Chris Miller

Blues


     "Look at me!  Fresh shined up shoes, brand spanking new Jamison and Brothers pin striped suit, and this nice red bow tie,  ohhh, yea."
     Ray adjusted that tie just right.
     "I'm a gonna go over to miss Jessica's house and have a talk and a walk with that daisy in a watermelon patch.  She's been letting me smell that fresh keylime pie just a little too long without letting me have bite.  From now on, I am walking tall."
     Ray walked on down the road, past the goat pen and over the plank bridge.  He whistled high and low, his hands pushing his suspenders out now and then.  His grin stretched from sea to shining sea.  His freckles beamed out their own satisfaction.  He was, after all, a happening man.
     A small four legged waggly tailed floppy eared spotted dog stumbled out of the brush, and recovering his four left feet,  padded them right along beside Ray.
     "Why hello there, what's your name?  Is it Fido, Spot?  Cat got your tongue?  Well, mine is Ray, Ray Golden.  You want to know something?  I am going up yonder to Miss Jessica Dolittle's house.  You might have seen her before.  Let me describe her:  She has got the blondest hair with curls that just want to wrap you up that goes from here to forever.  When she smiles, it is like heaven's opening its gates and when she speaks... You know what little fella?  When she speaks, it is the angels of the almighty God singing in all their glory.  You know what else? Tonight is the big night.  It is the night of the century.  Check you pocket watch, write down this time and date for history.   Because, of course, I, Ray Golden, am escorting young beautiful Miss Jessica Dolittle to the Clark county's best, Midsummer Social.  You could bet those two floppy ears of yours that tonight is my lucky night."
     Ray walked on.  Presently, he came to look up the hill that had the orchard which contained a path that led to the gate which when opened, permitted one to walk up the red and white front steps of young beautiful Miss Dolittle's house to the dusty blue door with a brass knocker.  She lived with her parents.  Ray walked through the apple orchard on the dusty path surrounded by the summer grass that led up to the wrought iron gate.  There was a silver bell hanging from a post by the gait.  Jessica had said they got it for last Christmas.  He jingled.  
     "Hello.  Hello I say.  Miss Dolittle?  Can you hear me?"
     "Oh, Ray.  Hello, come on in!  You know better than to think you need permission.  You don't need to ring the bell and wait outside."
     "Oh sweet heaven on earth, she bids me welcome."  
     "Ray, don't be silly. get you on in here.  Come say hi to ma and pa."
Ray opened the gate and stepped forth into the rich garden.  On his left, yellow corn grew topped by creamy silk.  The tomatoes were just beginning to turn red.
     "Hello young man."
     "Hello sir."
     "I've heard from my daughter that you took your first trip to the city this past weekend."
     "Yes I did sir."
     "Well, how was it?"
     "It was so wonderful.  The buildings are so tall, and the people, all dressed up in the best
finery you have ever seen, and that was for everyday living!  I just couldn't believe my eyes.  I could look to my left, or right, and see more than I have ever seen before.  And that was just my eyes.  That Monday, I was talking a night stroll past the lit up shop windows, and I heard music. I heard my music.  It reached down into my soul and warmed me to my very core.  They called it "blues".
     Miss Dolittle came down the stairs and walked into the room.   
     "I went in this a bar and there was a man sitting in front of a piano.  Sweat dripped from his brow.  His sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  His hair tussled.  There was so many people just sitting and listening.  I sat down too.  I sat there for three hours.  By then all the people had left but me, the proprietor, and the piano player.  The pianist finished his last tune.  His hands fell to the bench.  He was looking wistfully at the picture that hung above the piano, but then his eyes were closed.  Ever stare at a photograph for more than ten minutes?  I was doing that, and starting to get bored.  But then he spoke out.  He asked me what I thought.  I told him that he could play the piano like no other person created by God.  He was beyond all comparison.  He asked me if I ever heard of some guy named Scott Joplin.  I hadn't heard of the guy.  Somehow he had guessed it was one of my first trips to the city, and, well from there we talked for a while. His name is Joel.  He is new in town, and is looking for something to do.  I told him about what we were doing, and now he is coming to the dance tonight.  Isn't that great?  He is gonna catch the 8:00 in from there.  I am so excited to talk some more with..."
     "Sounds great Ray.  Hey, we might be late if we don't get going soon.  The sun is starting to get low.  Let's go."  
     "OK, OK, anything you wish, my dearest swirl of vanilla frosting that goes so well on chocolate cake.  
     And so the two young bloomers strolled out of the Colonial, or maybe not so Colonial home.  On the upper floor, the red sun reflected in a rectangular window.  The blue bars on the window pulled opposite corners together, crossing in the middle.  If you looked carefully, you could have seen the white stars on them bars.  
     "You know missy, those red tomatoes are pretty much ripe and ready."  
     "Ray, those are pa's special tomatoes.  They might look ready to eat right now, but they are not.  They should be let out in the sun for at least two more weeks."  
     "That takes alot of patience, don't it Miss Jessica?  If I had to look at those tomatoes all day, I could hardly resist grabbing one, slicing it, and eating it all up."  
     "You wouldn't like what is inside that tomato Ray.  The skin looks good, but it just isn't ready on the inside.  They are probably green in the center yet."
     "I could only imagine."
     The conversation floated from vegetables to oak trees, mayflies to pears, apples to bananas, and for some odd reason, muskrats.  The two post young children walked down the lane, over the bridge, and in to town.  Here we see a gala of lights: red, blue, white,  and some green.  Red and white striped tents regimented the town square.  Ray saw it all and spoke one word.
     "Paradise."
     "Come on Ray, lets go find your friend."
     The hustle and bustle swelled from the ground and burst onto the scene.  Cash and prizes. Aired up confetti takes its time coming down.   A trombone cried its sad song while the band played along.
     "Well Joel", Jessica leaned the small of her back against the railing.  "What do you think of small town life?"
     "I have to say that it is not as exiting as the big city, but here and there, there certainly are some advantages."
     "You know, we've been talking and having a grand time all night. Now that Ray is off getting food, I can actually ask you a question or two."
     "Shoot."
     "Where did you grow up?"
     "Oh, I was born and raised in south Harlem.  That's where I started out taking piano lessons from my mother."
     "Oh, that is sweet."  
         "Do you here this song?  It is going to be an American classic.  It's fabulous.  Shall we go dance?"
     "Oh, Yes.  Ray won't mind, he is always so happy."
     "He is, isn't he."
     The two promenaded across the floor.  The song ended, and another came on. Meanwhile, Ray had come back to where the others had been standing.  His eyes searched for his friends.  He looked, but he didn't see them, so he started to walk around the outside of the dance floor.  The band had stopped, and started again.  In circumstances of danger, wild animals become more alert of reality.  The two corners of his mouth fell from their grace.  He found a crate to stand on, and his head, perched on his shoulders, assumed a greater height.
     His eyes beheld the scene of cold blue metal.  In the middle of the dance floor, some men were replacing some makeshift wooden structure with a solid blue post.  The strong metal post held up the peak of the red and white striped tent, in all its glory.

Go to Fiction Writing Workshop Index

Go to Archives Page