He wore lemon yellow and looked a little like he should be selling me insurance. She wore a white lace top, off the shoulders, a style made popular in the 1980s by Daisy Duke.
Lemon yellow didn't want to be at this concert; he wanted to be at his apartment removing that lace top with his teeth. This concert was simply foreplay for him, and he fidgeted in his seat with anticipation. Of course he sat directly in front of me.
Lacy white giggled during the first set of songs, and while she held Lemon yellow's hand, she whispered to her friend sitting on her other side.
He wanted more than hand-holding.
Occasionally, she would lean over and touch his black goatee, giving him an awkward sideways kiss on the lips.
Concert hall seats were not made for make-out sessions. Huh, go figure.
The lovely folk singer on the stage had a case of laryngitis, but she sallied forth and charmed us all with her little anecdotes. We didn't simply come to hear her sing; we wanted to sit in that concert seat and simply be with her, and to listen to her stories about her middle school aged son and her embarassing tales of travelling on the road and the inspirations for all the songs she sang.
She made a cute quip about our state's political situation: "I'm not exactly sure what your problem is with pedestrians in this state...all I keep seeing are these "Recall Walker" signs..." And the crowd roared with laughter.
She was our friend; we felt it, and that's why we were there.
Lemon yellow and Lacy white were oblivious to the room, and at first I thought it was cute. "Oh, look at the couple. 'We're so in love...so, so in love..' Good for them." But by intermission, I was annoyed.
As the lights went up and Lemon yellow and Lacy white escaped to probably make out in the foyer or try to find a dark corner for more sordid activities, my friend turned to me and read my mind: "Kind of obnoxious, those two."
As the lights went down, they hadn't returned. Looking down below from the balcony, we saw them: Lacy white and Lemon yellow had moved down to the good seats that had remained unclaimed during the first half of the show.
The singer started again, her voice husky with illness; yet there was something sultry and seductive in that whispering voice of hers that made me lean forward and smile. With that obnoxious little couple out of the way, an unspoken tether linked us together--me, my friend next to me who caught all the singer's little jokes along with me, and the singer on the stage--We were silently singing our own trio of joy, in perfect harmony.