Chapter 39.1: 1995, Georgina

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Chapter 39.1: 1995, Georgina

 

"Mm."

"Haha. That is so cute."

"Hm?"

I lowered my chicken wing down and looked over at the smiling, happy lady next to me on my bed. The small TV in front of us was on low, good for our older ears. She seemed thoughtful, and I realized she wasn't eating.

"I've never seen you get dirty before like this. You were always so particular about using a knife and fork. Even when we were eating pizza." Cha Cha started beaming at me, and still though she had come over nearly every day this week, I was staring at every bit of her face. Drinking her in, just in case I never saw her again. Or maybe I was imagining her, and I wanted to make sure she wasn't an illusion, trying to find spots on her face that I wouldn't have been able to remember. So far, I was zero for one billion in ratio for this, this being indeed the real Cha Cha winning by far and away. This fact was incredible to me.

"How am I supposed to eat it?" I asked, my hands feeling a bit slimy due to the sauces of the buffalo wings I'd eaten already. 

"No, you're right," she giggled. 

"Oh, okay," I smiled in relief, "I never get to eat stuff like this, so I don't know."

"You don't?"

"Hm?" I'd taken another bite, so I looked over at her again.

"Do you not eat stuff like this anymore?" She seemed a little panicked.

At that moment, the TV panned over the audience of The Tonight Show and the color change lit up my darkened bedroom, her face. I was completely mystified that I was actually seeing her there. A little part of my brain whispered to me that it was an illusion, that I had to be coming down with some form of Dementia. Or maybe I was in a coma from that day I had fallen in the kitchen. Because there was no way...but this chicken in my mouth tasted real. Does chicken taste real in a dream?

"...I'm sorry, what?" I asked, realizing I'd forgotten her question while thinking, the sudden brightness distracting me too much.

"Oh, I asked if you still liked take out food? Is it too heavy for you? Is that why you don't eat stuff like this anymore?"

"No, I like it," I said, trying to assure her. I wanted her to smile again.

Relief filled me as she did just that. "Good," she smiled. But she still didn't take a chicken wing of her own. It made me wonder. Why wasn't she eating if she was so concerned about me eating?

"Don't you want some?" I asked, nudging the foam take out box between us towards her leg on the bed.

"I shouldn't," she said, looking thoughtful again.

"Why not?" 

She smiled again, a small one, a knowing one. "Because I have to keep my figure for dance. I can't eat stuff like that."

"But its chicken, its good for you," I said encouragingly, nudging the box even closer. She started laughing. My head tilted. "What?"

"That's so 1950's thinking," she chuckled, her shoulders bouncing. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah. Just because its chicken doesn't mean its good for you!"

"What? Really?" My eyes were wide, thinking about my own figure. 

"Well, but..." she was eyeing the box like a kid eyeing a cookie jar, at the glistening orangey brown chicken laid on their bed of crinkly wax paper.

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