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Miles, Leonard and the Beat, a short story by seymour. Times viewed: 433

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Intro: curiosity, and fantasy and a relationship between people who have never met: The thump thump of her boots on my ceiling became the soundtrack of my nights.
And of my dreams.
My dreams of feeling those same boots over my shoulders.

On more than one occasion I laid back on my couch, following those thumps moving back and forth across the water stain on my ceiling that looked like Leonard Cohen in profile. As my eyes followed the beat, my hands roamed across borders, and beneath belts.

I had seen her coming and going. I knew what time she left for work, and when she usually got home. My ears told me she liked Miles Davis, and my nose that she liked baked salmon. I suspected she was a vegetarian. That’s ok with me. I can adapt. From sharing an elevator I knew she used a peach scented shampoo, and Elizabeth Arden “True Love” perfume. But I didn’t know her name. I began to privately refer to her as Milan - because of the boots. I think she would’ve liked that.

Tonight was fish again. She ran herself a bath, and I could picture the mountain range of suds swallowing her. I imagined how those mountains swayed as she reached for her wine. Italian red of course. I could see her getting out of the bath, and the bubbles clinging to her arms and breasts.

************

Last night there was another pair of thumps. A backbeat to her usual swing. The backbeat was deeper, heavier. I laid and watched the beats move back and forth across Leonard’s face. Together, apart, and together again.
The beats stopped, but Miles continued to blow slow.
I thought I heard something, but I couldn’t be sure. My ear stretched to listen closer.
I heard a shoe drop and roll, then another. And the distinct jangle of a belt buckle hitting Leonard in the mouth.

My imagination was peeking through her 8th story window.
Miles finished blowing.
All was quiet.
Except my brain.
It ran, chasing its tail.
Round and round.
It sizzled. It roared. It raged.
This was not the way it was supposed to be.
Those boots were meant for my shoulders.

I had to do something…

******************

Tonight it’s quiet. I look to Leonard, but he’s quiet. So is Miles.

What have I done…?

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