The cool air of the summer night made its way through the open window,
tugging at the strings on the blinds.
The city lights in the distance caught his gaze.
The noted patterns of light metered out a certain rhythm, a certain melancholy.
He held onto the sentiment for a few more seconds,
before he tugged at his necktie, leaving it to hang loosely.
The nearest light brought shadow to the features of his face as it fell across the dark hue of his skin.
Turning his attention back to the room, he looked at a recently vacated table to his left. Being right with the decision didn’t matter anymore than what was happening out in the city tonight.
Colored in grey tones, the long tail ash of the cigarette hung over the lip of the ash tray. The smoke curled it’s way upward, drifting into the ether, fading into the background. He lifted the saxophone to his lips and inhaled. The piano keys and cymbals seasoned the stock of the composition. The saxophone’s lead vocals yearned for a film noir in shades of melancholy and blue note while telling the story of a lost love.
A sad story, not unlike many heard before.
Two, who had been inseparable,
Were now resigned to separate paths.
But the heart still wants what the heart still wants.
Yet what was done is done and nuthin’ is ever gonna change that.
Striking the ivory with more energy.
Skipping with a renewed outlook,
The cymbals and bass followed behind.
A new resolve lifted the saxophone’s cadence.
It was time to move on, to move forward with new things.
“Yeah, but what are these two in the corner grinning about?” Didn’t they know she was gone for good? More or less, for the better or worse. He would be traveling his well worn habit from doorway to refrigerator later that evening, but she would not be waiting at the kitchen table for him. Waiting for him to come home. Waiting for him to come to bed with her in the light humidity of the evening air.
She was gone.
The song coming to a close.
Making its way toward the door.
It lingers in open space.
The ostinato of the cymbals slow.
The piano holds the notes a bit longer.
Looking back one last time.
Wondering what could have been.
by malakhai jonezs
© Copyright 2016
A tribute to John Coltrane’s “In a Sentimental Mood.”