I’m convinced the lady that passes by my window every morning is a witch. She has wavy hair of every shade of gray and her eyes are green and lovely. When it is raining she wears a neat raincoat that matches her umbrella, and when it is sunny she never squints her eyes.
I’m lying on the bed on my back, my head swinging off the age and I stare at the creamy wall. The room is awfully tidy, and I’m convinced this is home. Not the one I had in my childhood, or the place I’m living in now, but the one people usually talk about. The one with the beige walls.
So I feel like a child, and I feel awfully clean. As if everything that is not needed has been evaporated. My head is filling up with blood and I sit up quickly. My clothes are folded neatly and are resting on a chair; I’m wearing only my boxers.
The smell of food creeps under the door and I get up, putting on my clothes and then turning the doorknob and opening the door slightly, the warmth and the aroma hitting me. I cross the short hallway and peek into a kitchen, seeing a young man eating and reading a morning paper. I knock on the doorframe and watch as the blush covers his cheeks splendidly.
“Hello,” I say, stepping from foot to foot. I remember saying the same thing to him yesterday, leaning in close to his ear so he could hear it. I remember that I also said lots of awful things, and now I’m disgusted with myself. The air grows heavier around us – literally heavier, and I gaze out of the window in the back wall – the sky is gloomy and it is windy. A smell of Thunderstorm creeps through the slightly ajar window and suddenly I’m very happy I’m inside, and here.
“Hello,” he says and I turn my attention back to him and see that he was looking out the window, too. I take a seat at the table and he fixes me a plate quickly, as well as a cup of instant coffee. I gaze at it thoughtfully and he apologizes quickly, “Sorry, I could never learn how to brew it, and I don’t drink enough to distinguish the taste…”
“No, no, it’s fine. I think it fits,” I say, and although it is unbearably hot and stuffy around us, I take a sip. It slides down my throat with burnt bitter taste and immediately there’s a film of perspiration on my face. A line from a book comes up in my mind, Coffee tasting like ink, and I’m unbearably and immensely happy.
He is calm and he keeps his posture straight, as if I am a school headmaster. His black hair is over his eyes that are directed toward the newspaper, however I understand that he is not reading. So I clear my throat and smile, although he is not looking at me.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to be so bashful,” we hear a quiet rustle of starting rain and the first roll of thunder, “I can go if you want, it’s a summer rain, so it’s not that cold out. Besides, I need showering, too.”
I’m extremely happy with my corny sense of humor at times. He smiles and then plays with his fingers.
“No, it’s just that…I’ve never done that before,” he says, “And I don’t know how to behave.”
“You are doing well so far,” I say, giddy, “I mean, one time I was kicked out of the apartment because the person’s boyfriend showed up, other times they acted as if I didn’t exist. And plus, you have a marvelous bedroom.”
I think I used the same technique to loosen him up yesterday.
“Sorry for yesterday,” I blurt, “I might’ve been too pushy. I am like that on Friday nights, after a couple of drinks. Thinking of going home alone just kills me, so I cling to everybody.”
“You were not too pushy,” he says, chuckling and bringing his hand to his face to bite on his knuckle, “Not pushy at all. I liked you very much the moment we started talking.”
I’m slightly embarrassed and so I start to fantasize about people with a huge block of atmosphere pushing down on their heads. It extends solidly through all the layers up to the vague thermosphere, which shakes with the person’s every step, and it drives him into the ground steadily. Imagine that – people pass each other on the street and lift their hats up to pay their respects, and on top of their heads are the immense blocks that swing to and fro, that give major headaches and grow heavier with the thunderstorms.
I look at his head and think that there’s no way that block is pushing down on it. He seems so light he might float off the planet if he jumps slightly. I grow curious and even raise my hand a bit to move if through the air above his head – however I stop myself before I scare him drum my fingernails on the cup.
There’s paddling of wet soles against the pavement and we both smile.
“I thought maybe…maybe if you are not too busy, we could take a walk together?”
My eyes widen slightly and I dart my eyes to the window again, but before I can mention the rain I realize that it’s over and the sky is lighter.
“I’m not busy at all,” I say and he smiles, getting up quickly – so quickly and jump up myself.
“Right then, I’ll clean up and you take a shower,” he says and then gazes at me, boyishly eager. Then he licks his lips and bows down to kiss me quickly, but before I can reciprocate he pushes me into the hallway and toward the bathroom.
I turn around and gaze at him with my bewildered eyes, but before he can crumple and grow shy, I quickly slide my hand through the air above his head, smile at him and run into the bathroom.
No block.
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