The Song of David

“People that care about each other don’t cause unnecessary worry. I’m fine. I’m here. And I’m going to have an awesome scar for you to trace when it’s all healed up.”

Millie pushed my hand away and rose from the bed, retreating to the bathroom without a word. She shut the door a little harder than necessary, and I tried not to laugh. Millie was a typical female when it came to showing her displeasure. She wasn’t happy I’d kept her in the dark. I heard her flush the toilet and listened as she slammed around for several minutes. When she finally clomped out of the bathroom and laid down beside me once more, I feigned sleep just to see what she would do. She lay stiffly beside me for several minutes and then turned into me, wrapping her arm around my waist.

“I know you’re not asleep,” she whispered.

“How can you tell?”

“You’re too still and you’re listening too hard.”

“You can hear me listening?”

“People take very shallow breaths or they don’t breathe at all when they are really listening.”

“I’m trying to hear your thoughts.”

“I’m mad.”

“You must not be too mad. You brushed your teeth even though you didn’t need to. Which means you want to kiss me. Which means you are planning on forgiving me.”

“I’m mad because I really like you. And I want to kiss you because I really like you.”

“You’re mad because you like me?

“I’m mad because I love you,” she confessed with a sigh. “And you didn’t let me know you were hurt.”

“Well, I love you too, Millie. And I’m always going to try to protect you. That’s who I am. That’s what I do. If you knew I was getting a few stitches in my head, you wouldn’t have been laying here fast asleep, so sweet and so soft I could eat you. You would have been chewing on this lip, worrying, instead of dreaming about me.” I leaned in and tugged on her lower lip with my teeth, gently mimicking her tendency to bite her lip when she was concerned. I kissed her pouting mouth and felt her anger slip away as I slid my tongue beneath her lips.

Our breaths grew short and our bodies restless, and it was Millie who pulled away first, clearly not quite ready to extend this night of firsts. I closed my eyes and willed my heart to still as she stroked my head, her fingers slipping through my hair and easing the dull ache still lurking behind my eyes.

“David?” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Sing me a song.”

“What kind of song, baby?”

“A love song.”

“Millie, Millie, You’re so silly. I’m so glad your name’s not Willy,” I sang in my best country twang.

“Willy?”

“Let me rephrase.” I cleared my throat and began again. “Millie, Millie, you’re so silly, I’m sure glad you don’t have a willy.”

“That’s not a love song,” she giggled.

“Okay. How about this? I love your legs. I love your chest, but this spot here, I love the best.” I tickled her smooth stomach and she squirmed against me.

“Keep singing!” she demanded, swatting my hand away.

“I love your chin and your funny grin, I love your hair and that spot there.” I tickled her beneath her right rib and she grabbed my fingers, laughing.

“I love it! Second verse, please.”

“I love the way you shake your booty, I love the way you smell so fruity! I love the way you call me David, and . . . . la la la nothing rhymes with David.”

“That was beautiful,” she giggled. “What’s it called?”

“It’s called ‘Nothing Rhymes with David.’”

“Nothing rhymes with David?” Her voice was disbelieving, and she was quiet for several seconds, as if trying to find a word that rhymed to prove me wrong. Then she stroked the side of my face, her fingers tracing my jawline, and when she spoke again her voice was as earnest as her touch.

“It makes me feel close to you, listening to you.”

“Is that why you always want me to sing? I thought it was my honeyed tones.” I joked, but my throat was suddenly tight, too tight to sing.

“It’s more than that. You can’t see a song. You feel a song, you hear a song, you move to it. Just like I can’t see you, but I feel you, and I move toward you. When you’re with me, I feel like I glimpse a David nobody else knows is there. It’s the Song of David, and nobody else can hear it but me.”

My heart shuddered and then grew twice its size, a Hulk-like shredding and popping sensation filling my chest, and I wrapped her in my arms and buried my face in her neck.

“Nah. That’s not me. That’s the ode, Millie. I feel it too, every single time you’re close to me.”

“The ode, huh? That’s what you call it?”

“That’s what I call it.”

“I think I’ll stick with the Song of David. It’s my favorite,” she said, speaking the words against my cheek.

“If I sing, you have to dance,” I whispered, and my mouth found hers, and the music between us became an urgent hum, a rhythmic pulse, and we danced around the fires between us until sleep slowed our steps and muted our song and softly pulled us under.



(End of cassette)





Moses