East of the Sun

A song acts as but simple transportation

I watch the smoke dancing from the end of my cigarette, following the smooth tones of the jazz trumpet. Such simple pleasures to be engaged in, but such immense pleasures they are. I’m no longer sat at my desk, alone and listening to Billie Holidays voice moving my fingers and toes in time with the pianists keystrokes. I’m sat in the cafes of 1933, a chaser of whiskey wrapped in my fingers, my cigarette extended on a dinner length holder that is black in colour but wrapped in brass at the end.

The company here is pleasant, all crafted from displays of laughter and a lack of prerequisite. All are dressed magnificently as if on display for a museum, yet seem so natural within their surroundings. Women adorned with feathered head-dresses, men with pocket-watch chains embellishing their black or grey waistcoats. It is eloquence at its most informal setting.

He asks me to dance and, of course, I oblige, placing my hand in his as I stand. His hand sits softly on my waist with no intention of invading any other part of my space. The singer wraps her voice around my head as I place it upon his chest. Gently we sway, moving our feet but inches from their starting place. The heartbeat I hear twists within the music to form the drummers beat that peaceful taps the music into a more structured time.

‘Blue is your colour my darling.’ He whispers as we move almost cautiously across the floor. I had not even noticed the colour of my dress, yet it seemed so acceptable for it to be blue. No colour could better display the deep feeling of tranquillity I feel in this present reality.

Before the song ends and I can be returned to my seat by this humble and respectful man, I am back at my desk and hear the final tone of Billie Holiday singing the word ‘moon.’

My cigarette, no longer in it’s fine holder, has burned to its tip. My chaser now full of cola showing no signs of that once present whiskey. The company has departed with their own era and I am left to face the screen before which I had been avoiding with much of the disdain all writers face when ideas have dried.

Author's Note

I am English so certain words may has 's' where American readers expect 'z'. It is correct for England , so please do not comment on that.

Reviews

[alanwgraham]

Very good. I like this idea of being transported back in your mind and you have caught the jazz club ambience superbly! Just a small slip - second last para, it should be 'hear'.
Great work -I will come back for more!
Alan

[Armistead Lindsey]

Thanks for pointing that out :) I ought to get into the habit of proof-reading really... I never do proof my creative work.

I'm glad you enjoyed

[Armistead Lindsey]

Also thought you may like to know.... After reading your work, specifically the letter, I hunted for the Billie Holiday songs on my laptop while i was having a cigarette, and well the above happened.

I blame the blackbird singing for making me want to hear her voice

[hi]

i like it, short tho, maybe if it was longer could get a better ideaof what the characters is, i need to know did you intend for the woman to marry or fall in love with the sing

[Armistead Lindsey]

I appreciate that you may want it all clearly written out for you so you know who's who and what's what's but that is not the point for this story. It's meant to be read at a leisurely pace while listening to the songeEast of the sun by Billie Holiday. No one falls in love or marries because it's all the the protagonists head. It's kind of like when people imagine their own music video for a song - this is what I imagined while listening to a song, no complex explanation or back story just a single beautiful song

[hi]

i under stand and good write