Little Girl Blue - 𝐖𝐋𝐖

𝐈. Ludus- Seven

That's how all of our conversations went—the whole cat and mouse thing until something came out of it.

Nothing did, I made sure of that, and the tactic worked long enough for Jane to be satisfied and leave me alone.

Of course with her that wasn't always the case. She'd go off for the day doing whatever she did and come back at lunch or dinner, dragging me from my useless daydreaming or reading at the window to help.

I was never a good cook or a good helper and Jane would constantly be nudging me in my arm, grazing an elbow or shoulder with cold fingers to gather my attention. And when I did come back to a focus, it was always on her. The chestnut hair that swept past her shoulders, the erect back, tall and lean with womanly hips.

Then she'd laugh, because I would've said something silly or naive enough. And it was a laugh that was so charming and roared from her chest, that sometimes you couldn't help but laugh along with her.

But then there were times when all of these things felt so foreign in the home. Usually when Jane was gone and there was no cooking, or conversation, or laughter, and it was just quiet. The type of quiet that makes your thoughts too loud and suddenly you're paranoid and confused and searching for the quickest way out.

This house, I learned, can truly drive you mad.

___

On this day Jane stayed home. My first sight of her being hovered over the small wooden table between the two chairs, fumbling around and muttering to herself.

"Morning." I spoke through a yawn and clawed at the crust at the inner corner of my eye. She was dressed in overalls, very big and slouching on her hips. They were worn and had rips on the thighs. Beneath it she had worn a simple tank top, muscles outlined with a flex of a finger or lift of an object.

"Get some sleep?" Her weight shifted to her left. Only then I could see she had been fumbling at a needle on a very old record player.

Hardly, I thought. "Yes." I cleared my throat, "What are you doing?"

She bent down and grabbed a box, dust descending from its edges as she began rummaging through. "I forgot there's a record player in the garage and found a few vinyls." From the box she retrieved a vintage copy of 'I Love You, Porgy' by Nina Simone. With a slender finger she placed the needle on the disc. There was a sweet sound of it skipping as it went round and around.

I loves you, porgy
Don't let him take me
Don't let him handle me
And drive me mad
If you can keep me
I wanna stay here with you forever
And I'll be glad

Then a piano ensemble fled the room like a large wave assaulting the shore. It was calm, and at this hour of the morning the birds sang and the sun shone with such a delight it reminded you of a fairytale.

For the first time I allowed myself to smile. "I like it."

Jane stood looking at the spinning record, a slight rock to her stance as her eyes closed. The song finished, us hanging onto the words and the instruments as if they were the last thing life had to offer to us. Then another song played, this one more upbeat and accompanied with drums. She turned down the volume and set the box back onto the floor. "I made pancakes."

I followed behind, adjusting my shirt and running fingers through my hair, into the kitchen where a large plate of pancakes and thinly sliced bananas were presented on a porcelain dish. Beside it there was a small pitcher of syrup.

"Coffee?" She was already pouring a cup, leaning against the counter with cream and sugar.

I nodded, "No cream, please."