Friday, March 2, 2012

Thursday's with Carolyn & the Smokey Special

Dim lighting and a smokey feel without the smell. The voice of the singer, Carolyn, wraps around me as I stand in the doorway. "Give me one reason to stay here..." Groups of friends crowded around tables filled with amber glasses and dancing ice. Laughter erupts, and smiles grace the faces of those around me.

Chatter overlaps and wraps around and changes and morphs like small waves, moving, with the flow of our chorused voices. "Come together, right now, over me..."

We talk, we sing, bursts of laughter at the crescendo of our conversation punctuate our sentences. Small talk, big talk, serious talk, all mingled at one table where new friends, old friends, and family sit together. " "You say one love, one life...." 

"What did that mean?"       "Another mojito?"      "Pictures!"      "We had a presentation today, last minute."   "I do translations."             "These are super good."      "She made me this light Cosmo."

    "I teach French."          "What's another ghost story?"            "I'm going to Scottsdale this weekend"
 "Remember you'd get a grilled cheese?"          "This is so good."         "What do you think?"

             "I like this place. Her voice is so good."                          "Is Sarah coming?"

"Don't forget to buy the coupon!"           "And, her hair it just got bigger and bigger."          "Another?" "Aye, aye I love this song."           "Do you want me to text my hairdresser?"          

   "I want to get
another tattoo, with those vintage mics on my chest."                "A good Bourbon with ginger ale, yeah."    

"Hi!"   "Red wine?"                "I love your necklace."             "We're going to see Cheryl for the rings tomorrow."         "Have you heard anything from him?"         "My car has this scratch, down the side"                

The warm feeling of organized chaos. It's Thursday night at Mr. A's. The band keeps playing their smokey sounds. We keep laughing our laughy sounds till the very end. We each want to know what the friendly blonde bartender dubbed us as on our receipts as we pay, "Cute short pixie cut"  "Shirty" "White".

As we walk out half the band leaves, waving, laughing at the banter, half stays. We stand outside in the crisp El Paso air, still giggling, debating where to move on to, but unwilling to decide. There is a certainty though, as we depart, as a voice echos out across the tall downtown buildings, "See you next Thursday?"

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