She arrived with a bottle of Kahlua, as she had promised. We were going to have a Black Russian afternoon pajama party, just the two of us.
The day was nice and chilly, perfect for staying in. Skies were gray and rains came and went, whenever it felt like it. Even the weather was lazy. I had the radio on but at a low volume, just the right amount of background music.
"Pajamas?" I asked my young, new friend.
She smiled and raised her backpack. "Where can I change?"
I pointed to the guest bedroom.
She handed me the bottle. "Make the drinks."
I am still amazed at the efficiency of our conversation. We've been talking so much since we met, but I feel that we use so few words. At least, in general, in the sense that we don't chit-chat, don't waste words, don't fill the silence with chatter. We end up sharing so much more, stories, ideas, feelings, memories.
Great conversation is such a turn-on.
Later, we settled in the camel-back couch facing the bay window. She wore this big, big shirt and nothing much else. I told her that our conversations are so familiar, that it reminds me of my once-best-friend, the one I fell in love with long ago, when I was about her age.
"Are you falling for me?" she asked, holding her glass near her lips.
"That's what I mean," I said. "I love how we talk. I haven't had this in a long time. Too long."
"You didn't answer my question," she said.
"I know," I said and finished my drink. "Do you want another one?"
It was a lazy afternoon. She read my Calvin and Hobbes while massaging my feet, and I sketched her. I like drawing her cheeks, her delicate nose. It was a perfect afternoon.
News on the radio said that the weekend will bring more rain.