Cinnamon, Blueberries, & Other Subjects to fill a Book of Poetry

Chapter 4: Procrastination

      As I sit at my desk, staring at the, admittedly, mind numbing article I'd been writing about how two of the churches in town were having bake sales on the same day and 'how that might affect the fragile economy of our sleepy town.'

I let my mind drift. 

Then I text Reese.

I've been doing that quite a bit lately.

How do you take your coffee?

I know you take it with cinnamon,

 but I was just wondering if you put anything else in it.

-Sam

He's taken his time responding and I worried I said something wrong. Should I not have asked? Was this somehow a sensitive topic? I had assumed he had a few of those, but I couldn't understand how coffee would tie into anything secretive. Was I not supposed to know he liked it with Cinnamon?

nothing special

He finally answered, making the worry tangle roll to the back of my mind.

just cream, sugar, and cinnamon I guess

It's been almost a month, if my internal clock is right, since we'd had that conversation. The first of many, I thought. It still feels odd to spend this much time with someone who isn't Fran, but not in a bad way. I think I like it. I text him whenever I can't bring myself to start an article. He always answers, although the way he texts is atrocious. It's just like the way he talks, to the point and intriguing and almost always needling me about something I said. I think it fits him. My leg is bouncing now, spinning my chair back and forth, and I think that it's probably for the best if I take a break now before I get too wound up to try again later. I think I never used to do that before. I stand up, texting Reese almost habitually. Almost. I still think about it. I feel a bit of worry roll around my head as I stand up.

Did you take French in highschool?

I did.

I think I still remember a good amount.

-Sam

no

ofc you did tho

That's how our conversations generally go. I learned rather early on that he was not a fan of small talk, which is just fine with me because I still have a hundred questions I want to ask him and, so far at least, he still answers every one. Sometimes though, if I text him too early in the morning, he'll just send a picture of himself in place of a response. He looks tired and It would make me worry except he almost always has that look on his face and I know he's not upset, but he is making fun of me. I think I text him too early in the morning a lot. Our schedules just must not mesh well.

work?

He so rarely asks me questions that, on the rare occasions he does, it feels much more exciting than when I ask him anything. I think about the game. I wonder if he still does. 

Either way, he 'has my number down' as he says, and I feel compelled to agree.

Is it so obvious?

This article is giving me no small amount of trouble

-Sam

I reach for my smoothie and curl my lip slightly as I eye the remnants, now separated. I shouldn't have let it sit for so long. I think about what a waste it is. I throw it out and think about going out to get a new one and then I catch myself off guard as I think about inviting Reese out to get it with me. I haven't done that yet. I think I wouldn't mind.

Have you gone to the cafe on Harrison yet?

-Sam

He takes longer than normal to respond and I worry, despite reminding myself not to.

why?

I picture that look that means I'm surprising him and I smile. The worry untangles a little. I take his non-response to mean he hasn't. Although, I think I would invite him even if he had.

Come with me?

If you'd like, of course

I thought you might like to

No offence taken if you'd rather not, of course

-Sam

I feel the worry winding up in my head and I think I should have stopped after the first text.

I never stop after the first text. I feel the worry wind up tighter until my phone buzzes.

sure

I smile. Then I picture him with that look on his face again and I can feel my smile broaden.

I think I'm enjoying being part of a 'we.'