Stolen Night

It is mid evening. A soothing seventy something degrees. We're on route twenty two west in southern Arizona. Driving on a seemingly empty road at high speeds. They're are no cars whizzing past us to help gauge our speed. We're moving to fast to peer over at the dashboard. We ride in style however quickly we may arrive wherever in a nineteen sixty seven Lincoln. Black on black convertible, with suicide doors and leather seats, also black. Wind is ripping by my ears, round my ears and in and out of them. Sweet perfume douses the air from my girl Ava lending the fresh air a intoxicating scent. She is my girl. She is the one.

Well, she is the only one that runs her fingers through my terribly long curled around leg hair.. A cave man I am. It is sicking, even for me. Ava loves it. Ava is french. I picked her up at the airport bar on hold for another air taxi. Ava speaks little English. Hello and thank you seem to be the extent. She shook her head yes to a drink so here we are driving to an Indian reservation. It is only a couple miles away from my hut, albeit it is secured with a metal roof though. Enough for sure to catch the one inch of rain that trickles down every year. Ava, 'Jimmy.' That's it. A few moments go by,.... 'Jimmy, wher,..where u,..where u viva?' Yep I am clueless but, she is incredibly gorgeous and affable, no confusion here. I say, 'Si si Ava, viva!' Ava now, 'no..no..no.. where u live?' 'Oh, a couple miles away, just over that hill.' She smiles graciously, 'ok..ok.. we go?' I say, "yes Ava, we go. For sure.
Ava understands English, so I talk mostly. She does what she does. With ease she is seen smiling, laughing, giggling, pouting, acting surprised, or whatever the necessary reaction is to my dialogue. Without words she is incredibly charismatic. Who is she? Are all french girls like this? I ask, 'Ava, are you happy here in America?' She understands the word happy right away. She quickly clenches up smiling and wraps her hands together. Easy to see her now trying to decipher the rest of the sentence. I stop that, and with the overwhelming feeling that i am behaving and speaking like a Japanese tourist I spit out, 'you happy?' 'Yes,..yes, happy yes,' she say's. Then as if I were Merlin the great wizard, I unfurled my arm, spreading it out to max and say, 'America. Are,...you,....happy,...in AMERICA?' She screams an awkward french wanting to be american accent, 'yes! Yes she say's again then we kiss.

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