A field of golden sunflowers. They twist and turn in the mind’s eye. If you look closely, you can see the velvety softness of their petals from a distance. The honeybees buzz around eagerly. The yellow in them matches perfectly with their harbinger of quick, thick honey. Sleek green leaves adorn the flowers. A path is laid out in perfection. It leads to a thick hedge of grass beyond which lies a sloshing of something watery. Large green frogs are seen skipping lillypads which shiver as transparent dragon flies swoop in on them. Spring has sprung fresh and has just seen the first hint of summer rain. The country side was washed cleaner than ever before, much like neatly scrubbed floors of the tiny wooden house which stood peeping at the edge of the thicket.
A young girl quietly lays out her washing on the line tied to the windows of her house and a healthy oak tree. Her unruly hair restrained by a scarlet bandanna, she wore denim overallas and short white shirt. She had folded up the legs of her pants to reveal a shiny silver anklet with dolphin and star charms and squiggly tattoo showed on her left foot- one could not quite make out what it read. Nearby, a canvas held thick drawing paper. On it, were splashed dull violets and fiery oranges in dramatic strokes.
Was she a painter? One couldn’t tell. She quickly put her clothes on the washing line and carried and empty blue bucket, all the while shaking to an invisible tune possibly playing itself in her head. Rubbing her bare feet in the mat outside her wooden house, she stepped and shut the door behind her. She stared with a mix of half adoration and half exasperation at the bearded guy who was slumped in a heap of a mess on her couch. “Can you wake up already?” she poked him and hissed loudly, while pulling apart the curtains. A stream of sunshine spontaneously shone through the house. He woke up with a start, the morning rays hitting him like a mug of cold water thrown across. “What’s going on? Where am I” he drawled. “Eggs and toast are on the table. I should’ve known better than to bring you home. Can we forget that last night ever happened?” she stomped over the carpet picking up stray pieces of litter as she walked by. “Do you have orange juice? I so need some right now” he responded, while pulling up his pants which lay on the floor. “Hey, wait a minute. Did we sleep together last night or?” She did not respond. She was busy, clearing the dishes, her nose in the air and her lips pursued shut. She had this appealing way of looking sporty yet feminine, he thought idly. The body’s straight, but it’s in her face. She has this whole crisp hyper woman thing going on. Another thought escaped his sleep-starved head.
She was sneaking looks at him from a corner of her eye but she made an effort to not meet his full. “So when did you wanna you know get out of here?” she asked. “I don’t want to. I want to talk about last night. What did we do? I know I drank a quarter and a half bottle of whiskey before I passed out.” She stared at him indignantly. “Ya well, you did tell me about.. uhm.. you know what. Don’t tell me you can’t remember.” He stared blankly. What is it with women and them universally harping on details, he thought.
Last night, had been unbearably tender. Like lovers locked in an almost furious embrace. The words and silences tumbled wild and free. Yet, they had not made love.
To be contd..
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