What We Trade Our Hearing For (a North and South Story)

5. Studying Politics

"It's in the way you sell every word and phrase

And leaving me to know how much the meaning weighs

Saying that but meaning this

Using hands for emphasis"

-Emery

John

There were butterflies in his stomach as he rang the doorbell, which didn't make much sense. He'd come to the Hale's plenty of times before, rang the doorbell in exactly the same way. There was no reason for this time to be any different. But he wasn't fooling himself, he knew why he was nervous. He smoothed down the front of his pinstriped maroon button up as he waited for someone to answer the door.

Dinner was delicious, simple but tasteful. Mr. Hale boasted about Maggie's talents as a chef when John complimented the meal. It made him smile to imagine her in the kitchen, putting so much effort into something she knew he would eat. The conversation flowed easily, with only a few awkward moments. For all their differences, the Hale's and the Thornton's had a lot in common. A love of music, of course, but also other interests and hobbies. John and Maggie were able to joke about their childhoods, and she seemed fascinated as he talked about his adventures in the woods with his childhood friends.

After dinner, they adjourned to the music room, sipping on wine, chatting, and fiddling around on the piano. It was revealed that Maggie played the cello, but she cried off an impromptu performance with the excuse that she was tired from cooking all day. She curled up in a chair in the corner, absentmindedly plucking at the strings of her father's mandolin while John and her father discussed ticket sales and profit margins.

He noticed that the soft music she had been playing stopped and saw when he glanced over that Maggie had dozed off, her head precariously positioned on the side of the chair. Smiling, he said to Mr. Hale, "I think we're boring Maggie over here with our business talk."

At the sound of her name, Maggie startled awake. "Oh no, I'm sure it's riveting" she responded, "I'm just a little sleepy. It's the heat, I think. Would you like a drink? I was thinking some lemonade sounded refreshing." At John and Mr. Hale's acceptance, she went to the kitchen to get the drinks. As she handed John his, their fingers brushed, sending sparks up his arm. He looked up quickly, to see if Maggie was similarly affected, but she swiftly turned away, walking back to her chair. He wondered if he'd imagined the flash of recognition in her eyes, before she withdrew.

Maggie

Becca and Nick had given up on "easing her in slowly" and decided to take her to one of the quintessential Atlanta places for lunch, according to them, at least. "Now," Becca was saying as they walked from The Mill to the restaurant. "This isn't one of those places that you want to eat at all the time, or even that often at all."

"Or ever," Nick cut in. He had been doing some work on the lights at The Mill, taking advantage of the lull between shows to do a few upgrades. "It's not a place you really go for enjoyment, it's more the experience that's important. So, don't focus on the food, or the weird feeling in your stomach, just soak in the atmosphere."

None of that sounded very appetizing to Maggie. She had to be honest, they weren't doing a very good job selling her on this place. Wary as they walked through the door, she examined the restaurant. It was a normal kind of retro style drive in hot dog place, with a greasy smell and an old school vibe. Overall, nothing too menacing. It was a little loud and a little crowded, but the line moved fast. Becca insisted on ordering for her, so Maggie just stepped back to appreciate "the experience."