Mad and Amused

2. Crescent City

Madline struck a match; the eye of the stove blinked a fiery blue, the flames licking the edge of the Italian espresso maker. She wasn’t sure this was a good idea- not because she thought the coffee maker looked like a silver kettle with a cinched waist- but because she put decaf.

She tapped on the cell phone stuffed in the front pocket of her white shorts, steam rising and the promise of a taste of Italy filled the air.

A swift movement swayed her loose ponytail. Mad slowly grinned and turned the heat off the maker when it started to slightly vibrate. The coffee settled and Muse fully materialized.

His brown hair was weather beaten; dust clung to the lapels of his shirt and to the soles of his boots. He didn’t leave any stains to the off white tiles.

“I come bearing gifts,” he snatched a black Hello Kitty mug hanging from the cup rack.

Madline filled the mug to the brim, the steam for a fraction of a second misted over her eyes. They were ocean blue, sea green, would appear grey in dim light. They were now a warm blue, warm from the smile on her lips. His eyes were the same as hers. The same hue, yet this sameness was never as beautiful as hers. Hers exuded light and couldn’t lie.

 “Are you trying to trick me with ten year old mug?”

“No, Maddie,” the mug was a gift from her father. He’d taken her to see Disney on ice.

“   Ah,” she walked out of the kitchen carefully avoiding a bowl of dried cat food in the middle of the hallway, “ you don’t want me to “ box your eaars”” she mocked his English accent and nudged the door to her room with her foot.

Muse brushed a hand on his left ears. They were a little pointy and usually masked under a few strands. Muse was slim, tall, with thick lashes, long, Nobel nose and a lower lip fuller than the upper.

Mad found him a quirky mix of handsome and pretty. Even with the elf ears.

He suddenly grinned, “I thought I had to prepare a monologue to get you in the mood.”

“What mood?” she was laughing.

"I want to give you your present before sunrise"

“It expires that quickly?"

“No fun if I tell you everything.”

Mad drank up a bit faster and he simply stood with his back to the Jonny Depp poster, waiting.

“Might warn you though,” she said,” whining about getting old might change any minute.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he took a sliver slip of paper folded into two from his breast pocket.

“Shiny,” Mad was interested in how careful he handled the slip, his fingertips doing all the work. She wondered what would happen if it got dog-eared.

“Alright,” he held out the paper to her, it was in fact a ticket with a cropped edge and carbon trimming, “I need you to tear the side.”

“Really? I thought you guys needed a moment alone.”

“She’s sliver I couldn’t help myself.”

“Eek.”

“Jealous?”

“Hey,” she punched his arm; her fist went gliding through him, knuckles brushing a thick velvety texture and Muse shiver.

“Oops,” she muttered.

Muse shook his head slowly, “Are you okay?”

“Ah, yeah.” Why wouldn’t she be?

“Good,” he grinned,” tear the side.”

“Mmm,” she fumbled with the end. The cardboard material was dense and hard. It opposed the delicacy Muse had taken to unfold it. It didn’t take Madline more than mere seconds to figure out why.

“The door you wouldn’t let me peek though was a perception door.”

He nodded, “Concentrate.”

Perception door existed back in Muses realm. They were portals representing not an entry to a room or hallway or any concrete based places, the represented a mindset and a way of thinking. Mad was called a walker in his realm and a writer in the “real” world; perception doors were a danger to those like her. Though how dangerous was something Muse wouldn’t let her find out.

Apparently Mad had unconsciously thought of the sliver slip as complicated. The carapace exterior was a creation of her thoughts.

She closed her eyes recalling images of brown autumn leave, the sound of a collage of fallen twigs and debris trample under her sneakers. Translucent butter-paper, foil, napkins, fragile things.

The paper tore with impeccable easy.

“Brace-“Muse’s words were drown in a terrain of swoosh and a blurred façade of Mad’s room. The ground beneath her feet disappear along with the thin flip flops she’d worn. She was floating rather fast in a whirlwind of color and surreal shapes chanting and a few sang out of tune.

She felt an arm wrap around her waist and swam round to smack whoever-

“C’est moi, Maddie.”

Mad let herself be guided, Muse swaying her body away from the chants and towards a strong scent of pastries, Tabasco and centuries old gas lamps. Her head was spinning and when her toes touched asphalt she had to clutch a fair wad of Muse’s shirt and allow him to steady her.

“I’m cool,” she said and cleared her throat. To limbo between both worlds meant she had to be asleep, it was the first time she’d dropped in while awake.

First time for everything, she thought.

The next thing she was capable of was gaping. Steps away from her was a French café. A pergola, decked in stripes of green and white, hosted a green sign saying “Café du Monde- The Original Coffee Stand” and under the tables bussed with laughter, the clang of plates and the bee-speed of waiters.

Mad heard the click of heels she recognized as her own and the skirt of a lavender dress she’d never owned twirl in the breeze and one strap slide off her shoulder.

Muse wore a black suit of wide-legged black pants, a matching tail coat with satin lapel and the unfortunate shirt Mad had crumpled. It didn’t ruin the outfit, notwithstanding the charm of Muse’s grin or his fedora.

“We are-“Mad began.

“Across Jackson square,”

“Decatur Street,” she took a step closer to him and to the Café.

“In Dixie land.”

“The big easy,” her head was in the clouds.

“The crescent city, the city of New Orleans. Happy Birthday.” He raised her palm and planted a kiss.

She let out a laugh and her breath caught at the violin piercing the night. She resumed gaping this time at two violinists, a harphiscord player and a violist. The sat on wicker chairs in the middle of the street and Vivaldi was pulsating all the way to the Mississippi.

“May I?” Muse offered his hand, his head bent into a somber bow.

Already giddy, Mad obliged, “how did you do this?"

“It was worth making the birthday girl smile.” He winked and swept them into an awkward waltz.

Couples in the café lifted their mugs in toast for them while a man holding a paper beer cup and a sky blue shirt (Got Beignets? Was printed in white across his chest) gathered with some tourists who snapped pictures. The locals were accustomed to parties in a city where bars had no closing hours. They rejoiced at any celebration. Except for a woman silent and half hidden in the shadow. Her gimlet stares didn’t leave Madline and her Muse as they dance and stumbled.

Madline was drunk on the city and from the corner of her eye, all she saw was a mass of red hair disappearing in the French Quarter.

Thanks to everyone who has read, commented or voted. Hope you enjoy yourself and always let me know what you think. xx.