Soundtracks

Monsoon Midmornings
By Michael Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
Soundtracks

It was thirty minutes to three in the morning. The rains had stopped hours ago, but the air was still damp with moisture and the asphalt roads were still soaked. The skies had opened up with full fury earlier in the evening causing horrible traffic jams and a couple or more accidents. I almost thought I would not be able to reach Ivy today. Time, fate and chance had granted a reprieve. I have been hugging her for the past five hours.

The evening had been fine. We are both tortured souls to begin with, and laughter is not a daily luxury. Well laughter is easy. What I am talking about here is the laughter that comes when you eyes laugh as well. We both are the toast of the common circles we have. We drive people of the wall with mock meanness, idiosyncrasies, and our penchant for doing the unexpected. Which prevents most folks around us from looking at our eyes and seeing what’s there. Come to think of it, few take the time to.

Conversation was sporadic, mainly from me needing a lot of shut-eye and feeling like whenever I am with her, I have just arrived from a very taxing journey. I was also feeling a bit awkward. Up to now, I haven’t really adjusted to having Ivy this close to me. We were sitting across each other, when I decided to break this fear. Although these would be another story, suffice to say that we ended up with her almost catatonic from a lengthy foot rub session.

We had popped our head out about five minutes ago. The coast was clear, and the hunger pangs were becoming irresistible. We took the car out for a food run and went to one of Ivy’s favorite low cost haunts.

The place was bustling considering the weather and we took our usual seats on the right side of the establishment. We were both famished and pigged out, talking animatedly while our mouths were full. We do not need the intricate social dances and masks when we’re together. Then suddenly she stops, mouth agape and eyes twinkling with mischief. My breath holds, expecting the worst. She stares at me, slowly forming a smile. I get what she’s driving at and lose my focus on her. The song! It was a sappy local song bout a granny telling her grand daughter she got screws loose because she’s in love with a guy who doesn’t look good and is poor to boot.

I look back at her with questioning eyes, and she can’t help it anymore. She breaks out in gales of laughter, “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Honey she’s singing about you.” There was kindness in her eyes and mischief as well. “Honey you ought to have your hair cut. I didn’t notice it earlier, but you look like a pineapple.” I was smiling sheepishly, a bit embarrassed as we were attracting everyone’s attention. Her laughter dropped down to a wide grin as she fought to control herself, when the song got to the chorus again. She glanced at me, and couldn’t hold it, now with the “I’m so sorry honey!” mixed in between breaths.

She rarely laughed this way, with her eyes lighting up the way it did. I may have fueled it with the way I looked, because every time she’d look at me, the peals would start again. We finally stood up and walked to the car, when another song came in, this one about a guy who kept running from the woman, only to go back begging on bended knees because she was the love of his life. I could hear her braying from inside the car as I proceeded to walk to my door on the other side. Oh brother, this was so damn mortifying. But honestly, if it was just to hear her laugh? It would be ok to dangle.