Page 27 of Going Down


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“’Cause they’re not on my back all the time. They don’t complain all the time about what I’m doing, and trying to tell me how best to spend my time.”

“Then she’s right,” Linda said and looked at her watch. “Gotta be off, babe; but we’ll talk about this tomorrow. The last thing I need is for you guys to break up and you start chasing women.” Linda looked around and kissed me lightly on the lips. “You talk to Carmen and try to work things out,” she said, grabbing her purse and heading for the door.

Not taking Linda’s advice, I did what I planned on doing with my evening. I went to a club, sat down at the bar, and ordered a drink. I was halfway through my drink when my cell ring. I looked at the display; of course it was Carmen. I didn’t answer. Two minutes later I had a text message from her. I ordered another drink and read her long message. It was nothing new. More of the same thing we’d been arguing about, which gave me very little incentive to call her back.

By the time I finished my drink, the band was tuning up, getting ready to play their first set. I love live music. One of my unfulfilled dreams was to play in a band again. I used to play trumpet in a little jazz band when I was in the army. I was pretty good those days. But I barely pick up my horn since I got out.

The band was jamming when I looked up and saw a very pretty woman come in the club. I watched her cross the floor. She was beautiful; the way she seemed to glide effortlessly across the floor. Then as luck would have it, she came and sat down at the bar next to me.

We made eye contact briefly when she sat down. I tried my best not to stare at her and tried to focus my attention on the band. She signaled for the bartender, and shortly thereafter, he brought her a drink. While she sipped her drink, I watched out the corner of my eye as she tapped her fingers on the bar and kept her head rocking to the beat. When the song ended, she clapped like it was the greatest piece of music she had ever heard. They were good, but they weren’t all that. Or maybe it was just me being a hater.

When the band kicked off the third song of their set, the beauty ta

pped me on the shoulder. “Excuse me. How long have they been on?”

“This is their third song,” I said.

“Good, then I haven’t missed much. I came here just to hear them play. I’ve heard a lot about them.”

“Me, too. A couple of my friends told me that they were really good, so I came to check them out.”

“So, what do you think?”

I was tempted to say that I think you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of being this close to. “They are pretty good.”

“I think so too,” she said, and I noticed that she was almost finished with her drink. I looked at my glass; it was just about empty. I signaled for the bartender.

“Ready for another?” he asked.

“Yes. And one for the beautiful lady,” I said, and held up my glass like I was proposing a toast to her.

“Well, thank you, sir. For the compliment and the drink,” she replied and held up her glass to me.

“Tavarus,” I said and extended my hand.

“Tyhedra Crawford,” the beauty said and accepted my hand. Her hands were warm, and I looked in her eyes and tried to think of something clever to say, other than you are so beautiful.

She saved me the trouble. “I love live jazz,” Tyhedra said, moving her body to the rhythm. “It’s like I feel it in my soul.”

“I know what you mean. I can feel it too. Music is a part of me.”

“You play?”

“I used to play a little trumpet.”

“Used to?”

“Used to.”

“What does that mean? Either you play or you don’t. Which is it?”

“Then I’m afraid to say that I don’t play anymore.”

“And why is that?”

“I don’t know, just got busy with work. I was just thinking that I haven’t picked up my horn in years, but would love to play in a band again.”

“Then why don’t you?”

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