Francis & Dee

Francis & Dee (A Short Story)

It was their first time seeing each other in months, and Francis was late. Delia leaned back against the cool glass of the bus stop bench. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, unable to settle into a position that was both comfortable and covered her thighs with her skirt. She had wanted to look nice for Francis, but not too nice, because she was still angry with him. She wanted him to look at her the way she tried not to look at him. She wanted him to inhale sharply when he saw her and realize how much his eyes had missed the sight of her, but not to hug her from the side and kiss her temple in a way that said I know you; you would do anything for me.

            She also wanted to look different. She wanted Francis to think that the cool lilac desert skies and dry winds of New Mexico has stripped her of her childish tennis skirts and charm bracelets. They hadn’t, but today, she looked like they had.

            When, finally, she saw him from faraway, strolling down the block, she couldn’t help herself. She grinned enormously, wide, too many long teeth – like a fox, Francis always said – and jumped up in excitement. He was wearing a silky greenish-white blazer that was too long for him. His hair was fluffy and wild, and as dark as she remembered. It stood out like a black seed against the faded greys and yellows of the sidewalk. He stopped halfway down the block to examine a square of sidewalk art, a thoughtful look on his face, dark eyebrows furrowed. Delia knew he was teasing her, but she called his name anyway. Francis looked up and smiled his wry little smile, the one he’d even had as a little boy.

           

            Delia looked a little slutty, in Francis’ opinion, but the pale pink color of her dress made her bare legs and shoulders look so shiny and smooth in the afternoon sun that he decided that she looked great. He crossed the street to meet her and she leapt into his arms like a child, covering Francis’ face with her endless amounts of hair. Her hair smelled like baby oil and amber. Like childhood and sex.

            When she finally stepped off of him, her face was blank and careful, like she had composed it while it was buried in his shoulder.

            “Hi, Francis,” she said.

            Francis smiled a little wider. “Hi, Dee.” He poked her nose. “I missed you.”

            She arched her eyebrows carefully – it gave Francis a hot sensation in his stomach. “Are you sure? You barely kept in touch.”

            Francis’ smile fell slightly into an awkward, crooked shape. Delia was angry with him, just like she had been when he called her a few days before, telling her of his visit. He hadn’t taken it seriously. Dee was being Dee: pouty little Dee, who adored Francis too much to stay angry with him. Dee, with the dark eyebrows that met when she berated him, that made Francis unsure of what to do with his hands.

            Francis decided to put his hands on her shoulders, enjoying the way his fingers extended down her back. “Look, Dee, I’ve been so busy. College applications are, like, my life now. I barely have time to eat dinner, let alone talk to you. You’ll understand next year.”

           

            Delia hated when Francis spoke to her like the year between them infused him with enough experience and wisdom to parent her. He had done that since they were kids: Dee, you’ll see when you get to fifth grade. It’s totally different. Monkey bars are for fourth graders. Dee, when you get to high school, none of middle school shit will matter.

            Up close, she could see that his jacket was not, as she’d thought, light green. It was a cream color with thin dark green pinstripes. Francis was trying his best to look eccentric.