My Cardboard Balcony

The First Chair by Belinda Roddie Bounce me like a cello on your knee and play all four of my strings. I tremble beneath your dancing fingertips and love the music you coax out of me. There are songs I never, ever thought I knew how to sing. There are chords we strike together at the bus stop and rundown diner. I enjoy being propped against your hips, swiveling between your knees, my sternum caressed like a fingerboard, while you draw your bow across my quivering stomach and you find all the right notes.

"Dude. Where did you get the van?" "Used dealership. It runs great, actually." Nicky cocked her head and looked at me like a confused puppy. "Why? Don't like it?" I laughed. "You look like you're ready to kidnap some children." "Oh, dude. C'mon." I held up my hands in pseudo-defeat. "Sorry." "Besides," Nicky added, "even if I did have candy in this van, I wouldn't give it to bratty kids."