Adam Smith - part 3

Original post date: Monday, October 27, 2008


Adam Smith - part 3

The smell of her filled his senses as she squeezed in between him and the door. Without asking she made her way to his sofa, curled up in the corner and was absorbed by its comfort. Adam set his bag down at the foot of the stairs and pushed the button to turn on the lamp. Light flooded the room but cast a shadow where Laney was sitting. Her bare feet were dusted with dirt from wearing her flip-flops all day, which were askew on the floor under the coffee table. The polish on her toes was chipped and the remaining color was enhanced by one stray beam of light. Knees pulled to her chest, she sat with her chin on her folded arms.

"Would you like something to drink? I'm getting a water."
"That would be nice…thank you."

Adam walks slowly passed the couch and sees the shift of color where the suede kept her handprint as a momentary token. As if it wanted to remember her touch as much as he longed to feel it on him. Walking through the living room, through a pair of ancient pocket doors that he just got to work again, into to the dining room, he swung open the door to the kitchen. Not bothering to turn on the light he opened the refrigerator. The triangle of light grew and spread its fingers grabbing at the pots hung above the stove. His shadow dancing amongst the white light, a brief glimpse of the potential horrors that lurk in the depths of his soul. He grabs too bottles of Zephyrhills and as he closes the door you can hear the squeak of the hinges briefly before the compressor kicks on.

Cracking the seal of the cap to the water, he hands her the bottle, already forming a layer of condensation on it. She leans forward to take it from his hand and as she does her sweatshirt falls open. White tank top with no appearance of a bra, he glances up at her to make sure that he wasn't caught glancing at her breasts. He takes a step back and sits on the edge of the couch, as far away from her as possible, without seeming uncomfortable. The coaster he grabs is a square ceramic with the image of an American flag; he sets his bottle down in the center and spins it around until the label is facing him. The cap is placed on the right side of the coaster, and he adjusts it with his finger as he forces himself to pull away from his neurosis.

"Um, you said that you wanted to talk? What can I help you with?"
"Can we just sit her for a few minutes? Is that okay?"
"Sure."

He watches as she curls her toes and removes the remaining polish off of her right big one, each piece discarded on the floor. They sit and he never reaches for his drink. Sipping hers she rests it on the tops of her feet and twists the bottom around in the little puddle of water that has formed.

She stands so abruptly that he jumps in his seat a little.

"I need to pee, where is your bathroom?"
"The door under the stairs, right over there."

The skin between her shirt and jeans shows itself as she walks passed and he can see just the smallest hint of pink and grey just below her waistline.

"Don't listen while I pee."
"Okay," he says. How can he not listen, the bathroom is ten feet away and the house is dead silent except for the shuffle of the bottom of her jeans being drug across the floor. He gets up and puts a coaster under her empty bottle of water and wipes up the ring that was left. He sits back down and tries to disappear into the couch. The toilet flushes and he thinks, "Hmmm, I didn't hear her pee."

As she wiggles the door handle to try to get out, he remembered that he forgot to tell her how to push down on the door to open it. Just as he is about to say something the door swings open with too much force and bangs into the stop on the wall.

"Sorry."
"No worries, I still do that."

He is sitting with his back upright and his legs at a ninety-degree angle, he couldn't look more uncomfortable. Trying to find something to do with his hands he puts one on the armrest and drapes one over the back of the couch. Laney walks up and gives him a glance with a little smile and sits down beside him. In a fluid motion her feet are on the couch and her head is in his lap. Frozen, he looks down and has no idea what to do. Without looking she reaches up behind her and pulls his arm down and intertwines her fingers with his.

It has been long enough for his arm to fall asleep, but he didn't want to move, he didn't want to not have her touching him. So he sits and watches her from above. With his free right hand he brushes the hair off of her face and traces the lines down her cheeks made from the mascara.

"You think I am pretty, don't you?"
With a slight stutter, "Uh, yes I do." His heart quickens, and he can feel his blood pumping. That fear that every boy gets as he is asked to go to the board in front of the class, races through his consciousness. Please don't get an erection, but it is uncontrollable. Every boy knows you can wish it, scream it in your head, but there is nothing you can do about it, it is inevitable. He feels it pulsing and there is not a chance that she doesn't feel it too.

"Would you like some more water?" he says as he lifts up her head and scoots out from under her. "I'll be right back."

He traverses the floor to the kitchen with a nervous quickness, stumbling on the leg of a chair in the dining room falling through the swinging door. Heart racing he stands with his hands against the counter, a bead of sweat runs from his temple to his jaw and drops on the back of his hand.

He is so focused on the beating in his ears and the pounding in his chest he doesn't hear Laney shuffling across the floor dragging the hems of her jeans that have frayed down to ragged half moons. He does not hear the kitchen door swing open and with his eyes closed tight he does not see the faint light fill the room.

She stands and watches him lit like a modern Rembrandt, then steps too him.