed up.
He crosses his legs and gets comfortable in his seat, enjoying the sweet sounds of heaven echoing through the streets of New York, as she looks into the crowd and smiles at an old friend in the back.
--------------
The playlist had songs Rhys has never heard and standards - 'Sweet Hunka Trash', 'Compared to What?', and 'Louisiana Sunday Afternoon.' The band closed with a cover of 'Today' which took his breath away. She went from note to note effortlessly, physically caressing each upturned face with her voice. He anxiously awaited his turn to capture her gaze and to be lost there for eternity or a second. He could swear her eyes smiled only for him, but it was probably a Hollywood illusion.
There were brief introductions of the band and a promise to return in a few minutes and she was instantly bombarded by admirers and short time friends. He sits watching the crowd, enjoying the descriptions of people formulating in his head drawn from body movements, facial expressions, and accents. He had lost her in the crowd and had a moment of panic that she never actually saw him. Then there was a hand on his arm, a warm cheek against his, a whispered hello and she was pulled away again.
Afterwards Rhys found a stoop with a clear view of the exit, he sat and pulled himself into his jacket. With his back against the handrail he flipped up his collar to shield the wind and lit his pipe. It is two in the morning and it sounded as if it was five o'clock in the afternoon. There was a constant rumble of vehicles in the background, with the occasional blare of a horn and the stars were non-existent in the narrow strip of sky above.
She walked out.
The night had cooled significantly and as she pulled her jacket off her arm he captured every movement and nuance. The turn of her foot that caused it to slip out of the back of her shoe, they are black flats mimicking Ms. Wallace perfectly. The cuff of her pants dancing in an unfelt breeze. Raising her arms to swing the jacket around a touch of skin flashes the remnants of a summers tan, a stark contrast between the black pants and white shirt. Her jacket is long and envelopes her as so many of the men wanted to tonight. There is one piece of Mia that is missing, her short black hair has been released of duty. The auburn locks are once again free to decide their color - deep brown, red with a hint of blond or somewhere in between. As she flips up her collar and turns her head to look for him the night air flips and twists a strand of hair as if to capture every scent.
He stands and walks toward her and offers his arm. Taking it and sliding into step with him she rests her head on his shoulder. Rhys thrills at her warmth and tells her again about her beauty as they step into a diner to travel through their conversations and sip on coffee that is only good because of the company.
A City Walk
Matthew's view is from about twenty paces behind her, blocked intermittently by other pedestrians. The glimpses he gets of her are more like snapshots, reflections in windows as she glides down the street. She has an A-line skirt on, pink, brown, and creme plaid or gingham with a flare at the bottom, he can't get close enough to see all the details. The texture looks like wool, but he just can't catch up to her to see for sure. Her blouse is brown, fitted, short sleeves, and her hair is down giving a little sway and bounce as she walks in her heels down the street.
He sees her as if she is walking towards him in a window angled for a doorway and her sunglasses are shading her catlike eyes with all the elegance of Jackie O's. Purse thrown over her shoulder, she walks down the street as if she were the only one there, and the crowd senses it and parts ways for her.
At the crosswalk just before the entrance to the subway she dances on her toes across the street to make the light. He is standing behind a crowd and is able to see her stretch out her hand, grab the handrail and turn to go down the stairs. As she turns, her hair gets caught in the breeze, floats back and he gets a glimpse of the curve of her neck.
Matthew races across the street to dive down the stairs, hoping to have one more image of her to lock away in his memory. He pushes through the turnstiles and squeezes through what feels like an impossible crowd of workers just waiting to get home. The train arrives and frantically he scans the crowd, just one more is all he asks. He hears the sound of the doors starting to close and he sees a ruffle of pink slide through the door. The train is crowded and no one offers a seat, so she reaches up and grabs the bar over her head. He follows the curve of her fingers down the angles of her arm and his gaze is caught. She slides the sunglasses onto her head, taming her hair and framing her face. As the train starts to roll the right corner of her mouth moves up and he gets a knowing grin that says, "I'm glad you enjoyed the walk, I'll see you tomorrow."
Matthew leans against the tiled column locking her image into his brain and watches as the train becomes a blur and disappears. The crowd crams together to start the play all over again.
He sees her as if she is walking towards him in a window angled for a doorway and her sunglasses are shading her catlike eyes with all the elegance of Jackie O's. Purse thrown over her shoulder, she walks down the street as if she were the only one there, and the crowd senses it and parts ways for her.
At the crosswalk just before the entrance to the subway she dances on her toes across the street to make the light. He is standing behind a crowd and is able to see her stretch out her hand, grab the handrail and turn to go down the stairs. As she turns, her hair gets caught in the breeze, floats back and he gets a glimpse of the curve of her neck.
Matthew races across the street to dive down the stairs, hoping to have one more image of her to lock away in his memory. He pushes through the turnstiles and squeezes through what feels like an impossible crowd of workers just waiting to get home. The train arrives and frantically he scans the crowd, just one more is all he asks. He hears the sound of the doors starting to close and he sees a ruffle of pink slide through the door. The train is crowded and no one offers a seat, so she reaches up and grabs the bar over her head. He follows the curve of her fingers down the angles of her arm and his gaze is caught. She slides the sunglasses onto her head, taming her hair and framing her face. As the train starts to roll the right corner of her mouth moves up and he gets a knowing grin that says, "I'm glad you enjoyed the walk, I'll see you tomorrow."
Matthew leans against the tiled column locking her image into his brain and watches as the train becomes a blur and disappears. The crowd crams together to start the play all over again.
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