Flamenco Sketches: Her Convolution

It's been raining. But somehow that is okay with me for a change, despite the catastrophe my natural unprocessed hair is destined to become. I felt brightness in the tones of warmth from his voice. He knows when I need to hear it most, and he calls without warning during my dark times. Told me he prayed for me this morning on his way to work. It ain't at all ironic that I did the same for him. The gray above my convertible parts and separates for me while I drive, pieces of blue falling down to me like little presents. He is still talking on speaker. I think to myself "I miss him" a billion times rapid fire, I can barely hear his voice now for the screaming of my own thoughts. Because, really, I do miss him. As I pass, the blue becomes gray again. It is only blue where I am. It's a 15 minute drive to work, but I'm dragging it out to 25. I don't want to get out yet, it's cold outside, dammit... I'm not ready to relinquish the sunshine that is only obvious to me and my leather interior, threatening to dry and crack it with the heat and shine of my smile in spite of the Armor All I labored and slathered on it in excess last weekend... his sunshine smile, thats what he tells people about me. That's my sunshine, he says. And I just smile and bury my head in his side so people wont see me looking so damned stupid. I'm thinking of all these things as I pull into the parking lot, as I'm sitting in my car refusing to get out, as I'm making myself late for work even though I'm only a few feet away from the door, I don't want to hand my happiness over quite yet. I'm not ready. Baby, don't you have to go to work now? So damned proper, thats what I get for fuckin with a teacher, his english doesn't falter even when he curses, which he only does at the sight of me standing before him in less than I choose to speak on. Makes me feel good to hear those words come out of his mouth... all out of character for him... mine is the ability to shake him offa that proper pedestal he's standing on, bring him back down to the hood where it doesn't matter if you say ain't or shit or gotdamn... Yeah baby, I guess I'd better go inside. Blowing me kisses over the phone, telling me to have a good day and he'll be thinking of me... I laugh audibly and tell him not to kick any of those kids' asses even though they need it, tell him I'm gonna see him tonight come hell or high water, although I'm looking out my window and I'm thinking the high water might meet me first... I get out. I run to the door avoiding the water drops threatening the immaculate press and curl I've donned for the past few months, the post-straw-set era. Grown ass woman era. I come inside. I sit at my desk. The music stops. And I miss him. Now I work.