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Alexander Gabriel Gray
Eighteen /\ Comp Sci Major /\ Black Belt /\Dreamer [/center]
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She played music, to express the mood.  He felt he understood what she was trying to do, though he didn’t know the songs.  He strained to understand the lyrics, but it was something he had never been good at.  Music and vocals, they always seemed to blur for him, the voice becoming just another instrument, and sometimes, his mind had difficulty picking it out from the melodies, the actual instruments of strings, and wood, and brass.  This was her method of communication, her way of saying what it was she couldn’t put into words, or so he viewed the music.  So he chose to read into it. 

It made sense to him.  Music was such a part of her life, such a part of who she was, that communication through music was perhaps as potent and powerful as the real thing.  He was thinking of a way to answer, even as she stared at him, sipping her water, as though waiting for some response.  He was investing in the message, listening to the lyrics, trying to find out just what to say in retort.   In the moment, he felt inferior, incapable of this level of communication.  Everything felt like it didn’t quite add up.  Songs popped into his mind, the words, what he had moments before considered beautiful and touching, fell flat of what he wanted to say, what he couldn’t bring himself to say.  She was hurt, it was plain, there in the music, there in the color of her eyes, in the way they danced shyly away, the way she resisted him, treated him with anger, cold detachment.  It was years of hurt, festering.  The exact thing he had been afraid of all those nights lying awake, wishing he had the ability to take back those words, wishing he had the courage to write her a letter.  

Finally, he just stared at her, letting his mind clear, letting go of his expectations for this meeting, letting go of what he wants, what he hopes, what he demands of himself, and lets the music fall into his mind.  It was a game he remembered them playing during childhood, what song does this remind you of.  Music had been so long a part of their lives, this just felt right, somehow.   “I got it,” He spoke, a soft whispered voice, as he gestured for a minute’s patience, and following her lead, stood up from the table,  moved to the mp3 jukebox.  The library was expansive, but thankfully alphabetized.  He selected the artist, the track, and returned to the table after depositing his money.  

“Did you have a busy day?” He inquired, as the acoustic guitar started to strum.  The Civil War’s Poison and Wine was the song that came to mind, and odd song.  It always seemed to be about pride getting in the way of truth for him.  “I taught a couple of classes at the Dojo, picked up my books at the library. “  He offered, the music carrying the bulk of the conversation, while the small talk, an attempt to break the tension,  to let the words linger, the souls breathe each other, while doing something other than staring.  “It’s about pride,” He offered, the song’s lyrics leaving him feeling somewhat unsure of his message, “at least, that’s how I see it.  My biggest fault was my pride.  It got in my way.”
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