House of Sand

"Let's go, Blue! I'm double parked," Anna demanded.

"Alright, I'm coming," I answered. I scurried out of my apartment and hurried to the street where Anna waited, imposing traffic to maneuver around her. I climbed into the car with haste, and she set the vehicle in gear before I could even close the door.

"Damn, Blue, you look nice," she complimented. I sank into the seat as she accelerated.

"You too," I smiled, noticing her eyes scanning my body, perhaps paying more attention to me than her driving. She boasted a pair of gleaming earrings, and like me, a low-cut top. Her breasts were larger than mine, and they, protruding upward, seemingly aimed to escape her clothing.

La Mer was much more lively on Saturdays. There must have been over one hundred people crammed into a room meant for a much smaller crowd. The atmosphere of the bar was uncanny among Millennials: no blaring music, no flat screens mounted to the walls, no flashy lighting. It was a group of people who came together for a night of fun and fellowship, not to get drunk or laid. A lone guitar player monopolized the oval stage; every person fixed their attention to his melodic plucking. Anna led me to the same corner booth as we sat last time.

"The usual, Anna?" Cathy asked, hurriedly jumping to our table.

"Of course," Anna returned. "Just the drink this time, though."

"Certainly, and how'd you like that blue raspberry drink last time, dear?" She turned to me.

"Oh, God, you can remember that?"

"I can," she yipped.

"Yeah, I'll have another of those."

As Cathy quickly returned with our drinks, the guitar-playing man finished his performance. There was a light round of applause, and startlingly, someone yelled across the room, "hey, Anna!"

The yelling man was clearly one of the oldest among the crowd. They must know each other from somewhere, but how strange is it to shout across a room? But Anna raised her whisky glass in acknowledgment before several more joined in greeting her. "Hey!" She said proudly. "How's it going?" Her face carried an expression of haughtiness as patrons recognized her presence.

A general "good" perspired from the crowd. I felt as if the entire room stared at us. Bewildered, I asked, "these people know you?"

"Of course," she snapped as if I should have understood. "I've been coming here every Saturday since like -- well, as long as I've been living here."

"Oh," I muttered. "It's kinda quiet for a bar with this many people."

"Trust me, it'll get loud," she assured. "It just takes the right person on stage to get the crowd going." She took a sip of her drink, sucking in her lips. "You see, people take turns playing music at the front." She pointed toward the stage with her glass in hand. "It's sorta the culture of this bar."

"Like karaoke?" I wondered.

"Much better," she added after taking another sip. "It's usually the same people performing different things every weekend. Sometimes new people give it a shot, and it's almost like a family in here." Another woman took to the stage and sang. Their performances were nothing to ignore; they were well-talented people.

"What about you?" I asked eagerly. "Do you perform?"

"I play piano, Blue." She folded her arms and leaned backward. "That's how these people know me. I get up there from time to time and play a tune or two."

"Go play something!" I insisted.

Anna shook her head, "nah, I'd rather talk here with you. And there's probably plenty of people lined up to play." She motioned with her eyes. "See that short man with the beard?" I nodded. "He's gonna get up there and sing some old jazz tune."

I squeezed my fists together and tapped the table with my knuckles. "But I wanna hear you play."

Anna smiled, "maybe later." She patted the side of her glass with her finger, the soft dinging out of tempo with the singer.

"Later, huh?" I exhaled in defeat.

Around the room, the patrons ogled at the performer. No person was distracted by a cell phone. Their eyes were mesmerized, except between performances when they would laugh and holler and cheer.

I murmured, "this is really fun. Seems like a great way to wind down after teaching."

"I love it," Anna agreed.

The thought of school popped back into my head. I blurted, "so, how are your classes going?"

Anna's face soured. "I have the best kids in the world. But we're not talking about work tonight. Remember 'me time'?"

I sank. "I keep forgetting."

"No worries," Anna said. "It's a hard habit to break. But if you work non-stop or if you talk about work non-stop, you'll go crazy and be one of those teachers who burns out." She smirked, "or a grumpy old cat lady."

Anna took another sip of her whiskey. "Have you ever been in a serious relationship?" She asked bluntly.

I mulled the thought over in my head, "how do you define serious?"

"Moving in with one another is usually the biggest identifier," Anna explained.

"If that's the identifier, then no, I haven't. I've been with a few guys, but nothing major."

"What about you," I asked. "I know you mentioned that congresswoman."

Anna shook her head, "nothing more than a few sleepovers." She put air quotes around the word "sleepovers."

"Why do you ask?" I wondered.

"Just curious," she smiled. "You're too pretty to be single."

I replied as I felt my face redden, "you're a liar."

"It's true," she guarded.

The next singer concluded, followed by another wave of applause. A woman stepped onto the stage and addressed the room. "How are you all doing tonight?"

The crowd shouted in acclamation.

"She's the owner of the bar," Anna described.

She was a woman of sixty years with short, grey hair. The woman continued, "that was a great performance, Alex. Anyone interested in going next?" The man who Anna had pointed out a few moments before rushed onto the stage. He connected his phone to the speaker and played some sort of background blues music. He strangled the microphone and sang an old jazz tune, The Birth of the Blues.

"Told ya," Anna said aloofly. "They're talented, but they're predictable."

"This is fun," I jittered. "It's definitely different than I expected when you brought me here last week."

"You weren't expecting me to bring you to some lesbian bar, were you?" Anna joked.

I stumbled over my words, "No, I -- I just thought -- this is..."

Anna almost stewed into laughter. "Relax, Blue, I'm just kidding. You're fun to derail."

"Derail?" I repeated. I rolled my eyes in good nature. "I wasn't expecting a lesbian bar. This is more of a classic vibe, you know?"

"Yup, and that's why I like it," Anna said. "Not like the trashy bars people our age go to."

The man sang his song, the crowd joining him on occasion. He sang another sixty-year-old song before forfeiting the microphone back to the bar owner. "Anastasia is shying away in the corner over there." The speaker lifted her arm in Anna's direction, but Anna waved her hand to shun the attention.

"Anastasia," I mumbled beneath my breath.

"Come on, Anna. We wanna hear you play." Several people in the crowd lauded. One man shouted from the back of the room, "Piano Man!"

Others joined until several were chanting, "Piano Man! Piano Man! Piano Man!"

The eyes of the room were upon us -- upon Anna, rather. I sat uselessly across from her in a state of confusion as they demanded her to perform. "How often did you say you come here?" I asked beneath the ruckus of the crowd, looking at her through the corners of my eyes as I faced the sea of adoration. "They seem to like you," I understated.

"Every week." She gulped the last of her whiskey and acted with a false sense of humility. It was evident she admired the attention but did not want to be perceived as such. "Come on, Anna," a man shouted from across the bar. The owner continued, "yeah, Anna. Let's go." Finally, she gave in to their demands, and as she stood, the applause grew stronger. She walked to the piano with her head high and her shoulders firm.

"Piano Man?" she shrugged.

"Piano Man!" the crowd affirmed unanimously. My heart thumped with excitement and I nearly fell apart, a contrast to Anna's sterling composure.

"I need someone to do the harmonica part," she proposed.

"I gotcha, I gotcha," a man stumbled from the back holding a harmonica above his head. "I brought this just for you, Anna." There was another round of cheering as Anna sat before the piano. She straightened her shirt, sat upright, and outstretched her hands over the keys. She took control of the instrument; rather than a tool, it became an extension of her being.

Her eyes roamed my way. She winked, jolting my heart into an unfamiliar rhythm. Her countenance shifted from one of enthusiasm to one of seriousness. Her hands danced along the keys, playing the jazz-style intro of Billy Joel's Piano Man, the notes gracefully flowing from one finger to the next. The group hollered, and so even louder when the man with the harmonica joined.

Anna sang the first lyric, "It's nine o'clock on a Saturday," and a few howls advanced from the rear. She sang with force, belting the notes so that the entire room could hear without a microphone, but melodically enough that she was gracious. She struck the piano's keys with incredible accuracy while rarely looking downward.

In the second stanza, she raised her voice an octave, singing with a resonant ferocity that shuddered my mind. And when she entered the chorus, the room of men and women joined in singing, some lifting their drinks in the air, others swaying back and forth: "Sing us a song, you're the piano man. Sing us a song tonight. Well, we're all in the mood for a melody, and you got us feeling alright." All the while, Anna took glances at me, her eyes melting my soul. With every clash of a piano hammer against a string, her spirit grew in splendor. And with every lyric of her voice, my heart grew heavier with emotion.

Her fingers roared with ease as she played every note to its perfection. A sweat formed against her brow and her face reddened as she sang the high notes. But still, she looked toward me as if she sought my approval -- as if the crowd was entirely absent and I alone was her audience.

She stopped singing and playing altogether, allowing the a cappella vocals of the crowd to fill the void. Her chest rose and fell as she took a moment to breathe, then she finished the tune with a glorious jazz riff before dramatically throwing her hands in the air.

The crowd clapped and yelled. "Thank you," Anna said as she dipped into a shallow bow. She pointed to the man with the harmonica, encouraging another wave of applause.

"Thank you, Anna," the owner said. "Are you playing another?"

"Na, I'm exhausted," she responded.

A few people sighed in annoyance. "Come on, Anna!"

"See you next week, then, huh?" The owner asked.

"Of course!" Anna said as she started toward our booth. Again, the room filled with applause as a couple of guitar players succeeded her on stage.

Anna climbed into the booth while I maintained the most dumbfounded expression one could imagine. "How was that?" She asked apathetically.

"How was that?" I repeated in a higher, louder tone. "How was that? That -- that was the most amazing thing I've -- you had everyone singing!"

Anna wiped the sweat from her forehead and replied in modesty, "ahh, it's nothing. They're easily impressed. Plus, Piano Man is the most cliché bar song there is."

"Don't sit here and diminish yourself, young lady," I playfully scorned. "That was -- I can't even describe how awesome you were."

Anna shrugged casually. I added, "and all this time you didn't tell me you could do that?"

She gestured with her hands, "I told you I played piano, remember?"

I shook my head violently and wagged my finger. "No, no, no. There's a difference between playing piano and leading a crowd in a concert without missing a single note."

Anna responded, "well, now you know. I've been coming here on Saturdays and -- well -- this tends to happen quite often."

"Play something else," I urged. "You have to."

"Not tonight," she insisted, holding her finger up to stifle my enthusiasm.

"Please tell me I'm invited next week," I demanded, slapping the table. "I want to see that again."

"Sure, Blue -- next Saturday. But we gotta get through the workweek first."

The rest of the night was casual as we watch dozens of people sing, tell jokes, and perform skits. After a few hours, we headed out. As we walked to Anna's car, she remarked, "I want to show you something, but it's a bit of a drive. Do you mind? Or are you interested in getting back home?"

"No, please, show me," I glowed, silently stirred. We drove out of the city and into the countryside. Thrice I asked where we were going, to which she thrice replied, "you'll see." By the time we arrived -- and I hadn't even realized we had arrived -- curiosity was gnawing at my mind.

"We're here," Anna remarked, shutting off the engine.

I scrunched my face. "Here? We're in the middle of a field."

"Take a look, Blue," she suggested, lowering the top of her convertible.

"It's pitch black, Anna."

"No, silly, look up."

"Up?"

Absent was the usual roar of the city, replaced only by insects singing toward the heavens and the crinkling of leaves, hinting at winter's coming. There was no light except the slight speckle of lightyears-away celestial bodies and the silver sliver of our modest moon.

"You brought me here to see the stars?"

"Remarkable, isn't it?" She awed. "Thought I'd show you what it's like to live on a farm in the countryside. It's quite peaceful."

"It is," I conformed. "But we drove forty-five minutes to sit on a farm? And you know I'm from rural Virginia, right?"

"Slow down, Blue. Take a minute to breathe from time to time. Have you ever looked up in rural Virginia?"

"Not really," I mumbled. "Not closely, anyway."

"I drive out here when I'm really stressed; I admire the stars within the stillness of the countryside. It relaxes me more than anything else I've found. Singing at La Mer is a close second."

My eyes roamed the sky searching for constellations, though in my ignorance I could not have named anything beyond the moon. Anna pointed to a dark, insignificant spot, "you see that area right there -- to the left of the dipper?"

"Yeah," I muttered. "What am I looking at?"

"When I was in elementary school, Mrs. Henderson -- my favorite teacher -- took us outside one night. I don't know how she convinced our parents to bring us to school after dark, but she did. We went out to the playground and Mrs. Henderson assigned each student a star. She said, 'Anna, that's your star right there'."

Anna leaned closer to me as she gestured to the same ambiguous point in the sky. "Mrs. Henderson said 'whenever you're outside at night, I want you to look at that star and remember to try your best and to be the greatest woman you can be.' For some reason, of all the stuff we learn and then forget in school, I remembered that night."

Anna continued looking upward as she spoke, her voice filled with as much mysticism as if she were still a student of Mrs. Henderson. "And I remembered that star. Through high school and into college, I always looked up whenever it was dark. I had fallen into such a ridiculous routine of seeing my star that cloudy nights were greatly disappointing. There was just something about my star that made me think of Mrs. Henderson, which would then encourage me to strive to be my greatest. And then one day -- I was about twenty-five -- I looked and saw that the star was brighter than it had ever been. It had a brilliant blue hue; I thought it was strange but cool, and it was brighter for weeks and weeks."

Anna laughed through her words as if she didn't believe herself, "and then one day -- one day it was gone." She imitated a poofing sound with her mouth. "Gone. I thought maybe there was a stray cloud blocking my view, but night after night, the star was gone."

"It died?" I whispered.

"It died," she confirmed, her voice sinking. "I did some research; apparently, that star was 800 light-years away. That means that the light I saw left the star 800 years ago and it took 800 years to enter my eyes. Not only did the star die, or go 'supernova' in the scientific term, but it had died before my teacher gave me that star. It died before I was born, or my parents and grandparents for that matter. That star was dead before the Revolutionary War -- before Europe colonized the Americas -- when the ink on the Magna Carta was barely dry."

She shook her head solemnly, letting on a shallow chuckle. "Nowadays that star -- or its absence -- reminds me that nothing in this universe is certain, not even the stars in the night sky."

"And?" I muttered, searching for morality.

"And what?" Anna repeated.

"So the moral of this story is to take everything you have seriously?"

"Something like that, Blue," she exhaled.

"Didn't know you had a thing for astronomy."

"It's belittling," she acknowledged, still looking up.

"Belittling?" I echoed.

"Yeah," she went on. "I get an ego sometimes, you know?"

"From time to time," I replied with levity.

"Oh, shut up," she livened. "The universe reminds me that I'm so utterly insignificant that it's not even funny." She leaned closer to me as if she were sharing a secret. "If everyone on Earth had a star of their own, each person would have one-hundred trillion all to themselves and we'd still have stars leftover. Facts like that make me tearful with the unheard music of the Milky Way."

"Hard to believe."

"It's absolutely correct," she defended. Her voice energized, "there are trillions of stars in each galaxy and there are billions of galaxies. And the light we see from these stars left millions of years ago. If you were near that star," she pointed upward in a general direction again, "you'd be seeing light that left Earth during the reign of the dinosaurs. That is, with a powerful-enough telescope."

"Crazy," I reacted. "But you're not insignificant," I argued. "Hell, you had the crowd cheering and yelling at the bar tonight. If nothing else, you made their night a little better. And your students love you too. Imagine the lives of how many kids you'll impact over a thirty or forty-year career."

Anna pulled her eyes away from the sky for the first time and looked to me. "I appreciate that, Maddie. You're not so bad yourself, and maybe we can get you singing in the bar some time."

"No, ma'am," I rejected. "You were fantastic enough for the both of us."

Anna jested, "well, in a billion years, what difference will it make?"

"Not much," I giggled. "But you will make an impact on the people who surround you."

"You're such a sweet person," she complimented.

"I try. And by the way, what's this tattoo on your upper arm?" I lifted up her sleeve. "What's it say?"

"It says 'The Greatest Teacher, Failure Is'."

"Shakespeare?" I probed.

"No, Yoda."

"That's the little frog from the muppets, right?"

She feigned anger and spoke through her teeth. "I should punch you right now."

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," I countered. "And you wouldn't punch me."

"I know, I like you too much. Now, Jefferson, I'd punch him in a minute if I wouldn't go to jail."

"Yeah, let's stay out of prison," I whispered.

I rested my head upon her shoulder as we returned to the bewilderment of the Cosmos, sinking deeper into its infinite majesty. But it wasn't the magnitude of the heavens that made my heart rapture in thrill. It was being with Anna. She did not reject my closeness; rather, she wrapped her arm around my back, embracing my being. A flutter of excitement resounded throughout my soul, and strangely, a fiery arousal kindled between my legs.