Who Can You Trust?
She was so beautiful. How was I to know that she was a squatter? I was
transfixed by her dark curls, full lips and catlike, onyx eyes. I fell
loosely into those eyes, the blackness enveloping any meek resistance
Eventually, we found our way back to her "place" as she called it, the door
hanging loosely on hinges long beyond repair, but she swallowed up my
surroundings with her presence. Once off the street, at the foot of a dark,
narrow staircase, my hand found hers and a moment later we were locked
together, the taste of her cigarettes in my mouth, my eyes exploding. Her
back arched in my arms as I covered her with my mouth... then her hand
was again in mine, pulling me up the staircase toward the mystery.
Beyond the door was a long, narrow room, two windows on one side, a bookcase
from floor to ceiling in the back, and what I assumed were her belongings: a
mattress, a boombox with a pool of CDs around it, and a few well-worn
paperbacks shoved between the bed and the wall. She pulled me through the
door by both hands, her eyes burning into me, then she flicked on the only
light-- a single blue bulb in the ceiling.
She motioned me to sit on the edge of the bed, and produced a small glass
pipe from the folds of her clothing. Squatting and staring into my eyes, she
packed up a bowl, handed it to me, and swiveled to look at the boombox.
Between the bottom of her blouse and the top of her pants was a swath of
smooth skin covered with fine hairs, I was still thinking about them when
the music started.
I glanced at the jewel case she'd thrown down with the rest and saw that it
was Morcheeba's Who Can You Trust?. Just as Skye Edwards began to
croon, "Sometimes I get up feelin' good/ But greed gets me down," she stood
up, turned to face me and began unbuttoning her blouse. I first saw her
nipples, black in the blueness of that barren room, as Skye sung with
molasses richness: "Good vibrations that we make will come bouncing back." I
felt her nakedness in my arms as Skye told me, "Soak up Wisdom all year
long/ And then take action." My mouth was wandering along the mountains and
valleys of her purple skin as Skye spoke to me: "Things have changed this
time around/ I'm on the rocks and lookin' down/ And I can't see/ For all the
darkness 'round here." I began to spin deep into the vortex of her flesh,
her soul, heart and darkest eyes, as Skye soundtracked the event to its
Upon the morn, she was gone and the sun shone brightly into her room. I
gathered my clothes around me and found my way out, the blisteringly bright
sun torturing the dark memories of night. I held my collar as I took the
city bus back, and thought about both Skye and my princess bride. Deep down,
I knew the music was expressing something deep-- the intersection between
the modern urban paranoia of her flat and the pure undiluted pleasure of her
voice, skin and arms. Sex energized with dark fears. Slow beats mirroring
her heartbeat. Jazzy guitars and sax recalling. Electro touches forecasting.
Morcheeba, simply happening.
-James P. Wisdom, April, 1997