Danny woke up from a Nyquil-induced nap and began singing a song he'd dreamt. Joanne McGraw, the girl he'd kissed when he was twelve, troubled his mind and he felt the lyrics shift into place:She had eyes that burned like the blue flame on the stove
And a nose that twitched like a mouse
Her hair was the color of the paneling
In the basement of my parents' old house
And it gave me the chills when her tongue hit my teeth
And her hand touched the tip of my spine
I'm not sure whose gum ended up in her hair
But I think it was probably mine
The tune came out like a sea shanty and Danny rubbed his eyes to erase an image. Joanne as an adult, a mother with children, mangled in a car accident on 95. Or strung out, never married, no kids, having hooked for so long she was a worn out shell, survival instincts at a minimum.
He stood in the shower and let hot water beat a soft message into his head: A paralegal in White Plains, counting days until retirement and wishing she hadn't had the tuna melt for lunch.
Watercolor - Morning Blast #5 by Gary Riggin
