Then I recall a quote that was hanging on the wall of my private flute professor’s wall in her studio at Northwestern.
It’s a quote from Leonard Bernstein—he’s best known as the composer ofWest Side Story, but he was also a famous symphonic conductor.I have several recordings of his on vinyl.
The words were initially spoken in reaction to the JFK assassination.People in my community repeat them often in the face of senseless tragedy.
“This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before.”
May is gone.Nothing can bring her back.
We’re doing everything we can to see that justice is served for her.
But Maddox and I are alive.Air still fills our lungs, blood our veins.
I can still enjoy beautiful music while holding onto the arm of a beautiful man.
I double-check my hospital schedule on my calendar app, and I’m free.I pencil in the seven thirty start time for the symphony, and then text Maddox back.
I’m in.
13
MADDOX
Going three days without Alissa was like being stabbed repeatedly with a dull knife.All I could think about was her.Seeing her.Touching her.Fucking her.
No news from Bill, either.He’s taking his sweet-ass time.
I opened the haberdashery Tuesday and Wednesday, operated under normal business hours.
Each night at closing, I remembered when Alissa and I hooked up here, when I fucked her on the counter.How she crouched behind the counter, completely naked, as a customer came in.
How she ran her fingers up my ankle while I was ringing him up.How I wished she could unbuckle my pants, pull them down, and blow me right then and there.
And I’m hard again.
Fuck.
I thought about texting her.Inviting her over for a drink.
But we all know what a drink would lead to.
And as much as I want nothing more than to get back inside her sweet pussy—and maybe even her ass—I wanted to wait until Thursday.Exercise a modicum of restraint so that the payoff would be all the more rewarding.
I’ve even abstained from jerking since Monday.I want to save it all for her.
It’s been hard—no pun intended—because every time I think of her, my dick swells quickly.
It’s not even sexual.I mean, I love the thought of her naked, but just thinking of her laugh, her voice, that accent.That turns me on just as much as the thought of her tits and ass.
Shit, have I got it bad.
Maybe the symphony tonight will give me the courage to express my feelings for her.
If there’s anything I’ve learned from the events of Sunday night, it’s that life is short.Any of us could meet our maker at any time.
We’ve got to make the most with whatever precious time we’re given.
My phone rings from behind the counter of the shop.I race toward it.It could be Alissa.Or news from Bill.
