a bell-tower amongst buildings
His thumb briefly stopped at the edge of each record that he leafed through. This stopping made for a subtle rustling rhythm. He kept in time with this strange beat with every record he felt through. He stopped at the middle of the row and ran the calloused tip of his finger up and down the edge of the casing. It felt rough with wear but sturdy with age. His thumb ended on the top right corner of the record. It was still sharp after countless hours spent in his father’s attic and the moving it had done since then with it’s creaky legs and aging joints. A concentrated look came over his face as he pushed the edge into his thumb, just enough to feel the record push back. He grabbed the casing with his thumb and forefinger. Pulling the record out from the row made a soft tugging, producing a slight satisfying friction.
The white sleeve covering clashed with the dark glossy black of the vinyl. As he pulled them apart the two clung to one another like the hands of lovers saying goodbye, letting only the passive motion of the world move them apart. As he peeled them apart, he noticed dust from another sunny afternoon still clung to the slight etchings in the vinyl. The natural curving of the grooves made a precise enough cut for the small particles to band together and make a home. He then briefly brought his thumb around the curving of the disc, feeling the sharp, solid frame.
In the nearby kitchen, she reached up on her tip-toes to get to the row of glasses. The end of the counter rubbed against her waist as she grabbed the only remaining cups far in the back of the wooden cupboard. The glasses clinked onto the counter as she set them down making a sweet, high-pitched ting. A soft afternoon light spilled in from the kitchen window to her right warming her bare feet on the cool tile.
The smooth curves of the glass led the finger to an etching in the middle: “Made in 1929”. She turned on her heels to the fridge to her left and tugged on the stainless steel. It felt cool against her warm palm. She proceeded to grab her ingredients: simple syrup, crushed ice, gin, elderflower and lemon. Everything went out onto the cold marble counter in a line. The mixer, with it’s tall and odd curving shape, stood out from the line at the end like a bell-tower amongst buildings.
The lemon on the counter was brighter than usual, as if it had taken the time to polish itself before use. She grabbed it and rolled it her between her hands. Her knife drove right through the center, lightly scratching the counter underneath. She ran her finger along the outer rim of the halved fruit, feeling the hard rind give way to her thumb. She took the lemon half in her hand and held it above the steel mixing glass. She collapsed the lemon onto itself, pushing the rind and flesh together with force.
The liquids made a deep swoosh as they met, swirling and dancing together. The lid of the mixer clasped on, and the rhythmic shakes of the ice alongside the mixing of the liquid made for an odd, musical beat. They flung together from the top of the mixer to the bottom and back again. The rhythmic motion caused her to rock back on her heels, bobbing under the bright afternoon sunshine. Her right hand opened the wooden drawer next to her and dug amongst the silver for a small spoon. She dipped the face of the spoon into the liquid. The twirling of her wrist caused the liquids to press against the mixer and the center to dip inward, creating a cascading whirlpool of yellow, white and silver.
He pressed the “open” button into the frame of the player and the dust cover lifted. He placed the vinyl onto the gentle velvet bed of the record player. The two discs sealed together well, like a tired body and a warm blanket at the end of a workday. Lifting itself eagerly, the hand of the player swung to the left to greet the disc.
The creak of the door caused his neck to crane to his right and knock his side into the side of the shelf. She brought the drinks in and placed them on the counter next to the record player. They made a clink as they hit each other on the way down. He reached for her hand, curling his fingers around hers in warm entwinement. Then they pressed play.
| written by my literary obsessed husband |
Ingredients: makes one french 75
- 2 oz Gin
- ½ oz of lemon juice, freshly squeezed
- ½ oz of simple syrup
- ELDERFLOWER PRESSE *if you can’t get your hands on elderflower presse then you could substitute the simple syrup with 1 OZ ELDERFLOWER SYRUP and top off with champagne
- Thyme, basil or lavender for garnish (optional)
1. Place the gin, lemon juice, and simple syrup in a boston shaker. Add in about ½ a cup of ice, put the top on the shaker and shake earnestly for 15-20 seconds then strain into a cocktail glass.
2. Top off with the elderflower presse. Garnish with an herb or botanical of your choice.