“What song?” I was already annoyed by the interruption of my online porn surfing, and just thought he'd play some house music that was already our annoying soundtrack.
“Our song.”
I crossed my arms. He slipped a cassette into the deck, pressed PLAY, turning to watch me. It was one of those songs I'd have changed the moment it started on the radio, some diva purse music. I started to say some—
“No! Listen.”
Sometimes the snow comes down in June
Sometimes the sun goes 'round the moon
I harrumphed and squirmed sitting there.
“Stop it, Terry. God! This is about us.”
I listened. The song was pretty, I guess, but I watched Billy mouth the words and soon he was singing along, his eyes watching me, but by the end of the tune, he was belting it out, hamming it up, a big finish on its way.
“Just when I thought our chance had passed,” he warbled at full volume, “You went and saved the best for la-a-a-a-st.”
He beamed when it was done. Even did a little bow.
“That’s very nice.”
“It’s true, you know. We made it through. You know.” His voice was soft, a little disappointed. He thought I thought it was stupid and he felt embarrassed, or at least that's what his expression told me. And in that moment, I knew what he meant and why the song held such weight for him, and for me.
I walked the few steps over to him, grabbed him tight around his waist pressing our bodies tightly together, and I kissed him lightly.
“I know, baby. You saved the best for last.”
.
