M. played the piano while K. and I watched, entranced as her fingers made their way effortlessly across the keys. She apologized for playing sloppily, blaming the champagne and the lack of recent practice, but all we saw was perfection. When she mentioned that she'd been in a metal band, we listened to recordings of that, impressed by her talent there as well.
I sat nearby, my eye's drifting between my two beautiful friends appreciating their similarities and their differences. I thought about the men in both of their lives that had recently caused them grief and labeled those men fools in my head.
The daytime adventure had drawn to a close and it was time to catch the streetcar back. K. and I walked the few blocks to the place where it would stop and she commented on the stars, on how she used to know the names of all of them. It made me adore her just a little more; this admission, this little insight into who she was when she was younger. There were no benches at the stop so she reclined on the sidewalk, her black dress carefully laid beneath her, her pale skin shinning from the heat of the night, a bright yellow flower in her hair. She talked about the moon and it took great effort to turn away from her to appreciate it.
When the streetcar finally came we revelled in the breeze that came in through the open windows, reversing the seats in front of us so we could stretch our legs out in front of us. The lights flickered as the guide wires above us changed lines when we took corners and those were our favorite moments. Finally we reached Canal street, which was the end of the line.
"Want to take it all the way around again, just for the hell of it?" she asked.
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