____ing in Place

There was the time in her basement. She was on the treadmill, but she was still wearing the dark blue polo shirt and khaki pants she'd worn to school. Her hair's thick, dark brown curls were holding neatly in place by means of too much hair spray.

Twenty minutes earlier, I had walked into her house unannounced, without knocking. They never minded my doing it. So she talked, and I agreed, and she had no idea. The other guy was my best friend, but I agreed.

"Really?" She smiled nervously.

"Yeah." I didn't look at her for several seconds. "He really does. I don't know why he hasn't said anything."

"Are you serious?" Her brow furrowed, slightly.


Years later, I would remember once walking into her house expecting to find a party, finding only a Thursday dinner, pasta. That day, though, I had sneaked a few glances at the movement of her breasts as she walked on the treadmill. She called him after I left. He broke it off for the blonde girl after only eleven days.

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Blogger Josh said...

this one goes under the catagory of "i could have cleaned up in high school if i knew then what i know now." if only i had learned even marginal communication skills to use while pursuing the opposite sex...throw in a little self-confidence and i'd be all set.

7:57 PM  
Blogger Sara said...

I really dig your title here because it leaves a lot to the imagination. It's like an ad lib, those word games from childhood. Right on my friend, poetry is a beautiful thing. Thanks for reading mine.

6:43 AM  

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