Monday, June 13, 2016

Chaos and Lyrics, K. Comber

You Are Here
by Katy Comber

Lila took the money and ran. Left the wedding ring on the table and ran. Purple streaks marked a setting sun and freedom as the hairs on Lila’s head lifted up and out the window.

Pink bears declaring True Love swung on the rearview mirror. They danced as Lila cranked up an invitation for a Moondance and it was, indeed, a marvelous night.

Where are you?

Gilly asked the question. Lila, now Lucy, counted the money in her cash drawer. Her mouth moved as she counted and Gilly thought something about Lucy was off. Lucy held up a finger. It said Just a Minute. The other finger pouted, wanting to speak its mind.  

What do you mean?

You seem out of it.

Lucy looked down at her nametag. I am Lucy. I am at work. She looked at the bills in her hand. This is money. Lucy’s eyes scanned the room. I am here. I am at work. This is money. That is Gilly. Those things squinting at me are eyes. That color is hazel. That look is suspicious. I am here. This is work. I am at work. My name is Lila, but I go by Lucy. Stapler. Trash can. Soda machine. Computer. Client.

Welcome. How may I help you?

Lila Lucy blinked. People observed her. Where did I go? The bow in Lila Lucy’s hand trembled. One missed note. That is sheet music. This is a cello. Fingers are on strings. That is the note you missed. There’s the note you play… wait. Now. The people observing did not catch the beat missed. Purple streaks marked a setting sun and freedom as the hairs on LIla’s head lifted up and out the window. Lila took the money and ran. Left the wedding ring on the table and ran. The cello sang along. The notes were right. The emotion was wrong. Purple streaks in the sky. I am here. I am playing. I am here. This is a cello. This is a bow. These are my hands. I am here. Here.

Lucy blinked. A little girl with mischievous blue sparklers where eyes should be and a bridge of freckles on her nose snuggled into Lucy’s lap. This is a book. Pictures. Those are letters. Put them together. This is your daughter. She is your world.

Grandma. Grandma? Grandma! Read to me. This is a book. Pictures. Those are letters. Put them together to make a sound. Purple streaks, setting sun, the hairs on LIla’s head lifted up and out the window, took the money and ran, left the wedding ring on the table and ran, and the cello sang along.

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