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Event Horizon

Event Horizon

The Fourth Part to The La Union Saga

Finding myself standing outside early one hot August evening in the middle of a heat wave, and being able to feel and see the heat rising in the still motionless air, as all the leaves droop and hang down. Looking to the far horizon and seeing that summer sun slowly setting in the distance like molasses. As it seems to set both the skies and horizon on fire in this turning of twilight, as I turn and head inside. Heading to my usual table as my eyes adjust to the gloom and feeling the ceiling fans moving the sluggish air, as a washed out version of Elvis plays on the jukebox and seeing a listlessly played game of pool in the back,-
While outside those rose and sapphire tinted skies signal that the day is finally over and done. And as I sit back another washed out version of Elvis is heard coming from the jukebox. Which has been known to play the blues often far into the night and heard by those who pass by, as I look over at that empty area and barren stage where the singer sits playing and singing the songs. And I find myself drifting back to that one winter night when you appeared and swayed to the song that was long, while I sat here studying the lines of your face as you stood swaying in time to the music that drew you out. And now listening to the one that some call the best ever from a place called Tupelo Mississippi which ain’t true, and what is true I have found out through the years and can’t be denied is that Irish girls are pretty.

Remembering how I sat studying the lines of your profile like an artist who draws from the eye, as you allowed the music and the words of the song draw you out as I saw you smile and sway in time. As I sat there mesmerized trying to place where I knew you from and watching that magic dance you did, and occasionally catching a gleam in the light from that gold pendent you wear as you weaved to the song. It was back in a time when angels watched over me and kept the devils and their minions from knocking on my door, and time seemed to slow to a crawl and stand still on that winter’s night.

Now as I sit here in my usual spot I wonder if by chance time and space can meet? As I see the door open and the singer of the songs enters and sets up on that now barren stage. Knowing well that the odds are astronomical that lightning can or will strike twice in the same place. Just as the jukebox falls silent as the singer with guitar in hand plays an acoustic version of Slide, which has the power to drive those traces of Elvis’s stuff from my mind. Looking around I notice the Madman I sat next to once is seated again at the bar ready to cast his pearls of wisdom,-
As he turns and gives me “the office”, in acknowledgement and has me recall the night I sat talking with him. But, there is an almost tangible force in the air and a feeling of expectation so thick it can be cut with a knife, and I know that there are times when beauty and mystery collide and can haunt you with unanswerable questions. And emotions rise that aren’t specific just like those complicated shadows as the music hits like white lightning, as I see those bottles once again look like they are standing on file after having been killed one by one.

Wondering if I should take those white circles off the picture with the dark blue background on the wall? And then just throw them up in the air and to just see where and how they land as they come back down. And getting up as I pass the Madman at the bar who tells me: “Cowgirls will know when to sing and when to listen.” Causing me to wonder what he truly means by that?, as I head back to my table and recall that dress you wore that night. And find myself asking why I can’t breathe when I think of you here that night when the stars went from red to blue? Knowing that we all tend to get lost at times as we try to find that lone prairie star,-
It’s the singer not the song who makes everything move along just like the dreamer and not the dream, as I think back to when we stood against the wall and the firing party’s bullets went over our head that day. And the kiss we shared knowing that anything we did that day could not fail or fall as we headed out, and being heroes in each others eyes if for only that moment in time and knowing we could beat the shadows too. But, now things are a bit harder and the blues seem to have landed and walked on through lately, and occasionally having me wake up with a blue moon in my eyes hoping that everything is not gone.

As the girl with the crimson nails drifts by asking if it’s time for another to have stand on file, as I hear a change in the music being played and the music flows like black velvet in a slow Southern style. That causes me to look at those scars I carry that the dark light of the sun wouldn't or couldn't heal, as well as see those finest silver threads slowly unwind in the web between my fingers that holds all I truly own. Finding myself looking up suddenly as the Madman addresses a strange arrival who has approached his perch at the bar; hearing him say during a pause in the music: “Son, it’s known we all carry blood on our hands from love.”,-
As the winds pick up outside signaling there is a storm riding in fast from the far horizon. About the time I hear some familiar chords being played from that one winter’s night as it happens so soon. And thinking I see a figure with dark hair dressed in jeans and a print top standing there swaying like I remember. The song I know will run long as she stands in front of me and that feeling of expectation shatters like glass. Sitting there watching her there in front of my table smiling with laughing eyes as she slowly sways to the words and music, as she enjoys a moment recaptured in the turning of the season of time as she moved again in mysterious ways.

As I hear the Madman say: “My friend you both need to go as you both need to find some light.” And heeding his last comment I square my tab with the girl with the crimson nails and take the magic dancer’s hand, and heading out into the night together to catch up on the time we spent apart once again.

Copyright January 2009 - 1: Timberwolf International LTD.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than storiesspace.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright Timberwolf International LTD. All rights reserved. Copyrighted and protected under the copyright laws of both The United States and of The United Kingdom. Under U. S. Code Title 17 § 204. No unauthorized duplication by any means including electronic, or copying may be allowed unless permission is asked for in writing and permission therefore granted by the author or copyright holder, or his/her agent. In writing and signed by the owner of the rights conveyed or such owner’s duly authorized agent. And duly witnessed by his or her representative or duly assigned agent. Under penalty of copyright infringement or intellectual property theft. All violators will be prosecuted.

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