make sure you outlive me. ruby&ivory
May 16, 2024 10:58:59 GMT -5
Post by arx on May 16, 2024 10:58:59 GMT -5
aluminium rubenstein
"Don't leave, I'll be right back," I give her a look that I hope will ensure she doesn't decide better of this date. She looks a bit pissed, panicked. "Just save my seat!" I yell up the stone stairs of the coliseum venue that had been rented for the evening. And I make sure she sees me gently pretending to use a drumstick as I skip backwards and twirl forward down the stairs.
I'm cordial as I greet everyone I had met at dress rehearsal last night. "Hello, sir, good to see you again," I nod, shaking hands with—"Uriah." "Ostentatious." "Lop." "Arbor." "Penelope."—acquaintances I had met at the rehearsal dinner. "Congratulations," I barely know the groom. But Marcel had insisted I sing his sister's processional and they had both agreed. Asked, even.
I've never sang at a wedding before. Musicals and concerts, they all felt the same now, blending together to make a perfect polaroid picture of the person I was pretending to be.
Is this what it feels like to be nervous?
It's been so long I can hardly remember what it feels like. I think I had forgotten until this week when I had asked my Mom if she could braid my hair.
----------------------------
("You haven't asked me to do that since you were eight years old, baby." She wouldn't stop chuckling at me. "Who are you dressing up for?" "It's for Maya's wedding, Marcel's sister?" "Oh yes, of course it is.")
(She raises an eyebrow with a small shake of her head and a scoff. "You made your hair such a chore to work with." I laugh and smile and apologize, flopping down on the couch just to hear her from the bathroom and stand instantly up rail straight. "Aloo! Hurry up then! Need to see if I can fix that absolute mess on your head." "Alright, well, it is a special occasion.")
("Oh, if only you hadn't abused your curls like this. Maybe I could've made you more handsome then.")
----------------------------
And then maybe again when Ivory was tracing the gold stitching along my vest.
("I haven't done this since I was a little girl.")
I guess I've never looked perfect in a reflective surface.
But I breathe deep, threaten my lungs with full to burst suffocation. I swallow what I swear can't possibly be nerves, clearing my throat. Cello, violin, piano, and then,RUBY.
And, of course—with my first breath—a wink to her.
Couldn't have been nerves, then. I was already falling into the strange syllables I had been memorizing for months, breathing where I needed, accents to emphasize entrances fell in time, and even when I thought I'd lost my place in the unfamiliar language I could feel Uriah and Pen gleefully redirecting me back to where I needed to be.
And-
-yeah--if I'm being honest-
I sound ethereal.
I return to where I left Ivory as guests settle back into their seats and as all members of the wedding party readjust themselves for pictures with gentle smiles, shifted trains and veils.
"Wow. Beautiful."
My braids clatter together as she reaches out to touch and I can't help but hear windchimes in my ears and bouncing off the walls that begged to make sound not only heard, but fucking magnetic. Always as she has been. Only someone who wanted to make a true fool of themselves could disagree.
"But could have been better."
"I haven't heard a single real critique yet."
"If you leave me alone again tonight, I’m calling this a bad date."
"Thank you," I lean into her, a whisper I hope fucking tickles as I nudge her knee. And I know her laced fingers won't ever fit well with my ringed ones so I don't bother trying to intertwine them, just leave my hand open for her to take. "You can have this back now."
I flex my fingers in mimic of a flautists left hand, but she does not take it.
"And I'll go home and tell everyone about it.""Oh?"
I keep my hand held out for her even as I lean away, capturing a silence that could only reach us when I speak again. "Tu me tues à petit feu." I grin, use the hand I'm not offering her to feign a gentle heart attack as I check to make sure no one bothers to be disturbed by our hushed antics. And then I start playing a piss poor chord on a piano with the hand I still hold out to her. I lean back in with my lips hovering around a curl behind her ear, my forehead pressed against a pink stone within her hair.
"I told you I would never dare take you on one of those," I flip my hand over and use an imaginary drumstick incorrectly in the hope she may snatch it up to stop me. "Remember?"
I don't tell her that I don't care who knows. As long as she keeps going on dates with me. But she's stubborn. Likes it her way. Makes it her way. Beats and lyrics and it's just such fucking-perfection.
And so she obviously still doesn't take my hand.
And I can't tell what she's playing at for once, only that she knows she has already won. Her lack of attention makes me itch, but I don't bother stopping my horrible attempt at playing every instrument I can think of in my pocket as we move through the what could really only be described as 'a flood of guests.' And then when the music starts up again and she turns to look at me with a grin—"Have I ever told you I'm fantastic at dancing?"—I just have to laugh.
Because, no, I did not know that about Ivory.
And also because she takes my hand.
"Well, I can promise you there is no better partner than me.""I know."