“Single women are supposed to kiss his bronzed face, place a flower in his upturned hat, and then proceed to fondle him in his most private of areas.”
I laughed so hard, I startled her.
“No kidding and what does this get these single women?”
She cleared her throat. “A husband...in a year.”
She got exceedingly quiet in that moment and I swear I could feel her blush.
I couldn’t tease her for the myth—it didn’t seem appropriate at the time, I didn’t really know why. All I did know was that I didn’t want to taint what could possibly be one of the most insightfully unintentional conversations I’d ever had. I shocked myself with that thought. January and I had...potential. A slow tingle permeated my stomach.
We walked a long time in silence, ducking behind trees and tombs when we suspected a guard may be approaching. We passed many graves but had no idea who they belonged to, if they were artists of any sort, be they writers, composers, painters.
We stumbled upon Jim Morrison’s grave by accident. The only indication the tomb belonged to anyone of importance was the aluminum barricade cordoning it off. I couldn’t believe how plain it looked as well. Though, the piles of flowers, candles and oddly, pharmaceuticals, were a sight to be seen.
“Thanks for Light My Fire, Jim,” I told him. Although he was an exceedingly talented musician and for that I appreciated him immensely, I didn’t personally care for the guy that much. I read once that he read heavily of existentialism. I’m a proponent of existentialism, but the Kierkegaard version and I tread carefully over those philosophies, especially Nietzche’s. His version, one I’m assuming Jim followed, based on his actions, is nothing but dribble in my opinion, created to justify the whims of immoral behavior. And it was probably the reason Morrison felt the need to experiment with the drugs that eventually took his life. He was looking for fulfillment through "oneself" so he chose a material source like heroin, and as we all know fulfillment doesn’t come that way. I know, I know, deep, right? Not just a pretty face, ladies. Plus, unfortunately, I have a lot of experience in trying to "fulfill oneself." I just ended up unhappy in the end.
A little farther down and to the right, we spotted a brilliant white tomb with a woman draped and weeping over a broken lyre. Many of the tombs belonging to musicians were fashioned with broken instruments, a fitting tribute to their genius, I think.
o;January, feel like dancing?” Jonah asked as we started to walk away. January’s hand tensed on my arm.
“No, thank you, Jonah. I’m busy working,” she politely answered.
“Working. Is that what they call it now?”
We both turned around and I read the recognition in his face. He knew we were "together."
“What the hell does that mean?” I asked him.
“Nothing, see you next week.”
“No, you won’t,” I told him.
“Oh, you will.”
“And how would that be possible, Jonah? Unless you were cheating,” I asked him, inches from his face.
January was grappling at my arm. “He’s not worth it, Tom!” She yelled over the din of the crowd.
Jonah stepped closer. “Because you’re going to tell me where you’re going.”
I laughed loudly and stepped back. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I help your ass out. Do your own homework.”
I turned to walk away but Jonah stopped me with his next sentence.
“You’ll do it, or I’ll tell everyone that you and January are sleeping together and that’s the reason she’s on the road with you.”
January’s grip on my arm tightened. “You wouldn’t, Jonah.” She spoke before I could.
“I would,” he told her, a pathetic sympathetic expression on his face.
January’s face looked amazingly hurt, making me want to pummel Jonah. “Why?” she asked him simply.
“It’s business, January, nothing more.” He smiled at her sincerely. Asshole. “I see how he looks at you. You’re his only weakness. I’ve tried for years to one up this guy, but he keeps taking all the glory and for a while there I figured it was a lost cause trying to hit him where it hurts because nothing seemed important to this asshole. That is, until he met you.”
Gently, I removed January’s hands from around my bicep. I rushed Jonah in an instant, pinning him to the bar behind him. Several people scattered at once. “You tell a single soul that lie and I will make you hurt so bad, you’ll wish you’d never been born.” He started to laugh and I squeezed my hold around his neck even tighter, choking it off. “Do we understand one another?” I asked.
He nodded and I dropped him. He gripped the bar top, still grinning, casually resting against it as if I hadn’t just threatened him. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll still find you.”