To Get this Love Untied
By Le Clown.
I work a song away from home. Before I close the shop, I balance the cash registers, replenish the shelves, and arm the store alarm. I borrow Saint Catherine Street: stores are closed and their neon signs have no one to shine upon, but me. I pace myself. This time around, I will be home in three minutes and fifty-one seconds.
The night stands still—no rain, not warm, not cold, no moon. If it wasn’t for the fear of emptiness that keeps me revisiting yesterday, tonight would not shape itself into a memory. My feet are not touching the ground; yet, I am sinking down. I dread my living room, the fireplace, the Trainspotting poster, my dog, my cat, and the woman who shares my space. I will be home in three minutes and fifty-one seconds.
He swallows me deep inside. The night with a cold breeze in Maine when he held my hands on the golf club and helped me aim for the hole. The afternoon with the stench of nicotine in my room when he laid his head on my lap and apologized for hitting me. The morning with the dim light in the corner of the studio when he cried the death of Gilles Villeneuve. Three minutes and fifty-one seconds of retrospection turns tonight into a memory.
I insert the key in the door. My dog and my cat greet me. Mother sleeps. I feed more wood into the fireplace. I hit the play button, sit on the loveseat, and stare at Ewan McGregor on the green wall. For another three minutes and fifty-one seconds, I try to remove the hooks that I sunk deep in his side.
Inspired by Washing of the Water.
By Southern Fried Chicken in Vegas.
Sitting at my desk one day, barely working as I tended to do, my Pandora was streaming and I was most likely day dreaming – as I tend to do. Outwardly I was the happiest person I knew, but inwardly there was a change that was needed and I had no idea what that change was. There was something missing in my life.
It’s the intro that gets me every time. Peter Gabriel’s Solsbury Hill. It lifted my spirits, quite literally sent chills through my body, and made my heart feel like it could burst forth out of my chest without warning.
Climbing up on Solsbury Hill
I could see the city light
Wind was blowing, time stood still
Eagle flew out of the night
This song on that day spoke to me in a way that it never had, but life went on as usual until I met Michael. He brought me what I was missing. He was the change that I needed, though I had no idea how much.
He was something to observe
Came in close, I heard a voice
Standing stretching every nerve
Had to listen had no choice
I did not believe the information
Just had to trust imagination
On Halloween night, while kissing as we tended to do, my Pandora was streaming and I was most likely day dreaming – as I tend to do. And the intro began. We simultaneously parted lips, said “I love this song”, and sat quietly side by side until it was over. Listening. Absorbing. He lifted my spirits, quite literally sent chills through my body, and made my heart feel like it could burst forth out of my chest without warning.
My heart going boom boom boom
“Son,” he said “Grab your things, I’ve come to take you home.”
That night my song about change would become a song about love. Our song. I would play that song every day after that moment. The following year, I would put it on my phone and place it on my belly – playing it for our unborn child. I was home.
Inspired by Solsbury Hill.
Once a week, two bloggers, one artist, one post, 400 words: 400 RPM is a montage of memories and music.