This Fiction Friday is important to me. Not just because it’s a Sly and Tweety story and I love writing them because Sly is based off a friend of mine. It’s also my late mother’s birthday. If you have followed me long, you might recall that the loss was the reason I took a break from being social, and hunkered down writing to express things I couldn’t afford to feel over the last 5 years.

Today’s quiet company is more than just that person you bicker with in the middle of the night. It’s that person that you can talk to, say absolutely nothing, and yet not feel alone. Sly’s that kind of character that could absolutely talk like a therapist. But he’s also a good guy. One look and he’s know it’s not the night to discuss the demons and the things hurting you that you can’t voice. Besides, there’s always a song for that. And a cup of something to drink. Those times you aren’t fit to people but can’t stand your own mind are the worst, and everyone has had a time like that. Maybe not always a friend for the company. Red Letters hopefully has someone for everyone to want to chat with. Even if it’s just to hear yourself speak.

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Sly, Soulful 2010

The wind howled outside, rattling the stained glass windows. I made the usual tea and cocoa. It wasn’t a bad night, but the odds of her coming down were always in my favor. Especially since tonight someone dared to voice opinions about songs.

They weren’t wrong, suggesting that the oldie talked about something else, couched in nicer terms. It just rattled Tweety’s brain and that could keep her up at night as much as her own nightmares. 

I programmed the little flying bat bot, putting it on the jukebox to pretend that it pushed buttons. The kettle whistled just as I finished pre-programming the playlist that I might need that night. 

Always perfectly timed.

“Do you really think that The Beatles meant more than just holding hands?” I mean, it was a different time, that stuff was cute and proper. Now I can’t stop thinking about the possible meanings for that song if it isn’t face value.” Tweety arrived, a flourished whoosh of her robe before she climbed the usual stool. “I should have shoved that cupcake in his face instead of offering it nicely as a way to close his mouth…”

Tweety huffed, her disturbed mood perfectly held inside her usual pajama visit. No rush, no yelling, just the swoosh and the huff to show off her words.

“Hello to you too, dear lady.” Without asking, I pushed play, bringing the song I Want To Hold Your Hand to life on the speakers. Set to play twice. Always twice if we were about to spend the night debating music.

I set the drinks down, letting Tweety pick first and wrapping my hands around the other mug. It created that connection, keeping things light and unawkward. Little tricks I learned from her.

“What was euphemisms back then? Necking in public cars felt scandalous. Seeing a glimpse of an ankle was considered way too much a long time ago too. Maybe it was some other meaning. Or maybe it was as simple as the gesture of touching a hand, feeling the heat and comfort of the action. That it alone is enough for the singers.”

She pondered that one on me. I had a few minutes to listen to the lyrics with her. These were my favorite nights. Just us, some good music, and a battle of wits not usually found in either of our daily shifts. Smart conversations made my night a lot brighter.

I knew what I wanted to say next, and set Something to play next.

Instantly Tweety started to sway, moaning pleasure like a fan girl hearing her song come on.

“I love this song! It’s so smooth and simple, easy to sing and feel the meaning of. But it’s not a simple beat. It’s just a great song for time like this.”

Tweety wrapped her hands around the mug and drank, softly swaying to the sounds. Her smile was as bright as the sun on my shift in the darkness. I smirked again, at the irony of the lyrics saying things I never did say, and Tweety not even noticing what I did. She’d changed my life since the moment I met her, and it only grew better the longer I stayed here, with the Soulful family. 

But Tweety? “You don’t think someone would try to suggest this song means anything at all would they? 

No, my dear lady, no one here, on the midnight shift, would break your bubble like that…