A Nice Night, Despite the Rain

On our way home last night, at your request, we found shelter from the relentless rain near a bit of dancing fire. White candles melted into soft wings and waves and fingertips, beckoning us closer. We sat at the fun table beneath so many beaded chandeliers, and ordered the best drinks in all of Manhattan—pineapple coconut mojitos and razzle dazzles—which were far too strong, but perfect, nontheless. The older woman in the strange hat offered us one of her piggyback dates—stuffed with almonds and wrapped in bacon, sprinkled with Cabrales bleu cheese—but we, of course, declined, and decided instead to order some of our own.

"And we’ll have the crab and shrimp croquetas, too."
"Certainly."

Everything was delicious, delicious, delicious.
It seemed a very special night.

"It’s nice how we all came to New York and became friends," you said.
Very nice, indeed. I think about it often. I will love you always, through this and everything else.

There’s no way, perhaps, for you to have expected the paella with all of its one, two, three, four, five, six—six, we counted on our fingers, six—special parts: shrimp, chorizo, calamari, clams, mussels, and scallops, but there was no way at all for any of us to have expected the two blazing guitarists and the flamenco dancer, pounding into the nylon strings and pounding harder into the wood floor. I wish I could play like that, but it’s very difficult. He’s using both of his hands against the instrument, one at the frets, the other against the body. And notice the speed, the patterns that his fingers create are just so beautiful, blinding.

And the handclaps and the hollers.

And you joke that he would make for a good lover. "Something about him is very hot."
And I can only agree, really: I wish I could play like that, yes.
"But it would only last for a month, before getting old," you amend.

We smile and laugh and nod. Like these white candles dancing in front of us, we might even want to melt.

I would like for your smile to last forever.

I didn’t listen to the hi-fi last night. Instead, I was lucky enough to wander into some live music and good food with beautiful friends.

Wes, I imagine, had a similar night in Barcelona.

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COMMENTS
Donald N.'s picture

Sounds like a perfect evening.

andrew's picture

lovely indeed

Almost Human Marcy's picture

Sure, once took my Mom to see some famous old jazz pianist with his own big, bad, Bosendorfer at the Orchestra Hall in Minneapolis. I couldn't even see his forearms, much less his hands or fingers. Speed and grace.Sounded great, though ;)

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