We both got in and he held me again.
I didn’t resist that either.
Sleepily, to take my mind off my thoughts, or maybe to teach myself a lesson, I quoted the lyrics to Mel encamp’s
“Minutes to Memories”.
“Mel encamp,” Hank muttered.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “I should have listened closer.” Hank’s head moved, he kissed my neck and then he settled.
I waited until his breathing evened.
Then, when I knew he was asleep, I whispered the part of the song where Mel encamp explains about the wise old man in the song’s vision. About how that vision was hard to fol ow. About how the young man in the song did things his way and he paid a high price. About how, years later, he looked back at his conversation with the old man during their bus ride and he knew the old man was right.
And oh man, was he right.
I went silent.
Then, after awhile, it hit me and I started to sing, thinking it was a secret, my secret, my song. In another life, a life without the last three days, a life where Hank came home from his run before Bil y found me, it could have been Hank’s and my song.
Springsteen’s words.
I sang so quietly, my voice was barely a whisper and I changed just two of the words.
It was the first verse of Springsteen’s “Because the Night”.
I hummed the second verse and in the middle of humming, I fel asleep in Hank’s arms.
Because I was asleep, I never realized Hank wasn’t.
* * * * *
It felt like I slept for a week. When I woke up, Hank was gone.
Chapter Ten
MP3 Torture
It was daylight when I rol ed out of bed. My body protested with aches and pains letting me know early that they felt like hanging around for a while.
I didn’t know where Hank went but I figured to work because it was nearly noon.
I went to the bathroom and saw that either Indy or Jet had put my toiletry bag on the sink. I crushed down another wave of remorse that these kind people would not be in my life but for a few treasured memories. Then I swept the thought aside, brushed my teeth and washed my face.
I surveyed myself in the mirror. The swel ing was gone; the bruises were purple, green and yel ow. Not a good color combination and I was doubtful that Calvin Klein would use them in his spring line.
I walked into the living room and saw Uncle Tex on the couch his feet up on the coffee table, a bowl of popcorn resting on his bel y and a Bruce Lee movie running quiet on the console TV.
He looked at me when I came in. “Hey darlin’ girl. How you feelin’ today?”
“Coffee,” I replied.
He grinned. “I can do coffee.”
I sat in a loud, green, white and yel ow daisy-printed, vinyl chair at his kitchen table. He got me a cup of coffee and sat with me. “Hank stil sleepin’?” he asked.
“Hank’s gone,” I replied.