The band’s setting up but I only see her. I’ve never met her before. She stands in front of the stage wearing a red sweater, one that probably belongs to her grandmother. The girl beside her is wearing the trends of the moment. The trendy girl will become outdated, but the red sweater girl is timeless. The band’s ready to play and the crowd is ready to listen, but I’m not ready. I want to freeze time and ask red sweater girl to dance. I can’t dance, but I bet she can’t dance either, so maybe it could work. We begin the first song and the crowd cheers like there are a million people. There are twenty. I only see one though. She hides behind her bangs, but when she sways her head I can see her eyes. I don’t know what color they are but they must be beautiful because I can’t look away. The floor is vibrating. I wonder if she can feel it. Can heart beats travel through the floor? My heart’s racing, to the beat of the music and the rhythm of the night and the tune a red sweater makes. She is singing my lyrics. I capture them and sing them back to her. I hope she dances in the rain, and sings herself awake. She smiles at her friends, a quiet smile with a dimple. God, she has a dimple. The trendy girl is screaming my name but it sounds like the word garbage. Maybe because red sweater girl is so pretty. She’s so pretty. I want to write her a song, only for her ears. I want to kiss her and feel the quiet smile against my lips. She bounces from foot to foot. Does she read on sunny days? I hope she does. I like red sweaters. I want to eat ice cream cones with her. Our last song begins but I hardly notice because I fall in love with red sweater girl. I tell the crowd thank you for coming out. She whispers your welcome and I know for sure heart beats can travel through the floor because I hear hers as it beats in tandem with mine. I know red sweater girl loves me too.
In Rap It’s Called Sex, But I Wanna Call It Love
January 30, 2010