Blue in Green by Miles Davis

It was a chilly fall evening, the perfect kind of night where a person might throw a hooded sweatshirt on over the jeans and T-shirt that were comfortable during the warmer day.

She said there quietly, gazing at the patterns in the block hardwood that was resonating the sound through out the flat, as the turntable played those notes, sounding so perfect and clear in the nearly empty old house. It was one of those once beautiful "historic district" area homes in a city that was now overrun by violence and corrupt by cynicism. Still there were some beautiful souls who still lingered there, and she was in the company of those strong artistic types.

And though didn't she know it, they were helping to shape her.

She had listened to this album before with her grandparents as a young girl, but she couldn't really exactly place or remember the songs. However, they were just so familiar.  Like the taste of Johnny Walker Blue label on the lips of her lover, the songs enticed her in a way, but also had a strange comfort. There was a kind of assuagement that came with the hazy memory of that alcohol smell. It had been Grandpa's favorite and his skin was always faintly permeated with the sweet, harsh scotch whiskey mash.

This record had a similar juxtaposition of something that was both a little dangerous, but was full of just enough comforting elements to make it okay. She sat on the floor of her boyfriend's room, completely enthralled in the music, thumbing through his artwork, the books that were strewn all around, all while taking in the smell of crisp air filtered with softly falling leaves though the open window.

Just then she looked up to see him returning, her hypnosis partially broken, but more so simply redirected upon him. He would have been achingly handsome if not for the goofy grin that never took more than a few moments to surface upon his lips, and a voice that teetered on that of a Looney Tunes character. She loved him madly, as all seventeen year old girls loved their first physically manifested "love".  However,  there was more to their relationship than that;  she had become close with his small group of friends, local indie rock dudes who would later cycle through and make appearances all throughout her life. All she knew now was that these new friends offered older, more established pallets and were just what she wanted and needed. New books, movies, and music; more local events. Art galleries. Live shows.

All of these things, as well as this one perfect evening that was unfolding between them were leading up to the crescendo.  There had been just the right combination of booze, familiar comforts, and of course;  Miles Davis, that lead her to her release. With her shining, dark eyes dimly illuminated, he moved his hands around her waist and gentled lifted her up off the cool, polished, laminate pine and onto his bed, just as the music became even more amplified.

Afterward the record continued and reflected the perfection of the way it had all aligned. She lay there contented, thinking of nothing at all outside of the beauty in the notes, and all she was surrounded with.

Things ended badly, of course, as they almost always do; but she never quite forgot that night, or a number of other things that she would be forever be grateful to him for. Through the years and anger subsided and she held on only to the good memories.