She sang me a song last night. She sang me a song on my drive home. It was late and the night was full and long. She was stretched out in her bed, the blankets were half on her and the heat was turned up, because the darkness breathed cold air and there was nobody to snuggle up against.
She wasn’t asleep yet, but the winds were blowing her there. She always slept naked and the sheets got to snuggle up against the lucky parts of her.
“I’m tired but I’ll be there soon, you in bed or no?” I asked.
“I am, but I’m here. Talk to me,” she replied.
“I don’t have much to say. I just wanted to let you know.”
“Mmhmm, talk to me anyways so I don’t fall asleep before you get here.”
“Well its dark.”
“It always is at night.”
“Funny how that works. Yeah, dark. Nobody is on the road. I’m glad because the headlights make my eyes heavy when they come at me. I hate that.”
“Yeah?” Her voice sounded tired, like she had just woken up. She assured me she wasn’t asleep yet though.
“Yeah. You can go back to sleep. I won’t be long.”
There was silence. I knew her enough that I knew she was shaking her head from side to side as if I could see her. There was a long pause between us both. I passed a number of trees and a few exits. Three or five minutes worth of exits. All I could hear was her steady breathing.
“You asleep?” I asked quietly.
She responded with a, “nuh uh,” and let more silence fill the space between us.
The country was a hard place to drive because the street lights were far and few between. I constantly had to check to see if my headlights were on because it seemed to dark when the moon wasn’t shining free in the sky.
She had to have a place in the country though. She liked the city but only for playing. The country was where she wanted to live. Seclusion with a twist, she called it. Long drives were meant for talking and peaceful silences, she told me. 1 am was a long time to wait on the way home though.
“It wasn’t worth it at the time but it would be when it was over,” she always said the most confusing things. I loved to listen to them though.
“Oh pretty baby, you know how I like it that way. Oh pretty darlin’, you always kiss me when I wake,” she started singing softly on the other end of the line to break the silence.
“You know how to love me and my wild mind. I make you crazy but you always let me shine. Drive through the dark to find me and keep your eyes sharp. The roads getting heavy but your eyes won’t miss their mark.”
Her voice was soft and barely awake. It wasn’t a whisper but there was some volume she was holding back. It fit the night and it entranced me. I had never heard the words before but they sounded as old as Greece. I don’t know if she was making the song up on the spot or if it was something I just hadn’t heard yet.
“I’m here waiting, lying in your bed. The sheets half off me and I need my hunger fed. Oh pretty baby maybe you can speed just a little. Oh pretty darlin’, my body is hoping you will.”
Then there was near silence. It was accompanied by her soft but heavy breaths. They were rhythmic and consistent. I dared not break them and listened intently for an indeterminable amount of time until she smacked her lips without purpose and asked, “where are you now, baby?”
I blinked back into consciousness and realized I had been on auto-pilot and was nearly at our road.
“I’m almost there. Turning down the drive now.”
“I hear you. Hurry. Feed the cats then come here.”
“Mmhmm, wait for me.”
“I will, baby,” she let out a soft moan as she clicked the phone off.