Why It Matters

I don’t remember where we were, but we were outside.  Night, cars, a parking lot.  Lee G and I were coming or going, likely from the Dawg, The Nu-Way, or George’s, the three main places for live music in Spartanburg.  Maybe we just polished off a club sandwich at Simple Simon or a baklava at Sugar ‘N Spice, I don’t know.

All I know is that it was dark and there were cars and I smelled hurricanes and peach orchards and there she stood with her friend, Vicky.

I don’t even remember what she said, or what I said, but I remember her smell and her tiny hands covering her mouth when she laughed and then falling gracefully downward, wrapping around my skinny waist and hugging me goodbye.