Make It Smooth and Smoky
Margot Comstock
“My feet are burning. My heart is heavy. I am in mourning for my life.”

“Masha. The Seagull. Why do you always show off?”

It was her friend’s singing debut. The friend was belting a raspy blues number of her own creation.

“I never knew how to deliver that line. It’s like the third line of the play. Why do you always wear black? someone asks. I am in mourning for my life, Masha answers. Profound.”

“I like Johnny Cash better.”

“So do I. But today, I relate to Masha.”

The singing friend, whose debut it was, moved on to an upbeat torch song of her own creation.

“Anyway, I wasn’t showing off. I meant it. It sounded right, didn’t it? That’s why I said it.”

“Why are you sad?”

“Now I know how to deliver the line.”

“Let’s see, your feet are hurting. Well, I’m sorry. I think they’ll get better eventually.”

“I’ll never take another job standing up.”

“Your—what was next?”

“My heart. It’s down around my ankles.”

“Right. Well, you left out the real problem.”

“What?”

“Your glass is empty.” He lifted the Oban to pour.

 She looked at him; she felt her tension begin to melt; she almost smiled.

 “That’ll help.”


First published: August, 2013
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