I lost consciousness.  For a moment.  Only a moment.

          The next thing I saw lights—a flashlight in my face.

          And I was lying on the roof of the car in the back

          seat.  Music in my head.  Echoing.  A harmonica. And

          for a moment I thought we were playing again—Johnny

          doing a solo…  The rest a dream—a cartoon.  A Sunday

          newspaper comic of a movie going on in my mind…


You see pencil drawings.  Black and white. Their movement in flipping pages.  Johnny and Nina.  Their first meeting.  Her legs.  The sucker in her mouth.  Her face unreadable—a poker face…  Then them walking together.  He grabs her hand.  Then he draws her to him—hugs her close.  They kiss.  Then an indiscriminate room.  Maybe a motel room in Biloxi.  A bed.  Curtains drawn back in a window.  Color for a moment.  The various colors of neon lights coming into a window.  Then back to black and white.  Nina and Johnny in bed.  Making love.  Nina on top.  Then Johnny.  The images repeat. A close-up of their hands together—clasping.  Then the fingers relax…  A picture of intertwining snakes.  A picture of the squirrel, nibbling on a nut.  The squirrel climbing a tree, going around and around the trunk.  Going up…  Color again—a colored drawing.  A spectrum of light through the bars of a window.  Of a place where normally the sun never shines—the jail cell—the military brig.  Then black and white again.  A close-up of a plate of food—eggs, bacon, flapjacks—half eaten—teeth marks in the flapjacks.  A close-up of a cup of syrup…  Music in the sequence.  Music of David’s guitar.  First electric.  Then acoustic.  The haunting sound of a slide…


          Yeah… weird things happen…  Love is weird—ya know…


Focus on Johnny’s hands.  A rag smeared with black shoe polish.  His hands.  One holding the boot.  The other shining it with the rag.  Then the harmonica again.  Lying on the bed.  You hear its music.


You replay it.  Over and over.  In your head—ya know…  Pictures of it.  A man and a woman together.  What led them to be together.  The music between them—themed in those sparks, that fire of first love.  The words…  The words he used.  The words she used.  Her face saying them.  The smile on her lips, his lips, and then their lips touching…  And hunger.  A hunger through it all—ya know.  And nothing you eat satisfies it.  Because it ain’t a physical hunger.  No food will satisfy it…  It’s a hunger to express something.  Express beauty…  a beautiful memory.  What’s in your mind—out.  So anybody can see it.  Can read it.  Your heart a window.  And you know and they know.  No words to it.  Not enough words.  Just sound and light—moving.  And you feel it.  You feel what moves.  What moves in the ether between thought and expression.  You feel love.  You feel hate.  The hate harmless—merely the lack, an indifference you can’t feel.  The lack in being just the witness.  Watching and hearing two people fall in love.  What it spurs in your memory—making you a jealous audience—your heart aching a witness of it.  Bringing tears.  Bringing laughter…  It’s what you hear in the music.  What you see in the light.  The harmony in the motion picture of it…