“You’re the only one who really knew me at all”

As Phil Collins quietly pleads his case, I am so engrossed in this silly list about what to look for in a good piece of fiction that I almost forget about you. But that’s the best part about having you here; I can forget about you for a moment, but then when something triggers the flood of memories, the words you give me and the little things I have spent so long missing, all I have to do look up from my menial lists and catch your eye.

Right now you’re here, splayed across my pink sheets reading Steinbeck. The music changes while I soak you in. This is my contentment, the simplicity of unrehearsed comfort. You start singing along to Carly Simon before you notice I have stopped with my list making. Your smirk pulls me away from my desk and towards you. As I move closer, you mark your page and toss your hero aside. I stop at the edge of the bed; I’m rarely sure how long I will have here, so I can’t be made to rush anything. Plus I’m a little mean and I like to watch you squirm in the game of whose move is it. You give in this time as your left hand entangle itself in my hair and your dominant hand finds its way to my waist. I giggle as you pull me into the sea of pink cotton.  

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” you enquire as my lips pass down your neck and over your shoulder.

“Phil Collins” I reply without missing a beat.

“Seriously? What decade are we in?” you spout back in that voice you use when you think you’re being clever.

Now sitting up, I am teetering between amusement and irritation. “what does it feel like smartass?”

“Well darlin’ for me it feels like time has stopped and I couldn’t be more content with where I am.“

With that you know you’re being clever and that you have broken through the wall I was quickly constructing.

“Fuck you”


“Please would you”

I smile to acknowledge the victory of your Hail Mary and laugh to myself about just how true Mr. Collins words are. You will be the only one who really knew me.  

mj

             I feel your fingers trace a fluid line from the base of my back to the nape of me neck, where your lips take over and succeed in pulling my attention away from Tim O’Brien’s depiction of the things they carried.

            “Not fair! You know I have to finish this tonight!” I whine as I roll over to face you.

             “And you know that what isn’t fair is that you expect me to allow you to be studious while wearing something like that.”

I look down at the thin aubergine silk pooling in my lap. Boy has a point I never had to think about before. It never mattered what I was wearing while I read my required reading and editing my assignments, but now that you are here I guess it’s hardly fair. And you were so good today: running around the city with me, having dinner with my interrogating father, playing the game so flawlessly. Plus I know you’ll sleep till noon tomorrow giving me ample time to finish O’Brien’s story in the morning. So now it’s my turn to follow by your rules.

              “You’re right! How thoughtless of me. Here I’ll take it off. Will that help you concentrate better?”

              “Darlin’ that will help a lot of things, but I don’t think any of them involve this book I’m ‘reading’”

              “Well what are we to do?” I giggle as my hands slip under your t-shirt and skim across the defined peaks and valleys of your torso. My fingers move along your spin as your eyes twinkle and I smile knowing the choreography that is waiting in the wings. It’s the knowledge of happiness, of sweet comfort and perfect relaxation. There is nothing mundane or tired about what I know is coming next. You will smirk with the excitement of anticipation and brush the hair I didn’t care to notice off of my face. I will see your smirk and raise you a hard kiss, which you will counter with a swift movement of your left hand down my thigh. Every time, that will send a shiver to my toes and force me to pull you closer to me. Now you’ll you laugh as you kiss me like you mean it, and everything else will fade away.

              Soon enough life will come back into focus and our lives will continue. Not right away. Not when I wake up with your hand draped around my waist, or while we are eating breakfast and I am still inebriated with the fact that you don’t have anywhere else you have to be. But eventually, little by little reality will seep back in. You will have to leave here, to go back to the life you lead in another city. I will get back to my assignments and lonely nights spent in silk nightgowns. You will promise to come back, ensure me that this is it, I am the life you want to lead. I will believe you because I am in love with you, but I won’t let myself hold my breath. Maybe you will come back because you love me that much. Enough for me to never get any work done while wearing silk, enough to love me like no other. Maybe. But for now, it’s just breakfast after love elicited by a slip.

mj