BURN (Wattys2015?)

what a wonderful world

"Hey, come here," I say, scooting my chair away from the table. The wine glasses shake a little, threatening to spill. They don't, and I grab her hand and pull her over to the couch, gesturing for her to sit down. She giggles and brushes her hair behind her ear, a habit.

I grin and start pushing furniture out of the way, clearing up a small space in the floor. 

I walk over to the bookshelf, which is half full of books and the other half full of old records. I leaf through the records. There's a surprising absence of dust, which shows just how much she uses them. 

"What are you doing?" She says, skeptical. Her eyes narrow and she bits back a smile. I realize how much I love her smile. Some smiles look out of place, some light up an entire face, and her's? It transforms her entire being. She becomes the essence of happiness.

Finally, my fingers find the record I was looking for. She cranes her neck, trying to peek at the record's cover. I shake my head and wink at her, clutching the vinyl to my chest. I step over to the record player, lifting the rickety lid. I wonder how many other people listened to the same player, and what records they'd play. I wonder if she would spend her afternoons playing the same record over and over--her favorite one, the one I picked out. Would she sway to the music? Would she listen to it when taking a bath? Reading a book? Eating alone? Did she prefer listening to it in the morning when the sun is peeking over the horizon, or in the evening when the sun was slowly sinking down?

I glance over at her, and she's looking out the window, the cracks in the blinds casting stripes of light down on her pale skin. She's smiling, her face relaxed and...content. Her chin rests on her hand, and the ring on her finger glints in the soft light, winking at me. I remember when we picked it out, how happy she was. She looked a little like she did then.

I place the needle down on the vinyl grooves, watching the record spin. The music crackles and a trumpet slowly starts to croon out. Then Louis Armstrong's warbling voice starts to sing.

  I see trees of green, red roses, too,

Her head whips in my direction and her smile widens, her eyes lighting up in delight and recognition. She opens her mouth to speak, but I cross over and place my finger on her lips. 

I see them bloom, for me and you 

I get down on one knee, and look up at her. She lowers her head to look at me, and the hair she habitually tucked behind her ear falls across her eyes.

  And I think to myself

"My lady," I say in a faux posh accent. "May I have this dance?"

  What a wonderful world.    

She covers her mouth with a slender hand and happy tears well in her eyes as she smothers her laugh. She nods and stands up. I take her hand and lead her to the middle of the floor, where I cleared away the furniture.

I see skies of blue, and clouds of white,
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night  

She wraps an arm around my neck, and I wrap one around her waist. I pull her closer and she blushes. We start to sway.

And I think to myself
What a wonderful world.  

She closes her eyes, and I can tell she's already in another world. Another world with Louis Armstrong's tender voice serenades her mind, and she's safe in my arms. 

The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky,
Are also on the faces of people going by.  

We slow dance to the lullaby, and everything bad in the world seems to fade away. The sirens outside the window are dull and distant, and all we hear is the scratchy vinyl. The food on the table is getting cold, a lamp's lightbulb is going out, and the floorboards are creaking. 

I see friends shaking hands, sayin', "How do you do?"
They're really sayin', "I love you."  

But in that moment, with the soft glow of the evening and the warm body in my arms, nothing else matters. It's just me, it's just her, and it's just Louis Armstrong. 

I hear babies cryin'. I watch them grow.
They'll learn much more than I'll ever know  

She places her head on my chest, and her movement isn't as tentative as before. She's comfortable with me. 

"I love you," she mumbles into my chest. I wonder if she can hear my heartbeat, and I wonder if she knows it quickens with excitement. It never did that before, with her. But something had changed. Maybe all it took was time, or maybe it was the food, or maybe it was Louis Armstrong.

And I think to myself,

I love you, too.

What a wonderful world

I pull her even closer, and I lean down to whisper in her ear. 

"I love you, too." I say, and it's the first time I said it. I'm not sure if she hears me, because she doesn't respond. But it doesn't matter, because to me it was an accomplishment to just even say it.

Yes, I think to myself
What a wonderful world