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❝ Still in peaceful dreams I see the road leads back to you ❞
Over the rumble of the bass and shout of the horns, Odella's mother's voice rang throughout her head. She could almost feel the burn of her mother's strike against the back of her neck as she stared at the man, mouth wide and eyes wider. Fix yo'self and close that mouth of yours, she'd say. Though it had been many moons since she felt the palm of her mother's hand, Odella instinctively brought a painted hand up to cover her gawking stare.
Stripped of the comfort of familiarity, the man entered through the double doors like the baby exits the mother, lost and blinded. Though she knew better, Odella couldn't find it within herself to peel her eyes from him as he attempted to slip into the dark corners of the club to no avail. He was as white as the North Star, with hair like wheat, as he tried to watch from afar, he found himself the center of attention.
Nearly six-foot, she thought as she watched him. Dark liquid began to circle against the rim of her glass daring to spill over the edges at the clank of her heels against the wooden floors. Her staccato rhythm slowed a pace but did not cease. With a whip of her neck, she finished her drink quickly and back to dancing she went.
Odella could feel the eyes of the men and women, young and old, pass through her body and land on him as he slivered through the small building. She watched as Atticus neared him. The leathered hands of a black man on his shoulder caught his attention.
Odella decided this was the time to interfere. As fast as she could in her heeled shoes and without making a scene, she began to the push through the crowd and over to the bar he sat at. Occupying the seat to his right, Atticus' hands took advantage of the endless air above him, swaying expressively as he spoke, doing more of the talking than his mouth. Odella walked with meaning towards the stools, for she knew it was only a matter of time before Atticus talked the white man straight through those barn doors he came through. She picked up speed, the image sharpening and growing in clarity with each step.
Her legs suddenly stop. As she stopped in her tracks, the outer soles of her shoes found the wood of the floorboards with a thump. Laughter. Deep belly laughter spilled from the bar, not just from Atticus but the white man himself. She hummed to herself impressed and continued to the stools.
Atticus suddenly turned, so sharply it spooked her. "Odella!" A drunken holler. "Come 'ere won't ya!"
She neared her summoner and took a seat next to the white man, furthest from Atticus.
The man turned to face her, and she smiled inside. He looked just as he did in the papers, no retouching needed. She could even argue he looked better out of the black and white papers, carved under the deep crimson shadows of the club lighting.
He outstretched his palm and she laid hers in his.
