Mamma Mia! - for Caitlin Rose

It’s June 11, 2012 and Cait brings me some melted-strawberry Gunther’s ice cream. Man, this stuff tastes good on a hot night. Sitting on the Red Corduroy Couch, ABBA playing on the record player in the bedroom, we decide to have a spontaneous pajama party. A crazy idea if you think of it; it's a Monday night, a work night for both of us. Thinking of it, I take a deep breath, maybe be the first focused, intentional breath of the day.

Sigh.

The guitar makes that certain sound, the sound of a cat – meyowwww – in the Mamma Mia! song, taking me instantly back to road trips in Annie's car, the Golden Princess, when we played this album incessantly. She liked ABBA for the cat’s meow, I liked it because there’s nothing like an ABBA album to get a girl up and dancing. I am, always have been, always will be, a dancing queen.

Cait turns the page, we write side by side, silently both together and alone. The air conditioner kicks in. I’m tired, it’s hot, and I notice the sound of her pen gliding determinedly across her notebook paper. She’s using Lewis Buzbee's Bridge of Time as a hard surface. Sitting up straight, left leg folded underneath her, she writes with her right hand. If she notices me observing her, she doesn't show it.

My mind wanders. Why do I write? I thought of that many times today, not sure why. LB would say don’t write what you want to write, write what you want to read. I question my ability, and whether I have the needed strength of spirit, to acquire the right skills for this.

...

"There's a fire within my soul
Just one look and I can hear a bell ring
One more look and I forget everything, o-o-o-oh"

...

Observing Cait, her head tilted to the side, deep in thought, I conclude she already knows what she's doing, instinctively. There’s a big something in her, just dying to get out.

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thoughts from the red corduroy couch

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