Regret

Zanzibar. Now.

A smoky blues bar right on 7th and 3rd. A place to chill and unwind; to shake the knots out. I sit in a corner booth nursing a vodka tonic and a cigar: a twenty-five dollar "Padron" I bought at a store right off Broadway named "Havana John's." The billowy puffs of curling smoke try, with all of their might, to cast me under their spell. To hypnotize me. To control me. To rob me of air. The stick tastes so robust, well aged pre-embargo Cuban tobacco, rolled under the watchful eye of Orlando Padron himself many, many years ago in a sweat shop half a world away... or so I'd like to think.

I'm here tonight to see you. I think I promised you over twenty times I'd come and hear you sing, well, here I am... in a starched, simple white shirt sans tie, top two buttons undone, a black suit coat, and matching slacks. I'm dressed very art-deco tonight, very... black and white. I think the whole joint is cast in shades of black and white and gray except for you, up on that raised stage in an elegant red number that sparkles like Dorothy's ruby slippers. It's almost as red as your pouty lips... but not quite. A perfect compliment to your 50's inspired hair, pulled up in a neat, elaborate art-deco bun, revealing those silky white shoulders I've kissed countless times. This is my home and your voice is my bed. It envelopes me like 400 thread Egyptian cotton. I float in the air high up in the night sky among the dreams, stars, and the cottony clouds of thick cigar smoke exhaled from a million mouths of a million jaded cynics in a million blues bars. You spy me in the dark audience in my dark corner among the throng of admiring hep-cats and big dogs. You hold your gaze and I know you sing to me alone. I know you try, so damned hard, to hypnotize me. To control me. To rob me of air.

"When you left I lost a part of me,
It's still so hard to believe
Come back baby, please,
Cause we belong together."

The chorus in your breathy blues rendition of a popular pop song. You smile as you sing the sweet lyrics, close your eyes for just a second, and slowly nod. I raise my glass to you in an appreciative thanks. Although, I know my presence here will not justify the ills I handed you over the years. I know my pathetic little gesture... it just doesn't cut it. It's not enough. You see, it doesn't erase the fact I moved on.

After your set you come over to my table. I tell you how amazing you sounded. I give you a frigid, careless kiss on the cheek, metal scraping against stone, and I thank you for inviting me tonight. I'm as gracious as an old time movie star giving an Oscar acceptance speech in one of the great movie houses of yesterday. A meaningless song and dance, a display of feathers, and you know it. However it will suffice...

...or so I'd like to think.