Follow the Music

The music floated softly over her, mingling with the sounds of the water, as she floated in the pool.  The sun was just past its highest point and was creating a moving light show around her.  She felt the heat on her skin and soaked it up like a milkshake through a straw.  This was her time to just be and she was reveling it it as much as possible.  It took her a while of hearing the music before she really heard it.  Once she did, she was curious.  Where was it coming from?  She knew it wasn’t anything she owned, and she knew she was home alone.  Her curiosity won and she did a little flip in the water before swimming over to the side of the pool.  She gave herself one last dunk before climbing out and reaching for her towel.  A smile crept across her face before she got the nerve to pad over to the fence that separated her house from her neighbor’s.

Holding the towel around herself she pushed herself up to be able to see over the fence and into her neighbors’ backyard.  As soon as her eyes cleared the barrier, she knew she’d found the source of the music.

He was swaying slightly, in perfect time with the music, with his back to her.  Despite the heat, he was wrapped in what looked to be a ladies’ shawl.  It was heavily embroidered with big flowers of different shapes and colors, so many that it looked like a practice piece for someone learning the craft.  The longer she looked at him the more details she noticed.  His long, disheveled hair, the hunch of his shoulders, the empty rocks glass on the table next to him.  She also found the direct source of the music – an old transistor radio sat propped up against the half-empty bourbon bottle.

They hadn’t met yet and introducing herself to her reclusive neighbor in nothing but a bath towel didn’t sound like the best way to make an impression. She watched him for a few more minutes and then headed home to change clothes into something more professional.  The event tonight was going to be a challenging one and she needed to focus.  This neighbor would need to wait, no matter how compelling he – and his music – was.




* All 30-minute musings are fiction.  Any resemblance to people or events is strictly coincidental. *

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