Sing!

SING!

The clapping echoed the rain outside the bar, the glasses tinkling together joyfully, laughing together as he stood there, his eyes wandering around the small, crowded room. "She's not coming", he thought. The drum behind him was so loud, or was it his heart, pounding in his ears? His big, grey, furry coat, a ton of white-heated iron, was still on his shoulders. The smell of cheap scotch and cigarettes he used to relax escaped his lips in a thick, hot steam. The microphone was just a few centimeters from his dried lips and seemed yet so far, staring at him accusingly. Adjusting it, he remembered Mel's voice from this morning "Don't forget to hydrate and use ChapStick!" she had giggled, her soft, pale face looking so tiny on his broad lap. That moment was ages ago in his mind.

The bar was packed with faces, a little girl with sable hair, running around, disturbing people. A skinny man with large hands who scooped her off the floor, making her laugh. A middle-aged freckled woman, cheering and raising her glass to the pink-haired lady holding her hand lovingly. So many faces, and yet, none was the one he wished to see, needed to see.

The crowd silenced suddenly, as if responding to a quiet command everybody but him could hear. The music began. A few notes of electrical vibration that sounded fake, the drum banging, he brought his hand to his guitar, uncertain, the words stuck inside his arid throat. Then, among the capharnaum, he heard the door, delicately opening and closing, and there she was. She sat at the edge of the room, pouring into his eyes, and the rain stopped, the faces disappeared, the ton of iron turned into warm feathers, the words came to him, his lips parted, and he sang her song.