Mother's Day

I smelt her presence before I heard her arrival.

She smelt inexplicable. With Fingers’ senses heightened, I recognized the scents of her makeup; differentiated between her hairspray; sensed the freshness of her cloths. Her recently applied perfume tickled my mind. As I played Ace Frehley’s “New York Groove” I heard a beat out of time and knew she ascended my stairs; but my fingers were in the groove and so was I. Even with my back to her, I knew when she halted at the top of the stairs. Quietly, she slipped over and sat on the edge of my bed; only feet away from me, yet also a vast distance away. From Ace’s “New York Groove” I rolled into my interpretation of my idol’s “Fractured Mirror.”

“Wow,” she voiced as my Lady’s final notes of faded away.

Fingers smiled at her as I lifted my guitar over my head. I handed her my guitar pick and I set my Lady in her proper place, at the head of my guitar stand. I could smell how Mom, as she wanted me to call her, was charmed and embarrassed. From behind me, I saw her cheeks redden. I heard her heart race. Fingers gave her his trademark roguish smirk and like a young Catholic schoolgirl, she blushed even more as she quivered from the guilty thrill that ran down her spine.

“We need to talk,” Carol started as Fingers held out his hand to her. Taking my hand, I helped her stand. She stood before me unsure, nervous. Beauty incarnate.

“What are you doing?” she questioned whilst the backside of my middle digit slid along her jaw as if she was the tenderest fretboard.

“Excuse me?” she demanded while the edge of my forefinger traced her jaw before cupping her chin. When she made to speak, I laid my finger on her lips with a soft, “Ssshhh…

“You need someone who will treat you like the Queen you are,” I said in a whisper so soft she had to lean in to hear it. “You need a man who will love you like the Goddess you are.”