Previous Work by Walt Nickell

The Music Lover

Jimmy-Jay slowly raises his hand from the piano and gestures in my direction.  “Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Clarence ‘Crash’ Evans on Saxophone.”

I nod my head toward the crowd, dampen the sax reed with my tongue and begin to blow.  The notes are quiet, slow and smoky, flirting with the brushes on Strother’s drums.  Hanging on the wall behind me, a flashing sign winks on and off, proclaiming us:  “The Lonesome Drifters.”

I want to make love to that sax, feel it like a woman in my arms.  Not like any woman, though.  I want to feel it like Lola.  In my arms.  Against my body.

My fingers move patiently as I work to raise the sensations higher.  I’m home.  At last.  On stage.  Where I’m meant to be.


Hell has been described as “Separation From God.”

Distance.

Cold, dark despair.

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