Tangy's Symphony by Rosa Johnson (best beach reads of all time .TXT) 📕

I didn’t ask her, but it was okay. I had noticed some bits of food residue on the corner of her mouth. I had been starring at her out of the corner of my eye, while sitting at the Chico Street Park. She had been-to her-the prettiest woman that she had ever laid her eyes on before. She had caught me gazing at her before, but I quickly turned my head: trying to hide the embarrassment. I had seen her, I am sure, on a late night television show singing. I listened to her music on the radio while driving one day. Years ago, I accidently located a video of her No. 1 song. She was mesmorizmerizing in all essence of the word. That voice, those lips that sway of her hips. It was confusing, this feeling that I was feeling, that I was experiencing. I never was crazy about jazz, but her voice played an anthem that I had never heard before. Her voice like brass instruments all intangled into one sound. A symphony, of beautiful notes, that only became more intensified with the stringed instruments. She wasn’t like Jackie Jackson: not in sensuality or sex appeal – but clear and pure arousal. The kind like you had felt when you were young playing in fresh mowed lawn under the shade trees. That youth and innocence that cascaded off of your unmarked skin, a picture of simple bliss, that's how it felt at that moment. Her touch was gentle, soft, tenderly, and erotic. No disease, childhood terror, or broken heart could have infiltrated it. Purity, she had it, even in her singing. I loved it. I thirst for it, but not at this price.
She looked into my eyes and said softly, “you like me, don’t you”?
I almost parted my lips, but shut them just as fast as I had opened them. Thought second of responding, not knowing if my response would be deemed improbable or seen as cynical, I thought against it.
It’s best sometimes to hold your thoughts within the vault of your mind, that's what Madera- her grandmother- had shared so many times. I wasn’t sure if, didn’t know if, I should or shouldn’t have. My mind started to race. Questions played quickly through my mind. I thought, “What should I say? Should I even respond? What if this is trick?” My mind started to turn over with “what ifs…?” She could have been setting me up. So, I continued to say nothing.
She touched my cheek again, then placed the tip of her fingers under my chin; and with the softness of her fingers, I allowed her to turn my face towards her. She smiled. I melted. I was feeling my body do things that it had only done once since I could remember- violate me, do the forbidden, I felt the moisture between my legs, butterflies danced around my stomach, my legs were numb.
I felt this mechanical drive within compelling me to speak, I had no control, my mouth opened, and I said, “Yes, not only do I like you, but I have fallen in love with you. You have captured my soul with your music”.
She began to say something, but instead a tear flowed down her rosy cheek. I watched it, I wanted to stop it, to kiss it.
Tears were not meant for those lovely brown eyes, but I was stunned, befuddled, and crazed. Why was this woman with all this glory taking this time to talk to me? I was no one. My singing never went further than the church platforms. But here she was this beauty, a Nubian queen- woman of promise and influence, talking with me.
She said, “I am afraid to do what I have always wanted to do, for the media, for my parents, my hood, and my fears. I know all the laws and the curses, but I can’t deny my soul’s thirst for the touch of another woman.” The security of trust that reside in the arms of the same sex; no filth can enter her precious commodity, and she left the scene feeling clean and pure.
I heard it all before that something was wrong with my head. I am too beautiful, to valuable, to anointed, and to blessed to mess it up, but I saw this angel draped in Mocha and Cinnamon, and then once again this thirst, this innocence shot up through my loins like it had been hiding all these years. I want to have this, this purity, this moment of truth with her.
I saw her looking at me, and I thought, “She can feel my eyes, she knows that I am looking.”
She spoke, and said, “You weren’t the only one starring. I, too, was looking, but Baby Girl, I have become more perfected at it. So, I asked you a question, “do you like me”? Will you please, if nothing ever happens, will you please grant me the answer?” she said, “ It would bless me so much to know that I am still wanted.” She continued, “Believe it, or not, I am afraid of getting old, that I have lost time, opportunity, and love”.
I laughed (No, not outwardly.) She thought she was losing time? What time? Time was in her grasp. Here I was, no job, no friends, no direction, and graying! Who was losing time?
I looked watched as an arrow of ducks swam across the lake. I gazed up and found myself blinded by the Sun’s brightness, and responded,
“Yes, I am attracted to you. I like you, I believe I have been in love with you ever since I heard your first song on the radio, and although you were singing about a man, I felt your words were intended for a woman. When you sang, I danced in my soul with you”.
I stood from the bench and approached the lake, scooping up a handful of pebbles to toss into the water. She followed me, though I didn’t look. The sound of her footsteps and the warmth of her scent were evidence enough.
She said, “can you please not ignore me. I do understand this is strange, but I want to know. Because of my position I don’t just walk to the first attractive woman on the street and say “hey do you find me attractive?” or, “can we go out to dinner?” I know this could ruin my reputation.”
She then rubbed my arm. It felt safe. Damn it felt good. She eased down from me a little, I understood.
There was a black car cruising by at this time. Neither of us knew if it was the paparazzi or some news gossiper who could cause problems for us both, for I was not in any position to be seen either. I had been labeled by other parishioners, a “woman of the cloth”. I had long since stepped down, but was still known for the few services I’d done in the past.
The church, it can be just as horrendous as it is in the world. They don’t live perfect lives, and intend for you to, yet, do some of the same things. Yet, they will find scriptures to justify it, making their sin more righteous.
We headed back to the benches, chatting idly. A lady and a old man walked passed, spoke, passed each other suspicious glances. We sat down. I shook my head and I said “In this world-America- so much pretention isn’t it?”
She moved a little, as if she was trying to find something on the ground. She looked over at me, with her head hanging over, and we both started to smile. It was genuine. It was unified. It felt right.
She said, “Is it gone yet?”
I responded, ‘you mean the car?”
She said, “yes.”
I looked at the headlights disappearing around the corner, and said “yep, it’s gone.”
She grab her Dunn and Burke shoulder bag, reached inside it, and pulled out a sharpie pen and paper, wrote her personal cellphone on it, and handed it to me. I took it. Then, I took the same pen, and reached for her hands, opened them up, and wrote my personal cellphone number in it. After finishing, put the cap back on the pen, then I handed it to her, and said sheepishly,
“If you call me first, then, that will be my ok to call you; I am tired of games”.
She bobbed her head in agreement. She said,” I feel you”. She cleared her throat, then she said “You have been let down a lot haven’t you”?
I said, “no harm intended but if you have only walked in my shoes for a week, you would not even get the complete picture”.
She said,” believe it or not, I also have been stood up, let down, cheated on, and abandoned”.
I said, and you left out molested, raped by family, husbands, and lovers”.
She said nothing. What was there to say?
She just eased her hand over by mine and with her pinky finger rubbed back and forth, her way of saying I understand that you are hurting.
She said, “I took some time from rehearsal to just think".” Do you come here often?” she asked.
I said” no, I just moved here”. It may sound crazy, but I am on the run again. Trying to find peace, purpose, hope, and solace, some of the treasures that one never seem to possess in this time.
She thought for a while, and answered, “Why all the way to Texas”?
That I had no answer for, but responded, “why not Texas, i said quietly.

The phone rung, she heard it, but wanted to just ignore it's chiming. She didn't want to