as long as nothing happens between them, the memory is cursed with what hasn’t happened. Marguerite Duras, Blue Eyes, Black Hair
Maya strutted across the damp and broken sidewalk. Her heels clicked with every step, and drops of charcoal colored water splashed like light rain. Up ahead was an amber light falling on hazy heads and shoulders. Maya hurried a little faster toward the light. The bouncer by the door seemed like one of those monsters in a fantasy movie. He dwarfed the patrons waiting to go inside. The beast of a man stared with large, shark-like black eyes in their faces, looking for the glaze of drugs or drunkenness.
When it was Maya’s turn, he looked her up and down. She could tell this was for his pleasure, and she tried to look friendly and a little mysterious, but Gods below, he was ugly and brutish. His thick fingers, tipped with cigarette stains, held her ID, but his eyes were fixed on her. She shuddered at the thought of what he could do to her if he wanted.
“Go ahead, Miss Cortez.”
At least he looked at her name. “Thank you,” she replied as she tried to adjust to the scattered light in the bar.
A table in a corner formed by a half wall obstructed the view of the stage. It was always open. It was there for privacy more than a view. The band played whiskey blues, and she instantly fell into a somber and reflective mood. When the waitress came by, she ordered a Long Island iced tea and settled back in her chair to let the music take her away.
“Time slips away when the blues get inside your head,” Maya said. Nobody was listening. Her drink was empty, and the ice was half melted. She signaled the waitress for another drink.
The light grew darker, and the music was dimmer. A large form sat down across from her. Maya felt panicked until she realized it wasn’t the bouncer. He wore a hat that reminded her of a European; his beard was full and black as night.
The man spoke. “Hi Maya, you looked thirsty, so I brought your drink—Long Island iced tea. It’s a good choice. It goes well with the music.” His fingers wrapped nearly all the way around the glass.
“It does go well with the music. Thank you. I didn’t catch your name?”
“I’m Anthony, my friends call me Ant.”
“Judging by how you block the light, I don’t think Ant works for you.”
Anthony smiled at Maya’s forwardness, but his eyes remained fierce.
“Ant, Anthony, how did you know my name. Have we met before?”
“We have met before, many times. We’ve tied a few knots together from time to time.”
Maya felt a chill run down her back. Did this man hint at her deepest secret?
“Who are you?” Maya watched him take a long pull on his drink. He set it down and lifted his gaze to meet her. His voice came through the guitar rift in the background, slow, steady, and smooth with a hint of coarseness.
I am everything you need,
And nothing you want.
I am all that you feel,
And cannot see.
You cannot hear me for the voices in your head.
Your fears don’t know me,
For I have no cage or chains
To hold you,
To stop your flight.
My hands need no control,
Only the touch of your softness,
In the dark of night.
My words cannot cut you.
I am the mountain light
That turns to gold
On frozen granite walls.
You are a glacial lake before me,
A surface of glass
Reflecting all that is around you,
Never showing what lies
In your dark depths.
You prayed for a lover
Who would love you
For all you could give.
He knew only what you withheld.
I am the meal you cannot taste,
The fragrance you wish to inhale.
I’m here to soothe your loneliness.
Look at me and see your bed in disarray,
Your dress thrown haphazardly in the air.
Touch me and see your feet travel
Where they’ve never been before.
Kiss me and hear your skin
Plead for more.
Maya, you do not need wisdom,
And for patience,
You have no time.
Passion is your life
When you feel the desire.
You know that love
Is the rape of dreams,
And passion is a bed of thorns.
I’ll teach you to surrender.
You’ll wish you were never born.
I’ll set you free,
Teach you need,
Bind your heart,
Your lips,
And feet
With cords of intimate words,
And kisses that linger with a bitter taste of regret and shadows that envelop every whispered promise.
When your expectations turn to hate,
You’ll understand why you turned away.
This is who I am,
Your messenger.
I deliver dreams,
Answer prayers,
I’ll fill you with lust,
And take away your cares.
Maya broke her gaze from the intense face and mesmerizing baritone voice. Her stomach did flip-flops, and she turned away, fumbling in her purse hanging from her chair with nervous hands. He was arm’s length away. Was she in danger? She didn’t know whether to grab her pepper spray or a cigarette. She decided on the cigarette. She needed to think this through. She lifted a shaky cigarette and held it to her lips for Ant to light. He was gone. She glanced around the room. There was only the Whiskey Blues and the dark shapes of lovers and loners drifting in music, lost in their thoughts.
Hyperion Sky 
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