As If She Mean It
by Olwyn Supeene, continued.
I don’t own a car. Jocelyn’s is twenty-five minutes away from my apartment on foot, and except in the winter when it’s really cold and snowing, I like the walk at the end of the night. It gives me time to decompress. Even on a good night, it’s nice to have some breathing space between the stage and my bed.
Tonight was a good night. As I start home in the muggy wee hours, I still feel the exhilaration, the leftover adrenaline of a great show. It makes it easier to think about the negative underneath all this positive: despite tonight, my decision is made. I gave it another shot. I tried. It was a good week, on the whole, but all I’ve really done is temporarily reanimate a dead horse.
I told Jocelyn before I left. She was a bit surprised, but less so than I thought she might be. I think my music choices throughout the week probably tipped her off that something was up. She took it well. And she’s got two weeks to find a replacement.
I’ve got two weeks to find a replacement.
I have no idea where to look.
Fortunately, I don’t have to start looking right this instant. I’m only halfway home and there’s a thick little breeze trying to push the moisture around, and I’m still coming down from the performance high. The fedora-wearing ex-trumpet player actually tipped his hat to me before he left tonight, and the fact that he knows made that one gesture worth more than all the applause put together.
I hear a faint rumble off to the south; the storm’s gearing up. I hurry a little the rest of the way home. By the time I get there the breeze has freshened up a bit, cooled down just a hair. I make it upstairs just in time to see the storm break.
I almost want to go back outside. Instead, I open my bedroom window, thankful for the awning over it, and slip out of my trousers and blouse and into the giant T-shirt I sleep in. The wind’s picked up, enough that the floor under the window’s getting sprinkled, so I throw down a towel before getting into bed. I don’t expect to fall asleep any time soon. I watch the lightning for a while, curled up in my bed, breathing the fresh cool air and, unavoidably, thinking about my next step. I feel oddly serene about it, as though part of me knows something it isn’t telling the rest. Somehow, I’m not concerned about the future. I’ve made the right decision.
Copyright Olwyn Supeene, 2010.
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