(no subject)
Rain, big drops, slide down my nose because I’m too distracted to wipe them away. He says "Come inside out of the rain and sit with me. Aren’t you freezing yet?"
I walk inside the kitchen where it smells like chocolate chip cookies.
"Good thing you came inside now", he says. "It looks like its getting worse."
His house is warm and comfortable and everything in it is contemporary like you would find in a Pier 1. His parents buy everything for him. I think its because he has bad taste.
"It probably will", I mumble back.
We sit in the kitchen because he’s still baking. The walls are too cluttered, full of pictures, notes, messages and reminders and coupons, they spill onto the old black fridge.
"Check the cookies", he says.
I walk to the oven and grab a rag, the only one there that's not covered in some undescribable substance and open the door, then pull the sheet out and set it on top, testing them like I’ve done before.
"Are they done enough?"
I don’t particularly care.
"As long as you like them."
"Yea, they’re great."
Alrighty then and he pulls out two coffee mugs from the cupboard and opens the fridge.
Now this isn’t your garden variety refrigerator. Its old, with cracked shelves and a missing temperature knob. Silver trim, a worn down Kenmore logo from the 70’s and its too loud.
My favorite song is on the radio, I can hear it starting in the other room. I want to go sit on the sofa and crank the GooGooDolls, but I’m with him. The only one who knows me: good, bad, ugly. Then he sits next to me and looks into my eyes. He’s staring. I can’t look at him.
"Hey, are you ok? Something seems wrong."
"I’m fine", I lie through my teeth.
Ok, he says, but he knows better. Knows me.
This song, the one with haunting melodies layered over poignant lyrics, it means sorrow and speaks of love. There’s the drum solo and now it’s the bridge with the string quartet. Johnny will start singin soon and it might make me cry again. Its obvious that I have been anyway.
"What about the cookies." I ask because I’m getting kind of hungry.
"Oh yea, the cookies are burned. The bottoms are black and crispy."
"Are you kidding?"
"I’m pretty sure", he says, and gets up because its raining harder. He gets up to look out the window and close it. He doesn’t like storms, and this one is bad.
He sits down again and looks hard at me. He’s my best friend and can see right through me. Right now he knows I’m depressed.
"Babe, I’ll make more if you really want some." And he opens another tube of cookie dough, sprinkles, sugar and pops them in.
Twenty minutes later more cookies.
But now I’m not hungry.
More food, and something to drink.
"I’ll order take out for you…"
All this and I’m missing my rainstorm.
"I’ll come outside with you and sit and get wet if you want. We can bake again when your storm is over." And he twirls me around.
And wakes me up.
I walk inside the kitchen where it smells like chocolate chip cookies.
"Good thing you came inside now", he says. "It looks like its getting worse."
His house is warm and comfortable and everything in it is contemporary like you would find in a Pier 1. His parents buy everything for him. I think its because he has bad taste.
"It probably will", I mumble back.
We sit in the kitchen because he’s still baking. The walls are too cluttered, full of pictures, notes, messages and reminders and coupons, they spill onto the old black fridge.
"Check the cookies", he says.
I walk to the oven and grab a rag, the only one there that's not covered in some undescribable substance and open the door, then pull the sheet out and set it on top, testing them like I’ve done before.
"Are they done enough?"
I don’t particularly care.
"As long as you like them."
"Yea, they’re great."
Alrighty then and he pulls out two coffee mugs from the cupboard and opens the fridge.
Now this isn’t your garden variety refrigerator. Its old, with cracked shelves and a missing temperature knob. Silver trim, a worn down Kenmore logo from the 70’s and its too loud.
My favorite song is on the radio, I can hear it starting in the other room. I want to go sit on the sofa and crank the GooGooDolls, but I’m with him. The only one who knows me: good, bad, ugly. Then he sits next to me and looks into my eyes. He’s staring. I can’t look at him.
"Hey, are you ok? Something seems wrong."
"I’m fine", I lie through my teeth.
Ok, he says, but he knows better. Knows me.
This song, the one with haunting melodies layered over poignant lyrics, it means sorrow and speaks of love. There’s the drum solo and now it’s the bridge with the string quartet. Johnny will start singin soon and it might make me cry again. Its obvious that I have been anyway.
"What about the cookies." I ask because I’m getting kind of hungry.
"Oh yea, the cookies are burned. The bottoms are black and crispy."
"Are you kidding?"
"I’m pretty sure", he says, and gets up because its raining harder. He gets up to look out the window and close it. He doesn’t like storms, and this one is bad.
He sits down again and looks hard at me. He’s my best friend and can see right through me. Right now he knows I’m depressed.
"Babe, I’ll make more if you really want some." And he opens another tube of cookie dough, sprinkles, sugar and pops them in.
Twenty minutes later more cookies.
But now I’m not hungry.
More food, and something to drink.
"I’ll order take out for you…"
All this and I’m missing my rainstorm.
"I’ll come outside with you and sit and get wet if you want. We can bake again when your storm is over." And he twirls me around.
And wakes me up.