I step around the barn and see her standing there. Dressed all in urban black. She sways to the beat of the band. I catch a glimpse of her impeccably painted orange nails. Black suede boots. Black jeans uniquely splattered with paint. Her hair swept up in a coiffed upswing. Blonde streaks knifing their way through her natural dark hair. She turns and catches sight of me.
“Hello stranger”she smiles.
“Hello tattooed lady” I respond.
She has added to the tattoos I recall. A single rose. A pair of boxing gloves. A stylishly rendered script which reads “Never lonely”.
I smile at the knowledge that I am the mentor. Never the lover. And yet, I am happy to see her. She is opinionated. Independent. No doubt she would love a lover, but alas, I am the fallback tonight. Good conversation and company. A dancing partner. It pleases me to know she is also happy in my company.
In the company of old men. This is a county for old men. Most are settled comfortably with their significant others, while others still prowl the night.
She sits on the trunk of the old Mercedes. I light my pipe. God Bud.
The go-to cannabis that never surprises, never shocks. It always brings a creative surge and mind set for original thinking. Surprising that I have not yet reviewed God Bud.
The band strikes up a Weezer tune. I’m vaguely familiar with the song but my friend knows every word. She lets her vocal chords run free. Singing on her Mercedes stage as I interpret the song, eyes closed , arms and legs moving with the music.
The host puts flame to the stacked boards. End cuts and unusable lumber left over form the stage boxes. A teepee fire. We join the throng drifting closer to the surging flames. The heat beats back the mosquitos. Scourge of country life. A ring of safety grows around the fire. Enough to beat back the bugs, but not too strong for the dancers. All hail Vulcan, the God of fire! There is a kind of celebratory mood. Pandemic restrictions almost all lifted. Crowd limits expanded. An exuberance permeates the night air. At least for the evening we are united in our joy.
The tattoo lady invites me to the village for a nightcap. A flattering suggestion, but I graciously decline.
“Have a marvelous night, young tattoo lady. Let your freak flag fly high! I shall retire to my refuge by the lake and toast you in absentia.” I’m tempted to add “in abstinence” but that would be too bold.
Age has given me some wisdom, to know when no is the right answer. My last call will be at home. Sitting on the dock with a glass of red wine and a cigar. Communing with the stars. Thanking my lucky stars that this old man can still attract such delightful offers!
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