Getting Back To It

There were other dramas we paid attention to, besides Amanda and Jerry, and the busboy. We were a band, with all that entailed, and we paid attention to the migration of the birds, the barn swallows in summer, the eagles in January, the trumpeter swans, the snow geese, the robins. We loved Neil Young and Fleetwood Mac, could listen to Landslide and Silver Spring and Stop Draggin' My Heart Around on repeat forever in the car, and Nathan and I had not figured out whether we were in love or not. Jenn B and Jen A were the ones with formal music training, met at some famous school back east. Jenn B knew how to play both violin and fiddle, same body, different sound. Jen A opened her mouth and the heavens poured out, sometimes wrathful and wild, all New Testament love at others, Jesus and John Lennon in the voice of a girl. The three of us wore bikinis and ran around barefoot, were told by Amanda that she had never met three girls who combed their hair less. Not that we had dreads or were dirty. We were a cliche anyway, I guess.