Oh, Otis

Inspired by the soulful, head-bobbing, body-swaying melodies of the one and only, Otis Redding. Specifically: These Arms of Mine, Pain In My Heart, and Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa (Sad Song). Let me just remind you that this blog is for my FICTIONAL creative writing pieces. However, that does not mean that I am not inspired by real life. Is this excerpt based on one of my past/current relationships, you ask? I'll let you decide. (Coy smile). I have to keep some things mysterious, right? Enigmatically yours, Victoria

 XOXO

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Sometimes I listen to Otis Redding and think about you. 

About red wine, some hash, and your lips - tasting of cigarette smoke and the 40's. 

I try to understand what drew me to you. 

Why you kept pulling me, like a pup on a leash. 

You were mean. Cruel. Yes, you were. 

But that Otis Redding, he kept crooning, kept singing to me, and bringing me back. 

We would sit in your inviting bed, your yellow hair covering your eyes, small and smug, and we would play. 

Those arms of yours, they provided a respite for me, but there was pain in my heart, and we were often silent, conversing without words, as the melody "fa-fa-fa-fa-fa" wafted through the stale air. 

I felt old next to you. Not old as in age. But I felt romantic and antiquated. 

When I walked into your home, passed the wisteria, through the barely-budging door, it was like stepping into another era - a Woody Allen movie, perhaps - a smokey room, jazz, burgundy and forest green. 

We would talk about philosophy and film and our world theories.  

But we never got along. 

I would threaten to leave, you would tickle me, I would succumb, we would kiss, and then I would walk out the door. 

It was tumultuous and you were an asshole - vulgar, but true. 

What is so mysterious to me - is that, even now, to this day, after all the shed tears, the hateful words, I still have a desire to go to your house, sit in your bed, cover myself in your red duvet, feeling the clean cotton against my skin, and listen to Otis Redding - watch you mouth the words, with your eyes closed, your hands draped around my naked body. 

That memory brings a strange sense of contentment. 

I often wonder - why is it that you keep resurfacing? 

I hate so many things about you. 

I despise your attitude, your arrogance, your stubbornness, among other more unappealing attributes. 

So why now, if you were to invite me over, would I be tempted to follow my feet to your couch and listen to you belittle me? 

It must be the Otis Redding. 

Ohhhh, Otis. 

Bringing people who should not be together...together. 

You devil, you.