by Claude Jones
She pulled the stylish, rim free glasses from her face, dropped them into her purse, then opened the smudged glass door of the Club Knight and walked into a world wholly different from the dullness of suburban life and the sought security of conformity. The eight steps she strode to the square cut, Formica covered bar to order the Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer, propelled Katy to another lifestyle. As the bartender twisted open the long neck bottle and the white foam rushed to the rolled brown lip of the bottle, her mouth watered, not for the taste of the PBR but for the taste of freedom.
As she breathed in deeply, a zest, a tingle, an essence trailed the smoky, dank air of the bar into her lungs and flowed into her abdomen, manifesting itself in a relief, a relief that brought peace. She held the breath, clinging to the peace, feeling redeemed, as when she had walked in measured steps to be saved by grace at the altar designated “In Remembrance of Me.”
Her lips curled into a smile, she wished for a camera. The coldness of the beer being swallowed re-ignited the zest she had felt; this time her arms tingled and she heard the music from the stage.
Four young men in jeans, boots and Dwight Yokum hats began a fast dance tune; her foot began to pat in time to the beat.
She almost pulled her glasses from her purse in order to be a better observer, but resisted and closed the snap on her purse.
They retired to a small table in a corner. They talked of ideas and feelings while eating hamburgers, no onion. The crowd at Club Knight grew, raising the noise level and invading their privacy. They rose as one, without speaking or signal and made their way to the door. He took his hat from among the many on the rack but did not put it on, rather carried it by his side.
She retrieved the small overnight bag from her Grand Cherokee and locked the vehicle. He unlocked and opened the door of his pickup for her to enter. He threw his hat behind the seat, sat behind the wheel, reached out and took her hand and they kissed. They kissed not a kiss of passion, but a kiss with passion. They looked into one another’s eyes, seeing the love they felt reflected. The dim light of the parking lot was not the catalyst of the light each saw in the other’s eyes; rather, the glow of the warmth of love was the activator.
They pulled onto the highway in light traffic, then made the familiar turn down the dark gravel road toward his duck hunting camp house. The shrill ring of his cell phone hanging from the sun visor shattered the silence and peace. The flashing of the light of the face of the cell phone as it rang seemed to illumine the cab of the truck without casting shadows.
He answered, slightly turning his head away from her as he put the phone to his ear. “Yes, I’m fine, almost to the duck camp. I love you too, sweetheart.” He softly said, “Yes, just a minute.”
“Maybe, we will see you about lunch tomorrow. Mom and Dad love you.”
She reached into her purse, removed her glasses . . . and put them on.
Claude Jones writes:
"I have lived all my life in Pontotoc, Mississippi -- raised on a farm where we milked cows, raised cotton, corn, and had a peach orchard. I've worked for Pontototc Electric Power for 31 years. My wife Ann and I have two sons, both are pharmacists, and we have two grandchildren."
Who Has The Edge?
Two Poems - II
Young Dreams and Old Realities
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