Took the stairs slow. Sighed. It was gray, maybe, but thought the lake would look beautiful all the same and maybe I should go there.
But second story, up the stone stairs and right to the door. Held the key, looked across the way, down at the lawn, parking lot, further off the street. Maybe it was gray.
Unlocked the door though it was probably already unlocked; dropped the mound of keys on the antique ice box.
An all-too-familiar, unidentifiable pulse of music from the first bedroom down the hall.
“Hey, I’m home,” called out. The bedroom door opened quickly, music and man escaping briefly from the dark, and he closed the door behind him tactfully before looking up.
“Well hello,” said in that semi-suggestive, unappealing, meaningless way as he slowly crossed the living room towards the front door.
“Well hi there,” returned in that semi-suggestive, meaningless way as I looked at him coming, trying to gauge what he’s on.
“How was your day?” with a pause, waiting to see if he should proceed or maintain a distance.
“It was pretty good, boring. How bout you?” said with a good dose of sweetness because the room wasn’t terribly light and he was too far away to figure out what his state was. And seeing I was safe, he came over and put his arm around my waist.
“Yeah, it was pretty good too,” getting in the comfortable, love-me, after-work, sometimes don’t-look-at-my-eyes position- chest to my back, both arms around my waist, chin on my left shoulder. “Pretty good,” said slow, words coming into my ear. I nodded.
“Good,” and softly, letting my bag slip slighting and strain his arm. He didn’t move and I let the bag fall on the floor with a kind thud and put a hand on his arm.
“So what’s going on?” I asked hoping to liberate myself. It worked. He lifted his chin and slowly released me, one hand trailing my stomach for a few seconds before he turned away.
“Uhh… not much,” almost monotone as he walked to the couch and flung down almost casually and without looking up. “Got a new cell phone,” his head perked up, finding a subject without mines around it.
“Ah, that’s cool.” I kick my purse next to the ice box and walk over to the couch.
“Yeah,” in a relieved voice, looking at me.
“May I?”
“Of course.”
“Grazie,” I lay back against one arm and he props himself up on the other. My bare feet huddled under a pillow and his socked feet hanging off the edge next to my hip. I look at him looking at me softly, unsure, and then at the bits of tree and gray through the broken slat of blinds. The lake would be beautiful nonetheless, we could go right now.
A moment of silence as the track ends in the other room and he holds his breath… waiting for a noise or random appearance, some exposure. I look out the window and then the pulse starts up again. His legs relax, awkward situation averted. I put my hand on his feet, squinting now as I try to adjust to the dark again and him… looking at me, let’s his arm fall on my leg.
We ignore the pulse and sit there- I say nothing about the lake and he says nothing about who’s in the other room.
“Hi,” I say and give a little smile.
“Hey,” he replies in an affectionate tone.
“What’s up?” pulling his sock to show I’m in no mood to be angry.
Some piece of furniture in the bedroom is pushed against the wall and there’s a minor amount of clanking before the beat resumes control. I watch him, looking alarmed, maybe irritated, glaring at the wall between us and the music.
He waits to make sure there’s no further disturbance before turning back to me, watching him quietly and still messing with his sock. I smile and he knows an explanation would be a good idea.
“Robert,” shrugging towards the wall, slightly irritated.
“Ah,” I say looking down at my hand and reach it out. There is a slight hesitation before he offers me his hand in return.
Once in possession, I pull hard until, for the sake of keeping limbs attached, he comes over to my end.
Now, having switched positions- his back to my chest, one arm around his shoulder, two legs around his waist, my head propped up by the couch, and his lying on my collar bone- now we listen, again, to the techno through the wall and I look, again, at the tree and gray.
“Hi,” I say to the top of his head.
“Hi,” he says to my neck.
And it’s safe now.
Another crash from the bedroom and he tenses up. I hold him tighter, my mouth on his hair, and he relaxes a little. The noise keeps up and Simone rattles momentarily. We both stare at the wall.
From behind it comes unknown exclamations from a deep voice and more furniture moving before the door swings open, spitting out Robert.
After a few seconds of getting balanced and adjusted to the lighting, he stares at the couch and snaps his fingers.
“Lighter,” pointing at us with both hands.
“Kitchen table?” I say because no one else knows and my collar bone hurts from the way a head is pushed into it at the moment.
Robert stands a second and then disappears into the kitchen, Fischerspooner coming loud now from the bedroom.
“Uhhhhh…,” he says as he walks back over to the couch, and scratches his mound of brown hair. “Nope… kitchen table? Uhh… no,” he muses and stares towards the kitchen. “Where?” he again looks down at us, hands on his hips, and my collar bone is starting to hurt again.
“Ouch. Ice box. Front door,” I point over the back of the couch, “next to my keys.”
He bolts and finds what he was looking for, heading back to the bedroom.
“Nice,” Robert smiles, holding up the lighter, goes back behind the wall and reduces the music to a pulse again.
We look at the door a few seconds before resuming a comfortable position.
----------------------------------------------------
“So yeah,” commented as he adjusts back to his mouth on my neck.
“Uh huh,” I return, taking my hand from his chest and rubbing my collar bone.
“How was work?” squeezing my leg.
“Err… uhh… blah,” though it wasn’t bad.
“Awe-some,” long, drawn-out, he turns to the ceiling and trails off at the end, cocking his head to examine the ceiling fan.
“How gone are you?” because he only trails off like that on weed, which is kinder than I thought.
