by B.J. Burgins
I was sitting in Moma's den on the plush beige reclining couch, reading a small print version of "Fearless Jones." The sun's glow bounced off the potted flower's petals thru the window the couch sits close to, yet only seperated by the den table that houses magazines, hours old drink cups and newspapers. At this hour I'd set the computer on a YouTube channel of a music playlist, and set the volume down low enough to concentrate on the sentences I was reading, yet high enough to still make out voices and particular songs that were playing; Terry Huff and Special Delivery's selections had me filled with the complex duo of joyous and melancholy feelings.
My left leg was crossed over my right knee, the white pages covered with black letters held my attention with suspense, while the groovy songs playing softly from the computer helped me concentrate on the book before me somehow. My cellphone sat on the cushion a few inches from me, which around sunset never received calls or texts, suddenly went off. The name that appeared across the screen, that now held my attention, seemed longer than the sentences the white black pages contained(hence my contact editing) caused my heartbeat to speed up suddenly.
"Hello," as smoothly as I could say it was my greeting, followed by the caller's quick, "Hey Larry!", that was laced with innocence and sweetness that couldn't be taught, but was all natural.
Trice, I thought, why's she calling me? Did she need anything, was something wrong, did she so happen want to see me for desirous intentions(that I'd gladly welcome once my heartbeat slowed) that'd be my delight? All these questions and possibilities arose in my mind as I tried to, right now, be verbally, what I tried to portray when physically around her-(Ms. Trice, the unexpected surpriser) suave, debonair, Mr. Got It Together. She continued with, "How are you?"
"Ok" I stammered.
"That's good" she replied, "I just said I'd try to call you since all we do is text"; that statement caused me to laugh, though it was true, and shamefully texting is what I prefer due to an extreme critical self analysis of past experiences that somehow ended in bad feelings, due to phone conversations. I cleared my throat and tried to mute all the questions and hysterics floating within my mind, the mind of a reader, song listener, not a phone talker. After my laughter stopped, hoping I didn't sound stupid, my feet were now planted on the off white colored carpeted floor, as the copy of 'Fearless Jones' was now kissing the plush sofa cushion. "How are you?" was my reply, "I'm fine" said Trice, the sweetness and innocence flowing heavier in my ear.
"That's good" was me,
"Are you busy?" was she
"No" I said, "Is everything ok?", thinking that a beauty as she was, in my opinion, would only call someone such as I, for her own damsel in distress needs or something else that didn't necessarily concern me but moreso what I could contribute or help out with.
"Yes everything's fine, what are you doing?" was her reply, more to my shock and opposite of my pre-judged perceptions.
"Nothing, just got off and about to eat" I said, as I sat back upon the couch in a more comfortable manner. She giggled a little and we talked a few minutes more before ending our conversation, after my promise toned goodbye of "I'll call you back or vice versa, in a little while", followed by her giggly sweet and innocent "Ok."
I didn't wanna read right after, yet the sweet sounding music that continued to play from the computer set the tone of what and how I felt as I thought; I hope I'll see her and hear more of that uncanny sweet innocence sooner than soon. I look forward to hearing Trice's voice again, I thought, as well as having the experience of her conversation, as I heard Special Five("You're Something Special") talk about a woman that was something special. I sat back on the plush sofa and slid the exciting mystery novel inches more from me with my fingers, as I studied my life a minute, allowing my spine to be swallowed by the couch's cushioning, wanting nothing else in the vicinity of Trice's voice in my ears and thoughts. By this time, the YouTube playlist was humming the intro to 3000's "Prototype," as I considered Trice a moment more, wondering if she was the one.