Under the Milky Way

[uhn-der thuh mil-kee wey]: It was written about a place in Amsterdam called The Melkweg, which is Dutch for “The Milky Way.” 

She was the bottom of the coffee cup. The residue of the grounds that laid neatly at the bottom, all the same width, all the same size.

She sat quietly in the room full of people, dancing around her looking at them out of control like tops on a table.  Rolling, rolling, rolling around.

That is when she saw him out of the corner of her eye. Dancing like a wild bird with his arms flaying up and down. Him in his worn T-shirt and jeans. His blonde hair flowing like wheat in the fields before the big harvest.

“Oh the big harvest!” she thought while getting distracted thinking of families roasting pig and dancing around some half burnt-out fire pit.

He stared at her from across the room.

“This music is so much better if you take it on speed!” he jumped up and down and tried to hand her a bag of powder that looked like snow trapped in a plastic zip lock bag.

She slowly looked at him and gave him a face.

“There is no thunder in that bag” she thought silently to herself.

She needed thunder.

He took her by the hand and walked with her across the room. Her hand tingled like the guitarist hands striking his strings in the middle of a long solo. One of those solos that make you think of everyone falling from the sky.

Drama.

She was in love with the guitar solo.

She too was hopefully lost when the ballad of music that slowly pumps in the air professing the begging of the lost girl looking for the boy.

He was all of these things, except at the moment he was a long thing from the thunder. Instead he was a sunny day, with rain pouring in between.

She was alone. She was alone like a skeleton holding this warm hand that was sending lightning through her veins. She was going to burn into dust at this moment, but he still was not thunder.

He approached her slowly and pulled her close to his body. She could smell the cheap wine the dripped from his breath like the rain that came through the clouds. She knew he wanted to kiss her as he slowly moved closer to her sober lips.

She turned her head. Avoiding his mouth like a race car driver in the middle of the race of his life.

He was not the thunder.  She was the race car driver.

She wanted the thunder.

He took her hand and whispered in her ear.

“I want to take you off like the clothes on the racks in the closet,”

She looked at his lips shaking as he slowly ran his hand through his hair. She looked into his eyes. The milky way that shimmered in the middle of the night, but you could only see them this time on the outer edges.

His thunder was gone. He was just the light rain on the sunny day.

She knew of the Milky Way. She would look deep inside of while sitting on the rooftop when he would take her by the hand and look deep in her eyes. How he would take her through rooms and guide her through the mazes of strangers houses on hot summer nights.

That was the thunder.

She would think about it and the long guitar solo. His hands slowly climbing up her body and her falling from the sky. Her falling deep into the milky way and at that moment she would fall down like a cat trying to walk on a narrow passage way.

Except she would never land on her feet. She would just look down at the floor around her and fall into glass pieces. Sharp shreds that could pierce through her skin.

She wanted the thunder.

She slowly picked up her glass pieces and took the rain in her hand and put it inside her car.

The rain slowly picked up and the windshield wipers slowly glided back and fourth in a numb and hypnotic sound.  His head sloppy hanging on the seat and slouched over like a hunchback she could hear his light snoring.

The rain kept pouring. She kept driving.

She would put the clothes he wanted to rip off the racks and place them neatly in the closet.

She drove him in the driveway and pushed him out to the door.

She grabbed him him and slowly carried him into the door.

She pulled him up onto the bed and took his shoes off.

She climbed on top of his body and looked deep into his half open eyes.

She saw only the outer edges of the Milky Way.

She laid next to him in the bed and looked at the ceiling and watched the blades of the fan rotating above her.

She hung over the bed  and looked at the scruffs on the floor.

She closed her eyes and thought about the Milky Way.

This was not the thunder she was looking for.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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