Otis Redding poured more than Soul into his songs. He sang the conditions of sound and silence, of the South and the North, of broken hearts and recovering ones, of everything except the no-man’s-land between love and hate. Never was there indifference in his delivery. And it’s that auditory gamut of human emotion that makes his music endure as the soundtrack for a life lived and loved. His song is the bookend to your open-ended story played out on an internal stage.
“Tennessee Waltz”
Lights up on the stage of your hazy memories.
High-beams against fog swirling around images you have a hard time seeing, but that are so vivid you can almost taste them. A tapered ankle. An arched back. A girl. A Medusa-like quality to her gaze. A smile. A sob. An incongruous moment where stars were crossed and you had a girl, but not this one. She wasn’t yours, never was. Could have been, but never was. How many times she asked you, “What do you want from me?” and you didn’t have an answer. So you said, “Just a dance.”
“Security”
Lights up on the dance floor.
You’re the wallflower who prefers to observe the scene with one eye on a good time and one eye on the exit sign. In comes the girl and an air that both destroys you and rebuilds you to feel more yourself. She isn’t a stranger, but you never really saw her until now. The first kiss on the cheek tells you hello, the second tells you something more, and the third tells you… well, it’s on. You take her by the hand and lead her to the dance with the enthusiasm of a live band. She hesitates and you tell her you’ll take the consequences of your indiscretion well-done and with hot sauce, thank you very much. “What do you want from me?” she asks. And you say, “Feed me.”
“Cigarettes And Coffee”
Lights up at the diner and it’s 2 a.m. after the dance.
You’re together at a booth, bleary eyed and smiling. The harmony in conversation is as simple and symphonic as a wind and brass section six players deep. You have full-bodied laughs and light giggles over each other’s jokes for the night; the funny ones and the not-so-funny ones. She sighs and takes a sip. Her eyes fall to some unseen spot on the table and there’s a Medusa-like quality to her gaze, even when it’s not trained on you. She says “What do you want from me?” and for the first time you consider the question. “I don’t know,” you say. But it was a perfect moment that will become entwined with the fog of your memories. You could imagine a lot worse, but I can’t imagine much better.
![[avatar]](http://p.uproxxcdn.com/global/images/default-avatar.jpg){kind=avatar}
