cursing out the moon ➵ a.b.

Chapter 15: His Little Lo

"No, no. It's like this." I correct him, erasing some of his words on his paper. "You can't write it like that." I was lying; of course you could. I just wanted to get under his skin.

He pouts, stealing the rubber eraser away from me. "No! Don't erase them." He playfully nudges me with his body. "You just go back to writing your own poem."

It was the same day as before. Still, I didn't want to go home. It felt too cozy here. Besides, Andy and I were writing poems for the poetry slam which was to happen in a couple days.

"What are you writing about?" I inquire, flirting with him by accident. I know this because he internally gets a small kick from it--this I know from his body movements. "Anything striking in particular?"

He closes his notebook, rolling his eyes in a way that says, 'You wish.' "That's none of your business. I told you: stick to your own poem." Then, he stands. His towering height casts a shadow over my tiny body, and I instinctively wish to cling to him for shelter. Maybe it was human nature, for I'll never know.

As he walks away, I rise from the couch and follow. From this, I see him place his notebook down on the kitchen counter; the granite accepts his offering. I see him grab his car keys. I ask of him, "Where are you going? Are you taking me back to my apartment?"

"No," he calmly answers back, turning from the counter and positioning himself in front of I. "Thought you'd like to go eat somewhere, first. You know--Chili's, or Olive Garden, or..."

I look down at my dress. It was in desperate need of cleaning. I had little to no makeup on, depending on how much of it rubbed off in my sleep. My hair was actually pretty decent. Really, I was in no shape for going out in public. Though, I really wished to dine with him; I wanted to spend as much time as I could with this mysterious man of many interests. "Sure. I look hideous, but all right."

"You don't look hideous," answers he. "You look amazing no matter how much your makeup is smudged, or how little you are wearing."

"Thank you," I say back in my sweet ways.

Still, there was something about Andy that was off. He was very shifty and shady. He seemed very worried about something; I wondered if it was because of the accidental kiss from last night's drunken episode. Of course, it meant nothing to me as I do not remember it. A thought is engraving itself on my tongue, wishing for me to speak it aloud: I wonder if it truly meant something to him, and it embarrassed him.

Ere long after leaving his address, we arrive at a simple restaurant we pick out. I was having fun with him, but I knew this merriment had a hearty price tag. June would most definitely bicker with me when I was to return to the apartment. I was a grown woman, and did not need any guidance in this cruel, cruel world. I knew what it had to offer, and I should take that knowledge and shove it down her throat for good measure. I didn't need her and her ways of taming me. I was perfectly fine. Maybe, compared to her, I was a neophyte in most subjects, but that did not mean I was stupid when it came to love.

Sitting down to eat, Andy and I are in silence. The waiter takes our orders quickly, for we knew what we wanted as we walked in the door; it also was lunch rush hour and the tables needed to be emptied out as fast as possible.

Andy picks up the conversation, which was dead in the first place. "I-I..." he stumbles, "I want to open up to you about Annie. But I don't really know how to open up the conversation."

I answer back, "You can start anywhere. Let me just remind you that if it hurts, you don't have to tell me."

Andy looks at me like he's going to remember that statement for a long time: until his sudden and abrupt death. "Thank you. But I feel it is something that I should tell you before this relationship goes beyond this, no matter the cost."