by Shelly Frome
Letting it ride, he shut his eyes and played it simple, vibrato on the long notes just like on the old records and tapes.
There was no telling when Dewey dropped in and started doing fills, running the bottleneck over the bass strings. Josh was deep into his aching tune, Dewey was doing backup and they were alone together in their own little world.
In time, at another 2-bar break, he spotted Ella out of the corner of his eye half-lit in the doorway. She gave him a thumbs-up as if she’d actually got in touch with LuAnn and delivered his message. In return, he gave her a grateful nod while he and Dewey played on.
When he squinted again, he found Ella sitting at one of the little round tables directly below him. As she raised her highball glass, he noticed her mascara was smeared and tears were running down her face. Forcing a smile, she tried dabbing the tears with a cocktail napkin. But it was no use, so she just let the tears run.
Soon after, seemingly out of nowhere, Dewey starting doing a riff on an old gospel song:
‘This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine, gonna let this little light shine. . .’
Glancing over, Josh caught a glint in Dewey’s eye he’d never seen before.
Soon, Dewey’s riff faded out and gave way to Josh’s blues which now melded with Ella’s tears and thoughts of LuAnn: his tune growing more and more wistful, segueing from loss to longing, from longing to promise at first light. He kept it soft for LuAnn, staying with the quiet promise until, no longer able to be contained, the wistful strain picked up another notch. Something welled up inside again, only it wasn’t a cry or wail this time. This time it was a clarion call. Unlike Alice’s whistle, the signal rang out loud and clear. In its wake, banner headlines of The Morning Star appeared to him, his exposé as bright as can be.
His clarion call and the daybreak melody carried him higher, rolled on and took him home.