(untitled)
The late morning sunlight comes in through the window by her bed and whispers through her raven hair. Shes propped herself up on her elbows and is looking over at me, the stranger in her bed. I push the pillow down and re-position my head so that I can look at her. My hand skims in between the white linen sheets, floating between them
She wants to talk about football. College football. Something about watching a game that afternoon. "Why do you not look interested?"
I stumble with my words. The right ones sit in the front of my mouth, somewhere snagged in my teeth. "Why aren't you saying anything". All I have now are the wrong words; her glare breaks them out of my mouth and the fall out, dribbling down my chin like broken teeth. I don't know what to say.
She knows me as well as she seems to need to. I don't think I know her at all. I suppose I have been a passenger to her. I fit somewhere where she wants me: in between her post-modern furniture and her cat.
Her cat seems to like me. "He doesn't like many people, you must be special" she had said on our second date. I think it was supposed to be charming when she said. Now it felt like it was more foreboding.
It seems like there should be something more to this. More to her. More to me. More than Florida State Football and more than brewery tours with the other yuppies. Yes yes, there must be more to me. I've watched football before.