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THE MUSIC OF THE SPHERES
* 2 *
Sitting alone in the tiny nondescript room, you suddenly fall out of your reverie into the dark pit of reality. The reality of your surroundings startles you, even at first to be the very opposite of real. But, after a quick set of circling furtive glances, you begin to accept it.
A voice loosens itself from the surrounding Ether. Being an announcement of a visitor for you, your heart quickens at the sound of the rhythmic tap-tap of feet carrying the caller inexorably to your cell. Who could it be? There was no formal name or any informative information separate from "a visitor" given. So, you try to guess who it could be by the sound of the footsteps -- a task as daunting as trying to guess a face by listening to the voice of a radio personality or a stranger on the phone.
Of course, vile thing that your brain can be, the first thought stream is 'Maybe it's my wife but I am not married because my fiancée was killed before we could be officially join and that is why I am here because I attacked the bastard who killed her and I pray to god that he suffers for eternity in Hell.' There can be no more fruitful logical thought after this, so your emotions come tearing up. With your head in your hands, you are only half aware as the footfalls cease, the gate opens and closes soon afterwards, and then there is a comforting arm around your shoulder.
Comforting?--bullshit!--how could anyone know of comfort for you!! You wiggle your shoulders to try to get the offending arm off of you. "Get the Hell off of me!"
"I'm so-sorry. I was just trying--"
"I know what you trying to do." Still part of your mind realizes that it is a female voice that has spoken, so then your mind decides to change tact. Society having taught you to treat woman more civilly than men, you decide to soften your tone.
"I'm sorry Miss, I--"
"It's OK. You've been through a lot."
Again if it were a man he would have let his bitterness rule. "Thank you, but still," sniffle, "that doesn't give me the right to act like a jerk when you are trying to be nice to me."
The hand reappears, patting you on the shoulder. You pay more attention to what your eyes see, putting your emotional spectacles away for now. Since your head is down, the first thing you see are her knees and half of her upper legs covered by a business-style black skirt. Your head rises, bringing your eyes up with them. They notice the thin waist and slightly bulbous breasts hidden behind the nicely styled not-so-conservative navy business suit and up to the light-brown neck. You make it all the way up to the eyes, but there is a hint of guilt there, so your eyes fall down again like a mountain climber losing their concentration and their handhold. Soon, you flick them back up directly to her face. She looks back at you, moving a long silky strand of perfect blond hair away from her green eyes that seem to glow from within like sunlight passing through glass. Her smile is especially bright against her tanned skin, and you can't help but to be solaced. You crack a small smile back at her.
"There you are! That's better. Things are going to be OK now, because I am going to help you."
"You know a good lawyer?"
Her smile falters and a flicker of indignation destroys her smile, but then, like the sun coming back out from behind a cloud, she smiles again -- but it is not as bright as before. Now it carries a hint of wariness. "Yes, I know a good lawyer. I suppose you'd feel better if it were the opposite of me."
"Well, na-no; I, uh. I am not a chauvinist. I mean, er, it is the 2003 and women can be astronauts, doctors, congress men--er persons, and, uh, astronauts--I mean, lawyers. Yeah."
"Good because things are worse than they seem, and if you're smart you'll take my help, although I am now thinking it won't be smart of me if I accept it."
"Oh, you are...I mean, you want to be my, I mean you want to represent me. You are a lawyer and you want to represent me, huh. No, that would be just fine. I mean, yes, that would be...No, yes--which is it? I would be glad to have you represent me. Sorry about offending you. I didn't mean any offense. I mean I'm not--"
"It's OK. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"Uncomfortable? I'm not uncomfortable." You say this as you continue trying to find a way to sit where your bones don't feel like they are poking outta your ass.
"It's OK, I guess I overreacted. You don't have to say another word. It's OK. I'll come back later."
"Uh, OK."
"I just have one question for you."
"Did I do it?"
"No. Can you try to remember your dream tonight?"
"Uh, OK?"
"I know it sounds like a strange request, but it will make sense tomorrow. Here, take this."
"What is it, candy?"
"Yes, and no. It will help you remember your dream. But, your will has to enter into it."
"Sure. I'll try." He looks at her as if she had flickered off and on for a moment.
She gets up and walks to the gate and pounds on it. A security guard walks up to the entrance, waves his hand to someone on his far right, and the gate is opened. She steps out, and another hand motion from the guard causes the gate to slam shut. She turns to go.
"Miss!"
"Yes, Mr. --"
"Oh, yeah, call me Bobby Lyle, thanks."
The real smile returns and says your welcome. Then you tell her you never got her name. She tells you. Her name is Patty Lee Moran.
"But, you can call me Sky."
Surprised at the sudden gift of intimacy, you stammer after her receding shadow: "You can call me B. Lyle!"
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