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Heat

Michael Ripley

The song echoed through the crowd, ‘With a girl like that, any love at all is better than nothing.’  It rang from the open door leading to the bar at the beach.  A group of kids ran by while I watched from the sidewalk; they ducked into the arcade.  Waterfront vendors lined the shore and drifted out along the pier.  The air smelled of cotton candy, burgers, and exhaust rolling from the engine of the ferris wheel that climbed high above the summer scene.  Heat fused the aroma and the people together as if a common bond had permeated the crowd, making everyone familiar and approachable for this one night only.  She sat upon the old fashioned coke machine in front of the bar, circled by four or five men, smiling and waving her crossed legs up and down, showing off her short skirt, defining what is meant by ‘a girl like that.’

 ‘You knew damn well there was nothing going on,’ the song proclaimed as I approached the choreographed gang, men in heat on a smoldering night with the damsel showing no distress, ready to relieve at least one loin of a Jet or Shark that danced before her.  With her head tossed back to whip the fullness of long dark hair, she laughed and fawned, holding each aficionado both entranced and at bay, as of yet uncertain of her preference for love. 

‘Yeah she drags you down, and pulls you up,’ I heard loudly in my ears as I reached the throng and stepped between her and her would be pupils, impeding their search for knowledge of her carnal ways.  She put her hands upon my shoulders, sending electric waves deep into my chest, leaning forward in a gentle caress as she let herself down from the perch and onto the same ground that held my feet.  She kissed my cheek before grabbing the hand of the Jet to my left, pulling him over and into the night, leading him to the heat and leaving me to touch my face as the song came to a bittersweet end, ‘With a girl like that, any love at all is better than nothing.’