4.23.2008

Summertime

Beth asked me about music that means something to me in my "plea for prompts", as I've taken to calling it. I think it'd be sort of boring of me to just tell you which songs I like, so I'll tell you a story about a song that means something to me, "Summertime," another song I sang in my senior recital. Thanks for the idea, Beth!


"It's so hot in here," I say as we make our way towards the door. I need some fresh air, and even though I know it's probably the same temperature outside, I just need to be away from all those people.
He grabs my hand as we step outside, and to my surprise I find I get goosebumps immediately. The air has gotten considerably cooler, and it's misting lightly.
"IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAYYYYY," a drunken reveler remarks as I round the corner of the house. I nod my head and laugh as she toasts me, drinking liberally in honor of my birth, or maybe just another Friday night.
"What's next on your list," he asks me, and the congregated group of friends outside the door awaits my reply. I hesitate, thinking of something to do and the rain picks up a little bit. He checks his watch and looks back at me.
"It's nearly one-thirty, you should probably start another one!" I nod, but my mind is blank.
"Sing on a street corner," I shout excitedly, remembering another one.
"What?"
"Number 78, I want to sing on the corner of a street!" Just then the cloud bursts and the rain falls in cold, thick sheets. He grabs my hand and pulls me back inside along with the rest of my friends, but as soon as he catches my eye, he stops. He can see how badly I want to do this.
"Your dress is white," he says with concern in his voice.
"I don't care."
"Me either," he says, practically pulling me back out the door by my hand. My perfectly-done hair is soaked, and I can taste the mascara on my lips as it runs down my face. He wraps his arms around me underneath the stop sign, and presses his forehead against mine.
"Summertime, and the living is easy; fish are jumpin', and the cotton is high..." The rain falls softly down on us, chilling every cell of my body.
"Well your daddy's rich, and your ma is good lookin'; so hush, little baby, don't you cry." He puts his hand behind my neck, pulling my lips to his so they touch lightly.
"One of these mornin's, you gonna rise up singin'; then you'll spread your wings, and you'll take the sky..." Every note vibrates against his lips as he pulls me closer still. The rain splashes on our lips and runs into our mouths lazily.
"But 'till that mornin', there's a'nothin' can harm you with daddy and mommy standin' by."
It's silent, save the rain making little noises as the droplets explode. Goosebumps make their way up my legs, and I'm not sure if it's from the rain or from his eyes staring back at mine.
"I, uh...I must look terrible," I say, breaking the silence awkwardly, "My hair is a mess and my make-up is everywhere."
"Who the hell cares about that? You're beautiful." He wipes the mascara off my face softly.
"I'd rather have just done that than look hot, anyway," I say laughing.
"And I'm so glad for that."
It's silent again, and he kisses me gently as a car waits its turn at the intersection.
Returning to the party, I realize that it could have ended at that moment, and I would have gone home happy.
"I CAN SEE THROUGH YOUR DRESS!"
"Thank you, I know," I say passively as I ignore the random partier with the beers taped to his hands.
My lips still tingle from the reverberation, and the taste of rainwater and mascara mixes on my tongue.

So hush, little baby, don't you cry.

3 comments:

Lucian said...

Uhhh yeah. Beers taped to his hands? And who exactly is THAT referring to? 40 HANDS!!!! (except there were no 40's that night...)

AnniforsciA said...

Yeah, Sam, I totally noticed the edit too, hehe.

<3Anni

Scott said...

Hmmm... how new of a development is the boyfriend? You should write more about that. He sounds very romantic.

I'm not familiar with that version of Summertime. My favorite version was done by Will Smith. Do you rap? Did you know that in the summer girls go to basketball courts?

Speaking of . . . I think I might go to the liquor store to pick up some bum wine to toast your birth a month or so late.