five- Little Red Ribbons

“We’re all made of stardust.”
Dylan stares up at the sky, bluish-black and star-studded.

“Fuck, you’re in love… And it’s only been a week!”
Nick watches her from the open screen door, counting the polka dots on her cream sundress as she sits back on his motel pool lawn chair. His eyes fall from the frills of the dress, down her smooth shining legs and to her cute ankles. He smiles as she pushes the red satin pumps off her feet, careful not to ruin the little red ribbons tied at the heels.

“I really like him, but you’re not listening to me. We’re all made of stardust, star stuff…”
“Alright, I’m listening! Go on.” Nick walks over to the lawn chair as Dylan swings her feet slowly, running the bottoms of her feet against the moist grass beneath. On the speakers placed near the open screen door, Ryan Adams croons “I got a really good heart, I just can’t catch a break, if I could I’d treat you like you wanted me too, I promise…”

“Galaxies and planets, the earth and the trees and animals, you and me Nick! We wouldn’t be here if a star or sun didn’t explode or implode, I forget which one. Every element you can find inside us came from the heart of a dying star and when it died what was left, the dust, came together randomly and created planets and life! We’re all made of stardust…” Inside her is a feeling brighter and warmer than any she’s ever felt.

Dylan’s heart has gone supernova. Years later she’ll remember this moment and how she felt truly happy.

“Nick, I think you’re right… I think I’m fucked.” Dylan grabs Nick’s hand and locks onto his eyes. “Promise me you’ll beat him up if we break up,” she says with a little laugh.
“Cross my heart…,” Nick says sincerely. Inside him is a feeling brighter and warmer than any he’s ever felt. His heart has gone supernova. Years later he’ll remember this moment and how painful it was.

Above them, the stars take cover behind heavy rain-clouds. Portland, like Seattle, is infamous for how much it rains. Portlanders don’t tan. They rust.

The sky slowly fills with clouds, and the stars have all gone to hiding. Simultaneously, the fat clouds burst open, releasing countless raindrops like paratroopers. The fall is long and suicidal, but each drop mindlessly dives headfirst onto a blade of grass, a car windshield, a stray dog’s thirsty tongue.

Inside the second floor of his apartment, Henry turns off his T.V. and listens to the rain falling on his balcony. He walks downstairs with a John Hiatt record in one hand and a martini in the other and heads straight to the record player in his living room. He lays the record down and drops the needle. Seconds later “It Feels Like Rain” comes on the surround.

Just before he sits down, Henry hears what sounds like a knock. He turns the music down a little, and hears the knocking coming from the front door. He finishes the martini in one breath, loosens his tie, and unbuttons the top button of his white dress shirt. He had just gotten home from work a half hour ago and was not expecting or desiring any company.

As he reaches the door, he feels his phone vibrate in his left pocket. He pulls it out and is informed that he has a text message. He presses a button and sees that it’s from Dylan. He smiles, but doesn’t read it. He shuts his phone off and opens the door.

“Hello Henry, I’m wet and I need a drink…” Standing at his door in a short red trench coat, is a beautiful woman in her late twenties. With her wet dirty-blonde hair and wet statuesque legs, she looks like she took a shower with her coat on then put on a pair of black open toed stilettos. Her face is made up as if it belongs next to a bottle of expensive vodka on a page in GQ. Amazingly, her makeup isn’t running.

“Hello Chloe. It’s late,” Henry grins.

“C’mon Henry, It’s cold out here and I should really get this wet coat off.” Chloe gives Henry a familiar look. It’s both pleading and demanding.

“Why don’t you give me your coat and head on up to my bedroom. You know where the towels are.” Henry watches Chloe walk up the stairs, slowly opening her coat then letting it slip off her shoulders down her back and onto the steps. She reaches the second floor then makes a right towards the bedroom. Henry can hear her stilettos walking straight to the foot of his bed and then silence.

Pulling off his tie, he walks into the kitchen and grabs a tumbler from the dishwasher. He fills it with Wild Turkey then pulls the phone out of his pocket. He opens Dylan’s message and takes a sip while he reads it. He smiles, sets the phone down on the counter, and downs the rest of the whiskey.

Upstairs, Chloe lies waiting in the middle of Henry’s king-sized bed, her stilettos standing guard at the foot of the bed next to a wet towel. Wrapped around her stunning body is a black lace slip that’s mostly see-through. Henry opens the door and stands in the doorway with his hands in his pockets. With his head tilted slightly, he examines the black lace slip, his eyes immediately and purposefully drawn to a single spot. On the slip, right between Chloe’s beautifully crafted breasts, a little red ribbon looking back at Henry as if to say, “Open your present.” He steps into the room and closes the door behind him.