I shouldn’t have laid down. My eyes are heavy, and Emeth is already sawing away. I’m plain dead beat, and there’s a mountain of dishes waiting for me downstairs. Just as I In Jesus Name, Amen, I hear strains of double bass drifting through the floorboards. I assume she’s turned on Temple Radio, BP with the GM. And I get up, hug-kiss, and step out, closing the door behind me. I breathe deep, and hold it in for a minute, waiting for that one last question. That one last last plea for help. But none comes, and I let it all out, floating downstairs towards the music.
I step into the kitchen and she’s already washing. Thank you, Love. And I want to know, What are you listening to? And she tells me, It’s Vince. You know, the one who does that Peanuts album. He’s got other albums, don’t you know, Honey Sugar? It’s his self-titled, 1956. Django’s the name of the tune. And her hips are swaying to the walking bass, her hands are washing, and a cool breeze is flowing through the open windows. The cloud begins to lift, and my head starts to bobble, boppin’ and weavin’ through the mid-section.
I sway to her left, and whisper in her ear, Baby, I’ve got my second wind. Let me take the wheel and you just go do your thing, whatever it is that you do. And I feel like I could go on washing through the night, with that cool breeze in my face and that pep in my step. And she says, No, honey, I want to wash by your side, and we wash those dishes like the night is young, and like young children won’t be getting up so early.
Vince picks it up at Fascinating Rhythm and The Lady’s In Love With You, and so do we. And four more tunes go by in a splash, and by the last scrub, the last rinse, the last pump of our hips, I tell her, Isn’t It’s De-Lovely, and she nods her head in that way she does, and we shut the light, with the dawn on our heels.