Caesura

Even out in the open air, the old phonograph that Morris hugged tightly in his arms smelled musty and ancient. He couldn't resist it when he saw it. It was just sitting there in that consignment shop among a myriad of objects, ready for the taking. All of it was ready for the taking. But this record player was special. It was just begging to sing again and he couldn't allow it to just sit there in silence for unknown years to come. No sir, this thing was precious. After all, he hadn't heard music in so long and it made his heart ache in anticipation. And of course, Anna would probably enjoy it too.

He set the old black leather and brass capped cornered music box on the trunk of the beat up orange car outside the store. Plants were growing from the dirt built up around the seam between the trunk and the back window. Morris looked down at the very sun faded plush unicorn that was staring at him from the inside of the car window and smiled a very pleasant smile at it. A gentle breeze fluttered the pink and blue and flowery silk scarf that was dangling around his neck. He turned around, walked back inside the store and returned with a plastic milk crate filled with dog eared records. He placed it on the roof of the car and started flipping through the contents.
"Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope." he said as he peeked at each cover. It was all so terrible. Not even worth listening to in an ironic way.

"Oh, this just won't do, Anna! We need something brilliant! Something beautiful! Something that will move our souls! Something timeless... like you!"

He reached the back of the stack and frowned.
"Oh this is just gross. Trash! Trash! More trash!" he yelled and chucked the entire crate of vinyl out into the middle of the road. Most of the records scattered out along the pavement. A couple of them came loose from their sleeves and slid even further into the curb on the other side of the street.

He returned to the inside of the record store, stomping his paint and sticker-covered combat boots as he went, like a child rejected from getting something he wanted from a parent. A moment later he was back with another crate of records on the roof of the car.

"No. No. Definitely not. Why would anyone even make this? No... Aha!" He cried triumphantly lifting a very plain looking record sleeve into the air.

He popped open the top of the phonograph, slipped the record out of its sleeve and placed it on the turntable. He gave the crank a few turns, turned the brake off and then gently set the needle on the record. For a moment there was only the sound of popping and crackling but then, suddenly, big band music followed by a slightly warped voice crooned out from the speaker and drifted through the air. Morris closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He began to sway and move his hands like a conductor as the silky smooth voice of Cab Calloway flowed over him.

"Oh, Anna! Did you ever think you would hear Minnie the Moocher again?" He continued to sway, now moving his hips and his feet. He began to dance. Turning, hands in the air. His patch and button covered jean jacket jangling as he twisted around and tried to do his best version of a tap dance or maybe more of a somba or whatever the hell he felt like doing. He passed his hands over his head. He played with the scarf around his neck, flossing it around the back of his head, around his waist. He danced up to Anna and flipped the scarf over her neck and flossed it back and forth. Anna continued to stare into oblivion. She was a stone of long legs and a tattered summer style dress.

"Oh come on now, honey! If Cab Calloway can't make you move ain't nothing can!" he continued to dance, turning his back to her and wiggling his ass up against her.

She didn't move. Not even from the occasionally too close bump of his butt against her hip. She just stood staring as she had been for years in that spot. Day in. Day out. Rain or shine. Morris stopped dancing and frowned at her, staring into her bloodshot unblinking eyes.