Dear Maria (on hold)

Part 3

My car rolled to a stop on the hot, parched pavement, and I peered out the slightly tinted windows at my new home. This was only the second time I'd been here; in my rush to move out and forget I hadn't spent that much time looking for a house. This was the first time I'd seen it without the For Sale sign piercing the front lawn. It was a quiet neighborhood, rather quaint and... odd feeling, but sweet in a vintage sort of way. The low rumble of the car's engine cut off, and I stepped out of my cool car and into the hot, dry air. As I made my way up the short walkway to the front door, my irritation grew. My skin was hot and prickly, my stupid hair was frizzy and was sticking to my forehead, my shirt was clinging to my back and my light blue jeans were imprisoning my legs. I dug my house key out of my pocket, and it too was hot from being pressed against my warm leg. I inserted the key and it turned without trouble. I felt a slight pang as I remembered always having to wiggle and twist the doorknob and key at the old house to open it... I pushed that thought away, and stepped inside, taking a momentary look around before returning to my car to unload my boxes. I pushed and shoved to get them out of the back seat, the heavy boxes weighing down my arms as I staggered into the house. They hit the ground with a definite thud as I unceremoniously dropped them onto the floor of my new hallway, just inside the door. Leaning against the door frame, already tired and hot, I pulled my thick, heavy hair off my neck and into a messy bun, and surveyed how much I still had to do. Frustrated and lonely, I marched reluctantly back out to my car and roughly grabbed a random box, expecting in to be lighter than it was, my arms sinking before I mustered the strength the lift it back up and waddle to the house. As I turned around to go retrieve yet another box, I saw a figure outlined in front of the glaring sun, and as she came closer and into the sparse shade, I could see her face. She was smiling, her medium length, gorgeous, curly cinnamon colored hair waving gently as she walked, and in her arms she carried a tray full of brownies. I turned towards her politely, squinting into the bright sunlight, both flattered and confused. I was curious though, and wondered who the hell she was. She seemed to be around my age. She was... pretty, to say the least, but not even her soft, cinnamon colored hard could compare to her voice.

“Hi, I'm Maria. I saw you unloading your car and moving in, so I thought I'd bring over some brownies, get a chance to meet you.” She said kindly, in the most... endearing, intoxicating Boston accent I'd ever heard. She was standing in front of me now, her head slightly inclined towards me.

“Um, thanks. I'm Holly.” I replied, unsure of what to say. I wasn't really sure who I was supposed to be for her, a friendly neighbor, the nutty newbie, straight, lesbian, divorced, involved, single, flirtatious, stand-offish, the truth or still more lies... She was still looking at me while I had this internal argument, waiting for something. Oh. The brownies. I took the tray from her outstretched hands. “Thanks.” I repeated. Maria was still standing here and I wondered why she hadn't gone away yet. Okay, then. “I'd invite you in for some brownies, but I'm in the middle of unpacking.” I stated apologetically. A small, white lie, I assured myself, and the hint was insinuated. I wouldn't really have invited her in for brownies. Apparently, she didn't get it.

“Oh, don't worry about it.” She dismissed, and I felt a moment of relief. “I'll just help you unpack.” Maria offered brightly. I groaned inwardly, though not necessarily because she was so naive. That damn accent... I couldn't refuse. Besides, it would go quicker with two people instead of one, and she had brought brownies. I deliberated for a moment longer, then headed towards the house to set the brownies inside, gesturing for her to follow me.

“Thanks.” I said softly, not caring whether she heard me or not.

Maria chattered away as we carried the remaining three or four boxes into my new house, and stayed to help me unpack them. I didn't really have furniture, my belongings mainly consisted of clothes, dishes and utensils, books, CD's, a CD player, a DVD player, movies, and a couple of futons that would serve as my my bed until I got around to buying one. I mostly listened as Maria talked, though admittedly I missed about half of what she said. It was so different, being around her, than it had with my ex-husband. Though I was hardly spouting all of my darkest secrets to her, I felt like I didn't have to lie as much. It was just easier being with her, simpler, more comfortable. I felt my irritation quickly fade away as we sat on the floor unpacking my stuff slowly, looking through everything I owned. It turned out we had similar taste in books, movies and music. Both of us loved trashy romances, anything by Nicholas Sparks, Harlequin romances, and autobiographies. My collection of CD's ranged from Country to The Beatles, from Rock to Heavy Metal, from Alternative to Classic, and as for movies, again with the romances, but add in thrillers and murder mysteries. We both simply adoredArrested Development, the TV show, as well as Bewitched and I Love Lucy.

Due to my utter lack of food, Maria and I ordered Chinese food for dinner, and we finally had her delicious, now slightly melted, brownies. As we sat on my futons on my living room leaning against the wall, relaxing after dinner, it really hit me how normal this time with Maria had felt, and though I'm sure it wasn't as monumental to Maria, to spend a casual afternoon with someone I was well on my way to being friends with, without lying constantly, worrying, or checking over my shoulder for my husband, was something I wasn't used to. I realized I didn't want it to end, didn't want Maria to leave. After everything in my life always being so ephemeral, I was sure that if I allowed to Maria leave, she wouldn't come back. So I did everything I could to keep her here with me as long as I possibly could. I pulled out a bottle of red wine, and though it was warm and the only cups I had were my personal coffee mugs (my ex had gotten the crystal), Maria and I sat on a stack of my futons drinking wine and talking for hours. We didn't talk much about our adult life, for which I was thankful. I didn't want to disappoint Maria, and she was sure to be disappointed in me if I told her anything true about me.

She told me how her and her dad would watch Red Sox games together on TV, how she always fought with her mom, how fast she'd had to grow up. How she had spent her teenage years watching Ellen and Arrested Development, and how every year for Elizabeth Montgomery's, the star of Bewitched, birthday, she would make a shirt with pictures of Elizabeth on it, and watch her movies. I listened and listened, soaking it all up. I had spent my teenage years hidden away in my room, secretly read gay dating books and gay stories, such as Girl Meets Girl and Am I Blue? As the morning grew closer and closer, as the bottle grew steadily emptier, I watched Maria talk, drinking up her voice, in complete rapture. She would use her hands as she spoke, her lips would quirk up in a wry smile, her eyes would flash, and her hair would tumble down over her shoulders. Maria fascinated me, she was so different and so beautiful.

 I eventually fell asleep on the futons, with Maria passed out beside me. I smiled sleepily, and the last thing I saw before I succumbed to unconsciousness was Maria's and my hands, just barely touching. Then, darkness.