“People have been hanging out around campfires for hundreds of thousands of years.” “Fire is primal,” Raj said, his eyes glinting like drops of maple syrup. Once the fire was lit, he went over to investigate the stereo system, which was intermittently, and with varying degrees of distortion, playing ‘Water from a Grape Vine’ by William Orbit. Raj was bundling newspapers and arranging sticks into a teepee in the fireplace. Boundaries melted, metaphorical meanings glimmered. With Alyzia’s baby-fine, moon-colored curls rippling across Sidney’s shoulder, and the scent of Alyzia’s ylang ylang oil enveloping them like a bubble, the world seemed to soften. Sidney felt the beanbag chair smush into a different shape as Alyzia curled up next to her with a book. Curled up at her feet on the braided multicolor rug were Glimmer, a mostly white calico cat, and Inkling, an almost-black Bengal cat. The house was run-down, with chipped paint and worn surfaces, but it held unexpected pleasures like stained glass panels above the windows. She was sunk into a salmon-colored corduroy beanbag chair in the living room, which was partially separated from the kitchen by a waist-high partition. Sidney kept finding herself looking up from the exams she was marking to catch glimpses of Bruno in a somewhat ridiculous frilly apron with images of floating frying pans splayed across it. She nestled herself in the paisley couch and thought back to the events in that room that had led to this moment.Įxactly one year later, the Sacred Scribe would describe this night for her listeners as her first real encounter with Groove. Her heart pounded as she walked past Olive. Olive’s left arm was outstretched as if in greeting, but in the flickering candlelight both arms grew and shrank and shifted direction, as if in warning.
She put on her housecoat, lit a candle, and walked down the hardwood stairs, toward Olive, a mannequin at the front door with a styrofoam scalp and pimento-olives-on-toothpicks hairdo, the handiwork of Alyzia. It was shocking to learn that Alyzia was capable of speaking like that, and doubly shocking she could speak that way to her.
There was something in her voice that Sidney had never heard before. Her face was flushed, and her long blonde curls were in disarray. Alyzia was sporting a strikingly pretty, disheveled, freshly-fucked look. When Sidney opened the door, the first thing she saw was Bruno’s plaid shirt, inside out, on Alyzia’s small frame. She couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever. Should she show Alyzia the number pi on her own chest? That might make her stop and think.
#GROOVE SCRIBE WEBSITE SKIN#
She looked down at the tiny π engraved in the tender skin of her left breast, just above her heart. There was a timid knock on the bathroom door.Īlyzia must have seen Bruno’s tattoo of the number tau, Sidney thought. She stared up at a paper maché mermaid hanging from the ceiling, trembling. And the best friend isn’t supposed to go along with it. You’re not supposed to shift your interest from one person to her best friend. And in Alyzia’s mind she was obscured by Bruno. She imagined how, in Bruno’s mind, she was blocked out by Alyzia. Peeing made her think about gravity, which made her think about gravitational lensing, the phenomenon wherein a large mass bends light as it travels from a distant object to an observer, potentially even blocking that distant object from view though it is in the observer’s line of sight. Sidney slammed the bathroom door and peed. On her way to the bathroom, a poignant high-pitched carnal cry emanated from behind Alyzia’s closed door. Sidney crushed her pillow over her ears to muffle the sound. Coming from Alyzia’s room, which was next to hers. “Ahhhhhhh!” It was a ferocious, almost caveman-like moan of pleasure. In a booming voice he said: “Keep spinning, Sidney, no matter how chipped you are. Its Lincoln, who had a pierced nose, was nodding in time to the music. Instead of, “In God We Trust” it read, “In Groove We Trust”! The penny swerved, almost toppling, but kept going. One by one they toppled over, except for one, a penny that was gyrating in a lopsided way because it was chipped. Some coins landed and spun in time to the music. Coins bounced out of the pockets as her hips swayed to and fro.
Sidney woke to the distant sound of blissful sighs, and then sank back into a dream about a funky mama strutting her stuff to a groovy number, sporting a swanky frock with tiny pockets.
#GROOVE SCRIBE WEBSITE FULL#
Feature Image: Liane Gabora, The Glory of Groove ( view full image)
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