“Hey, man. Thanks,” David said, his guitar and backpack now firmly on his back, and his hands on the frame of the door. He closed the door and stepped away from the car. Yeah, he'd been there before, but it was a good 5 miles from the room he kept at the YMCA.

There were a lot of people walking around. It was then that he remembered the festivals. There would be many tourists, and a lot of music lovers. It wasn't all that late, so he dropped down and sat just a store to the left of a liquor store. He unwrapped his guitar, hoping to maybe cash in on a few more bucks before calling it a night.

Busted flat in baton rouge, headin for the trains,
Feelin nearly faded as my jeans.
Bobby thumbed a diesel down just before it rained,
Took us all the way to new orleans.
Took my harpoon out of my dirty red bandana
And was blowin sad while bobby sang the blues,
With them windshield wipers slappin time and
Bobby clappin hands we finally sang up every song
That driver knew.

He sang the old Kris Krystofferson tune with more country than Janis Joplin had managed. His “harpoon”, that is, his harmonica, was still stowed away in his backpack, so he skipped the usual harmonica bits.

David sang and he played his guitar. He was good at both, but listeners are fickle. So he just continued on being himself and singing the song, hoping someone might find it good enough to drop a dollar or two in his hat.

Aiyana stood on the corner, absently playing with the backwards beret perched precariously on the crown of her skull.  There was no way to hide her apparent age.  Makeup and hair and clothing could only account for so much.  So, if she wanted to be taken seriously, she had to use presence.  If she was just out for a bit of fun, she could always act her "age".  A quick breeze thrust tendrils of hair back around the beret.  Her small purse was slung over her shoulder, and the strap ran across her chest only emphasizing what wasn't there.  The grey cotton tank top wrinkled down to her hips, and old jeans and flops completed the ensemble.  Fourteen year old hippy wannabe always worked well in this city.  She even had a couple joints stashed in the Camel Lights Box in her pocket.  Humans could be so innovative.  Take the tobacco out.  Put the marijuana in.  Tap.  Tap.  Tap.  It's in the Lucky and the Fuc-k me.

The walk light flipped on, and Aiyana merged into the Saturday night stream heading down Guadaloupe.  Here and there, the homeless crouched against the walls.  Downtown had plenty of safe spots to panhandle or just be yourself for a while.  Keep Austin Weird, read the town motto.  It fit.  Aiyana heard strains of music from up ahead.  It wove in and out of the idling engines.  Country-fied, she thought.  Then, with the awkward and studied grace of a teenage smoker, she lit up.  The crowd chanced upon the player, his Red-Sox hat in hand, so to speak.  She blew out a plume of smoke as she stopped in front of him. 

"Nice guitar."  Her voice was young, but it was modulated with centuries of experience.  This looked like an Easy Bake night.  Musicians were always tasty.  "You take requests?"

Another couple of songs later, David had accumulated another couple of dollars. The location probably was not the best along the street, but at least it was something. And, just for something different, he forwent the singing and started in playing Paul Simon's “Anji”, a rhythmic and free-wheeling instrumental that rolled easily from his fingers and danced over the guitar and out into the street.

David thought of nothing as he played. Instead, he felt the feeling of the strings, his fingers and the emotion of the music. They blended together into a cohesive whole that only a musician would understand. As for the people passing by – it would be up to their ear, their interest and their appreciation of the music to decide whether a coin or two might be earned.

He completed the instrumental and leaned back against the wall of the store and rested for a moment. A young woman, smoking, stopped in front of him. He looked up in response to her complement, although he wasn't sure if she meant it was a nice instrument or that he played it nicely.

“Sure, I suppose,” he answered. “I know a lot of songs but I don't know them all. Whatcha got in mind” David asked, offering the girl a smile.

"Black Velvet."  Aiyana took a deep drag off of her cigarette and tilted her head up to blow the smoke up and out.  Out of the corners of her eyes, she noticed that his left hand had gained the proper frets, and his right hand hovered above strings.  Then, with a throaty grumble, the familiar chords rumbled out of the guitar.  Aiyana returned the boy’s smile.  “I’m Aiyana.”

Then, with a fluid motion, she returned her feet to the cement.  She tilted her head back, and her hips began to sway to the music.  People were watching.  She didn’t care.  For the moment, this was her street.  The beret flipped off of her head and landed near David’s, open for change.  She raised her hands above her head, and her feet automatically slipped into the patterns of one of the Tikal temple dances.  Even clad in jeans and a tank top, even lacking the accouterments of womanhood, she was something to behold.  Her body was light and delicate, moving smoothly through the motions created centuries before she had discovered them. 

A new religion that will bring you to your knees – black velvet, if you please…

She sang the words softly with the young man.  Then, in a whispered explanation that would find his ears only, she added, “It’s my mother’s favorite song.”

“Black Velvet it is, then,” David said. Looking down to the guitar, David's right hand began the muted rhythm of the into – easily slipping his interpretation of the glissades using only his fingers and thumb while using his palm to mute the strings at the bridge. The girl introduced herself part way through the introduction rhythm. David tipped his head slightly to the side, nodding, and then lost himself into the soulful rhythm, words and melody. He sang as though he believed every word – which he did. That was the magic of music. You play and sing and get lost in the frame of mind of the composer.

Yet the girl danced in a manner that kept his eyes on her as he sang. His fingers knew what to do and the girl seemed to move as if steaming with the heady atmosphere of the song. It was an impressive sight, and David found he enjoyed watching her – enjoyed her connection to the music. And, by way of association, a connection to him. It seemed that the song ended too soon. The way Aiyana danced, her soulful abandon, made the song mean more to him than ever before.

“It would seem to be one of yours too, Aiyana. I mean, in the way you dance to it and seem so intimate with it.” David picked up her beret and handed it to her. Suddenly, she fascinated him. Holding the beret in his outstretched hand, he asked: “Care to sit for a bit?”

"Did I catch your name?"  Aiyana dropped to the ground, unexpectedly winded for someone in her condition.  "And sure I'd love to sit."

She ignored the comment about her intimacy with the song.  She was intimate with it.  She had been in love with it since she heard it the first time in 1989.  It really wasn't that long ago, but it to Aiyana it seemed young enough to still be on the pop hits list like it had been in 1990.  The dances she had learned long ago in Tikal - change the tempo a bit, but the feet stayed the same.

"You from around here?  Or just in for the festival?"

David dropped her beret into her lap and shook his head. It was in answer to both of her questions, and also to the unasked question that occurred to him. He had to look twice. The effect of her was a little like one of those 3-D pictures in cereal boxes. You hold it one way and see one thing, then hold it another way and see something else. It was as though she was there and not there. She mesmerized him.

“My name is David. And no, I don’t really live here, but I do have a room at the YMCA. I suppose that’s a bit cliché.”

His head was angled a bit forward, and turned slightly to the side to look at her. David seldom felt uncomfortable around people. Every boy has a story and every girl a parable, his grandmother used to say. That makes them human and just like everyone else. As a result, David never much thought about himself. He was just like everyone else. This girl, however … she was different.

“I didn’t catch your name either,” he said. “But I have the urge to call you Tiny Dancer.” David’s smile was engaging and entirely honest.

"Aiyana."  She began counting the money in the beret absentmindedly.  There were more dollars than cents.  That would be good for David. 

"And I'm not tiny."  Her lips turned down.  "It's a sweet sentiment, but I'm far too old to dance in anyone's hand."

Aiyana pushed the money at David and plopped her beret haphazardly back on top of her head.  She thought about the boy for a moment and absently pulled a cigarette out of the box in her pocket.  He was cute, and he played well. 

"I got a room if you're looking for somewhere better to stay."  She lit the smoke and took a long draw.  "Double beds of course."  Tapping the cigarette to ash it, she continued as if lost in thought.  "Anyone who can pull that out of "Black Velvet" can't be all bad.  So, you wanna look around?"  Her brown eyes looked up at him through long lashes.  "I need some new jewelry."

David thought it might not have been such a good idea to give Aiyana a nickname so soon after meeting. But one thing he was sure about was her money-making appeal. He was certain that it was her dancing to his music that brought in more money than he usually could on his own. He was thankful for that, and not at all shy about picking it up uncounted and shoving it into his shirt pocket.

“You gotta know when to hold up
Know when the fold up
Know when to walk away
Know when to run

You never count your money
When it’s lying on the table
There’ll be time enough for counting
When the dealing’s done”

The words to ‘The Gambler’ lilted through his mind while he watched Aiyana. He was hoping it wasn’t an omen. How old was she, anyway? It was very hard to tell. First glance would set her at maybe 15. Maybe 14. But her eyes, her physical manner and the nature of her speech belied her looks. Like a river, David sensed that there was more beneath the surface than met the eye.

So he ignored her gentle admonishment. Instead, he considered her offer of a place to stay away from the “Y”. Nobody likes living at the “Y”, David thought, no matter how bohemian the soul. And anyway, she complemented him on his playing and singing. There wasn’t a gypsy-born bohemian worth his salt that could resist a pleased audience. Nor the thrilling sense of danger that played madly like fireflies around a girl like Aiyana.

“Yeah, if it’s no trouble I’ll take you up on that. The “Y” blows at the best of times. I can’t say as I know much about jewelry, though. But I do have an opinion that you might find useful, if not informed.”

David swung his guitar over his head with one hand and deftly slipped it into its case. After leaning toward it to snap the latches shut, he yanked at the handle and pulled himself, guitar and backpack off the warm cement.

“Lead the way and I will follow,” David said melodically.

Aiyana ruthlessly stubbed out the cigarette in the pavement.  Over all, she didn't care much for smoking, but it was one of those many mortal affecations that made one look more human than not.  After all, it reminded her to breath.  It also reminded her to move slowly and carefully.  She wasn't fast like a Stella, but her normal movements obviously got her noticed.  She didn't really like to stand out.  She liked her humans to not know what they were dealing with, and she liked her dinners to be quick and unnoticed.  In Tikal, there were donors.  She could probably find some here at a branch-house, but she didn't bother.  As Pervigilan, she could take care of herself.

Still, she liked this down and out human.  She wasn't sure what she was going to do with him, but she liked his company.  He could sing, and she would have bet her right fang that he knew how to dance.  This trip was really looking up.  Maybe she could finally escape the memories of Jeramiah and Tikal.  Unrequired love was such a cliche bitch.

"No trouble," she stated softly, rising and dropping the dead butt in a trash can.  "No trouble at all.  To be honest, sleeping alone is a little odd for me.  The suite's too big, but it was all that they had left."  Her voice was tinged with remorse.  "Austin is too full at this time of year."  Then, she grinned.  "But I guess that is the point."

Then, lead the way Aiyana did.  She headed down Guadaloupe, stopping at every sidewalk stand to pick out something - a necklace or a bracelet or some new earrings.  Each purchase was stuffed in her shoulder bag, and it added up very quickly.  Finally, she turned to David to ask for something other than an opinion on silver versus hemp.  "Are you hungry?  There's a restaurant around here called the Clay Pit.  It's Indian.  I haven't eaten Indian in a while..."  She trailed off, staring up at him hopefully.

There is very little a person can hide about themselves while shopping. Male or female not excepted. David carried his backpack comfortably where it belonged and handled his guitar through every doorway. Aiyana, it seemed to him, had free reign wherever she went. She asked his opinion politely on most occasions, and actually changed her mind based on more than one of his disagreements. In short, she seemed too perfect.

There was something else he noticed - only peripherally – that was about to ring a bell in his head, but she interrupted it. His eyes became mesmerized by hers when she mentioned the Clay Pit. The pit of his stomach did, in some odd parallel world, feel like clay. Suddenly, and without any hope of denial, he was ravishingly hungry.

“I could eat a horse,” he said feeling famished. “I can pay my way, thanks to you. If it isn’t too swank, of course,” he said shifting his guitar to the other shoulder. “Indian? It’s been a long time for me, too.”

The neon lights of the store could not account for the strange aura of light that haunted his eyes. It was like driving through darkness for a few hours and then coming upon a gas station. But it was all while looking at her eyes. He suddenly laughed … mostly to himself. Whoever this girl was, she wasn’t like anyone else he had met. It was as though he had no choice but to like her.

"Oh, it's ... swank enough," she replied, trying out the new word.  "Not totally swank, but they are a bit proud of their own cooking."  She grinned over at David.  "And dinner's on me.  You've been so great about my shopping and all."

They approached the Clay Pit, and the warm scent of curry drifted out over them.  They were seated quickly once Aiyana gave her name, and not many people complained.  She just accepted it as her due and selected a seafood dish.  "So, what are you going to have?"  She smiled brightly.  "Then, we can start all that typical getting to know each other stuff.  I'll even let you start."  She offered it out like a favor, just another piece of her casual largess.

Pride notwithstanding, David readily accepted Aiyana’s offer to buy dinner. It wasn’t just that he was hungry. It was as though it was just the way of things, and that for the moment he felt like providence was smiling on him. Aiyana had so far proved to be good company. And for one who seemed to have the city at her fingertips, she had treated him fairly and without condescension.

The Clay Pit was an experience. The stone walls and naturally crafted arches seemed to hug them. The aroma was intoxicating. Aiyana was seated nearly as soon as they entered the restaurant, and somehow that did not surprise David at all.

After slipping his backpack over the back of a chair beside him, and propping his guitar case against it, David sat directly across from Aiyana. In the earthly light of the restaurant, her face seemed to wisen and reveal an unexpected beauty. It was as though she’d worn a translucent mask that the atmosphere of the room had removed.

David did not bother looking at a menu. He knew what he wanted. It had been a long time since he’d had Butter Chicken. The idea of it was enough to start him salivating. He ordered after Aiyana, and then leaned back in his chair. He chuckled softly at her ‘favor’.

“Ok,” he said leaning forward again. “Basically, I’m a bum. Or at least that’s how my father describes me. I think of myself more as a troubadour in search of experience. I dropped out of high school when I was 15 and lied about my age to get into a band in Dallas. I played well enough and looked old enough, so I got away with it for a year.

That panned out when the lead singer was arrested for gross indecency. So I hit the road. I’ve been traveling here and there ever since. Austin is my home base, you could call it. Had a girlfriend here a couple of years ago, but really, I wasn’t ready for all of that. So I headed out to New Orleans to see if I could pick up some of that Cajun Blues. Learned a lot but not much about the Blues. Unless you consider a sideswipe or two with Karma as the blues.”

David frowned.

“I did lose a notebook full of some songs I was writing in a rumble on Bourbon St. That broke the mystery and magic of the place, so I rolled on out of there.”

That outta do it, David thought grimly.

The food arrived quite promptly, and Aiyana thanked the server, beginning to break off a piece of naan.  “A bum?”  Her voice was light and airy.  She took a bite of naan steeped in seafood curry.  “That’s a bit harsh.  Those guys on I-35 are bums, but you….  You’re an interesting, young man.  Not many people have lives that interesting, and I do love a person with an interesting life.”

She chewed slowly and thought about how that might sound.  “Not that I like your misfortunes…  I just admire your bravery.  So many people are afraid to go out and about in the world that they live in.”  Her voice lilted in the flowery notes of Tikal English.  “Now, I’ll tell you something that I would only tell a perfect stranger.  “I go out in the world a lot, but I never really get out if you know what I mean.  You’re like getting out.  You’re like fresh air.”  She took a bite.  “I just knew I was going to like you.  After dinner, will you play more?  I like it, and I like to dance.”

David felt both relieved and confounded. Aiyana held herself and spoke with a certainty that surprised him. Again, he thought that she seemed older than she looked. Relief came from her attitude toward his life. He liked that. He liked her. She was natural and seemed to be at ease no matter where she was. At least in the short time he’d known her, that was true. Yet she was exotic in a way he found difficult to identify – especially her warm accent.

Such thoughts only passed through his mind during a bite of naan and a quick taste of the Butter Chicken. It was good, very good, and his hunger suddenly turned to famished enthusiasm. He took several bites before Aiyana had said that she wanted him to play again so she could dance.

“I’m like getting out?” he asked with an quizzical smile. “I swear, that’s about the nicest thing anyone has said to me. Probably ever. Seriously. I mean, there’s poetry in that.”

David watched her eyes for a moment and thought about what she meant. Somehow, he thought, there should be a song written about it.

“I’ve been a lot of places
And I’ve seen a lot of things
I’ll be there when the cat comes back
And when the lady sings

I’ve done a lot of doing
And of that there’s little doubt
But, baby, spending time with you
S’like finally getting out”

David softly sang whatever words came to his mind. A simple country song sung like a man coming to his senses. It seemed strange to him that this girl, who seemed ageless and appeared seemingly from nowhere, could so quickly put him at ease.

“Yeah,” he added after his impromptu ballad. “I’ll play for you. I love to watch you dance.”