The apartment was small to those that visited, just a few hundred square feet. But to them, it felt like a luxurious mansion. Overlooking the downtown core, they were comfortably perched 10 floors above the hustle and bustle. The aggressive “beep-beep” of the snow clearing equipment drifted up from the frozen city streets, and in through the slightly opened living room window, gently mixing with the jazz song that bled from the computer speakers.
The Scorpions stood in the middle of the living room floor, he was smiling, and his hat was tipped back on his head. They slowly spun in a circle in time with the music, being swept along by the wondrous beauty of a young girl’s voice bravely singing an upbeat scat solo. The horns dancing along the bass line to fill out the melody, and the Scorpions danced, and simply were. Enjoying the moments of just being together, of letting the music sweep them along love’s long journey.
The computer sat on a large writing desk. That desk was very nearly the only thing in the room, besides the books. The books in that small apartment were more like a fluid then a group of individual items, as numerous as grains of sand. The philosophy pile began on the bookshelf, and then overflowed onto the edge of the desk which seemed to hold all the hard sciences. The textbooks concerned with physics and biology , barely organized, spilled onto a torrent of magazines from national geographic that pooled at the feet of the desk like liquid knowledge, one could simply step into and swim through. Papers, articles, printed documents, essays and more cascaded from every drawer in the desk, filling in all the spaces between the books like the spray from a waterfall, the ideas and scribblings of the man who called this place home . Behind the desk was a large wall hanging of Frida Kahlo, small Christmas lights softly illuminating the dark green fabric, and besides the laptop computer the top of the desk was very orderly compared to the bookshelf. It was ready to be used for its intended purpose. The top had clean white papers laid out, fountain pen’s with there different colored inks stood in there elk antler holder, ready to be pulled from their sheaths and used to write the ideas as inspiration struck.
The music ended then, and as the horns repeated the last four bars,over and over again, getting softer with each repetition. Mr. Scorpion looked down at his wife, gazed softly into her eyes and said
” I love you , Darling”
She gazed up at him, love filled her eyes as a smile so beautiful lit her face, that his heart nearly stopped, and he thought to himself that heaven itself must look cold
and grey without her and her smile in it. She held him tightly by the waste, and stood on his feet,
“SCRAAACK!” she squawked, right into his left ear.
“What the hell!” he managed before he burst out laughing and tried to step backwards, which was difficult because she was standing on top of his feet.
“I’m a penguin” she cried with delight, having played her joke on him.
They were so in love, after so many years together.