Undertones

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Undertones

January 1st, 2011

By Rachael:

She looked into the cup and swirled the dark, swampy liquid. She knew that her effort had its rewards in store. As the night drew in, she listened to the calls of the birds and the never ending drone of the cicadas. Potions usually put her at peace. Usually a good mood at that. 

Tonight she waited for her guest. The lone woman that needed her help. Her help alone would make the difference between life and death. Maybe. Probably...

As she swirled the liquid, undertones of black cohosh and lemon balm brought her back to a place she knew. She didn't have to taste this brew to be familiar with the loss it meant, the pain it meant, the loss it prevented.

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By Michael:

When I was young, Angie and I used to hunt for good places to play music and to sing harmony. We would sing under the 16th Street bridge as the cars thundered overhead and muddy water gurgled softly along, on its way to farms and to Mexico.

We would walk into the tunnel between the gym and the old-fashioned barber shop, with its metal stools and 2 barbers in white, to sing. Alto and baritone pitches melded with bass undertones that seemed to ooze from within cold, grey cement walls. Sweet harmonies reverberated throughout the hall for a few minutes; and have echoed through the years of my life. I can still hear them faint in the distance.

I would pull out my harmonica and play until somebody walked in. Then the music would stop, often before they had heard anything. We would walk out calmly, with smirks on our faces. We had just gotten away with something secret.

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