United States or Uzbekistan ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
She wanted him to stay. She wanted to make a good breakfast for them. She wanted to talk with him for hours, but a deeper voice, surprising her, said, "Bye, Patrick." He looked at her intently for a moment. "Bye, Patrick," she repeated softly. Patrick took a quick step and kicked a pebble into the woods along AhnRee's driveway. It would be fun to practice corner kicks again. Willow was intense.
But he never listened to Beethoven. He liked the Beatles, for God's sake. I mean, yes, they wrote some catchy melodies, but really. They were a long way from Dylan, let alone Beethoven. Willow's indignation carried her to the top of the last hill before AhnRee's driveway. She got off her bike and waited for Amber.
She put a paperback copy of Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch in her bag and rode out past AhnRee's. He was drinking something by the pool, accompanied by a placid looking blonde in her forties. Willow waved and then bumped down to the blacktop road where she picked up speed and breezed downhill into town, her hair fluttering nicely behind her.
"Bart is pretty good on the piano. I'm thinking of changing to a better teacher." "I grew up on lessons," Willow said. "I think I had too many. When I was in Woodstock, I used to go up to AhnRee's and play his piano, try to write songs. I found that I couldn't. It was a great disappointment. It was like I was too grooved in the classical; I couldn't get loose, couldn't get away from it.
Long fingers wrapped around the neck of the banjo he was holding upright on his lap. "I'm Willow. I live up there in AhnRee's studio," She pointed up the mountain. "Ah, yes AhnRee. I'm Martin. Lower Byrdcliffe Road is just down at the end of the driveway." Willow couldn't decide whether he was shy or busy. He seemed to be telling her to hoof it.
The road appeared beyond a clump of bushes. She pushed through and turned toward AhnRee's. She had walked farther than she thought. By the time she reached the driveway, she was worrying about dinner.
For what? >From who? For being honest. That was it. From people who cut corners with the truth to get ahead or get along. They were the same that way. At the bottom of the mountain, they turned down Reynold's Lane to Route 212 and then up the Glasco Turnpike to the Byrdcliffe Road. At AhnRee's driveway, Willow said "Might as well walk me home." "My mission," Patrick said.
At some point she would meet the lower road, and she could walk back to the beginning of AhnRee's driveway. She came to the top of a ledge which she followed until she found a place to scramble down. At the base of the ledge, she straightened and listened. Banjo notes were picking their way through the trees. An easy deliberate rhythm drew her along and down the hill, farther from AhnRee's drive.
Word Of The Day