As if to me
//I heard he sang a good song
“Lyman!”
Godammit, does it ever stop? The door was right in front of me, I had
almost made it out…when one of these *idiots* stops me!
“Yes?”
I turn with what is hopefully a look of venom. I probably just look
tired.
“We’re all going to the bar. You wanna come with?”
Sure, why not. I just spent the last fifteen hours barely tolerating
you guys – what’s a few more?
“Yeah. What’s on tonight?”
The bar was a really stupid place to go. For one thing, it was mainly a
Republican bar. And it was a karaoke bar. Most nights it was a free-for-all,
but some times, some guy or babe with the slightest ounce of talent would take
the stage. Then, it was almost worth going.
“Some guy from across the corridor. He’s supposed to be an angel. You
up for it?”
Yeah, the all-singing, all-dancing politico. You’d think I’d have had
enough of waltzing for one day, but I’m too tired to argue. With any luck, I’ll
be so drunk by the time the guy opens his mouth, that I won’t care what comes
out.
The nameless moron of the day keeps rambling beside me as I
drag my body to his car.
“He’s supposed to be real cute. Smooth-talking pretty boy,
but with one of those amazing voices. Know what I mean?”
I nod and smile, already formulating a plan of escape.
~
//And so I came to see him
We enter the bar, and I sit among these babbling idiots. I
barely notice as a hush comes over the bar. The spotlight switches on, and I
turn my head towards the light. And there he is.
Ramble was right. He’s a pretty boy, nervous on the stage,
but with a million dollar smile. That won’t last. I vaguely remember seeing him
flit around the place, but right now I don’t care. I order something strong:
I’ll be out quick that way.
Though, for some reason, I find myself staring. There’s
something about the guy that I can’t stop watching – the way he carefully
arranges himself on the stool, thin frame suddenly solid as he cradles his
guitar and his eyes hold a glimmer of an indefinable beauty. He’s pretty nice
eye candy. From a purely objective point of view, one man appreciating a rival.
Yeah, whatever.
//And there he was, this young boy
Everyone is silent, and there’s a sense of anticipation.
No, I don’t know this man anymore. Anything of the flighty, green campaign guy
has been chased away by the shadows and the light, and this man is pure beauty
and energy. I find myself mesmerised as he prepares to play, lifting his head to
the microphone. And then, he begins.
//Strumming my pain with his fingers
The day falls away, as he slowly begins to sing. I don’t
recognise the song, but I don’t recognise anything in this moment. His fingers
slowly strum at his guitar, haunting chords of sweet melody, and his voice is
light, yet laced with a husky quality you would never expect. Damn, he’s
perfect. He has talent – why is he working in politics? The guys are
whispering, and I want to shut them up, but I can’t tear my eyes away. It’s as
if he’s singing to me and only me, his words are spelling out everything I’ve
done, his heart is communicating with mine. This is beyond…anything.
//Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words,
It feels as if the world’s ending and I don’t care. This is such a beautiful moment, I don’t care if Death rides through the door right now. Everything is monochrome, except me and this unknown guy singing words that are going to drown me with their intoxicating passion. How the hell is he doing this? I’m Josh Lyman, I’m a skilled politico – I *do not* obsess over strange men from karaoke bars.
//I felt all flushed with fever,
embarrassed by the crowd//
I remove my tie absently – it’s getting warm in here. I pull open my collar, my eyes never leaving the man on the stage, completely unaware of what he’s doing to me. I feel uncomfortable here now – it’s all about me and him, though I doubt he even knows it, and these people, they’re intruding on us, invading what I’ve come to think of as a private moment. What kind of romantic bullshit is this?!?
And then, he looks up, straight at me, and a smile crosses his lips. Oh. Dear. God.
//I felt he’d found my letters
and read each one out loud//
So, maybe this isn’t all in my head. Maybe there is some kind of telepathic communication going on here, maybe this freaky, beautiful guy is tapping into everything I’ve ever known. Cos it sure feels that way. It’s like, he picked up the letters, the letters I wrote to Joanie after the fire, the letters that are the closest to my heart, and just read them out. But, somehow, that would be fine, because he knows it all, because he deserves to – for singing that way, for reducing this supposedly hardened politician to a quivering teenage wreck. It’s almost as if I’ve fallen in love with some strange guy singing in a bar. I need a drink!
//I prayed that he would finish
But he just kept right on…//
I’m suddenly aware of the bemused looks I’m receiving from the jackass that bought me here. It appears my total meltdown has not gone entirely undetected.
“Pretty good, eh Lyman?”
I find my voice and my indifference just in time.
“Not bad for some campaign flake.”
They wisely shut up. Still, I’d feel better if I could just regain control. He has to stop, he has to be silent and just let me regain my thought processes. I can’t figure out this…witchcraft, not like this, not under his spell. Please, please, stop…
It appears our telepathy is working, as the song comes to a close. There is raucous applause, and my brain begins to return to an even keel. And then, he looks straight at me and says “Thank you.”
And I’m gone again.
Ignoring the comments from Ramble and the other morons, I walk up to the bar, looking in every direction, looking for *him*. I go to order a drink, belatedly realising I never drank my first, and run straight into him. I reach out to steady him, as he stumbles, and my body is alive with electricity. Before he looks up, I know it has to be him. Now that we’re close, now that I can see him, he’s even more beautiful than I at first thought. He’s back to the flitty campaign guy, but I don’t care. Something has made me realise that I’d be a fool to walk away from a man who has me so obviously…ensorcelled.
//Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words//
“Josh Lyman,” I smile, breathless, releasing his shoulders, to hold out my hand.
//Kiilling me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song//
He grins, and laughs, and shakes my hand. “Sam Seaborn. Let me get you a drink.”
//Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song//
Completely ensorcelled.