A Heavy Burden

It had been 20 years and the yearbook still felt like the spring. So much promise and growth in those days. The days of passage we called them. I remember when I walked across the stage and was handed my degree. In a passing instant I saw a beautiful woman from the corner of my eye - I had never seen a face like hers before. I would never forget it. When I looked back she was gone. All of the education surged to the forefront of my mind as I held my fist high with a cheeky grin checkered across my face. I saw my family and they were smiling in the darkness of the auditorium. I felt like I was on Mars. It would be years later that I beheld my mystery woman again. I was in a night club in old Harlem drinking gin. She was up on stage blowing a raging lead saxophone solo. Women and men in the front row dropped to their knees when she rode high on the scales. Between songs she would vomit into a copper pot at her feet, then wipe her mouth with a silk cloth before the band kicked back into full swing. Hell-bent on every note, her bulbous eyes popping with the screeching sound as she filled the small smokey room with a sour and unimpressive aroma. When the set was over I stubbed out my Swisher Sweet then dipped-set through the side door - back once more onto the darkened lonely street.