You just going to keep that? Forever? he said.
Maybe...I just don't throw things away.
He looked around. Clearly.
So he never felt welcomed...like an intruder, disturbing her past...a past he wasn't ever a part of...a part of her that she liked to keep. So he tended to sit in the middle of the small bed and not touch anything.
But he did love her outline as she stood near the window, a shape he was exceedingly familiar with...her back to him, her hair in a pony-tail...the slope of her shoulders that came from years of athletics...even her height was measured in memory, he knew where she met him if she stood in front of him, where the slope of her met him...found him. He was very comfortable with all of that.
Come on...it's almost supper. She had turned, extended her hand out and pulled him off his seat.
Her mother's house had good bones...it had wintered and summered and stayed...of course the stairs strained a little bit, just to let somebody know that you were descending...an arrival of wooden notes.
The whole family, or at least a majority of it was downstairs...brothers, others, wives and children were in a quiet buzz of conversations...it sounded like a radio was in the kitchen playing some beach music...the scent of food floating amongst the bodies...a salty poultry smell...cut by a sweetness like a pie warming on the stove.
She was the youngest and so naturally she had the most responsibility...ensuring drinks were topped off, helping her mom in the kitchen. She had a bit of a natural grace moving along the floor, swaying to avoid a collision with a child, balancing multiple plates, contributing a few words to a conversation that left everybody laughing. Like most kids in their old homes you almost revert to being that age again, or at least respecting the authorities that raised you...one can't help it. You're home...a place that stamped its imprint on you like a penny-press...way more permanent than a tattoo...it was a feeling...a sensation. A place. A place where you assumed a certain role, acquiesced to a certain behavior.
As a stranger he just watched...sipping his vodka cranberry...he was the only one drinking liquor...it was a beer and wine crowd. Perfect, he murmured, feeling judged but in a friendly way.
For dinner he sat on the couch and she sat on the armrest...he was sort of sunken in the back, lowered...he could listen well but he couldn't be seen readily...she was perched, higher, taller and commanded the view. Her thigh was near his face...he put a hand on it...she put her hand on his for a very brief moment. It meant the world.
Supper was amazing...amazingly loud...voices, forks on plates, asks for more...he had one serving of just about everything and let his empty plate just loiter...he was listening...trying to see where the conversation was flowing.
You're not saying much...she was looking down at him, smiling...
I'm doing a lot of listening...
Well, if you feel compelled...
I'm good.
Okay.
The clean up was more chaos, with people trying to jockey to help rinse, or help dry...pretty soon she had of course taken charge and it was just her and a sibling. He watched her like he was a friendly invite...an allowance to come into this home, surrounded by her...her friends, her family, her things. Her formidable alchemy of an environment that made her...it's like watching the ingredients of something you crave...something that you cannot ever have enough of...and you'll never be able to take notes...it's not something you can snap a picture of and replicate. The good bones of this place had created...over years...like that whole business of pressure and diamonds...of sand and pearls. She emerged.
Later that night, cramped in her tiny childhood bed, they had kissed. His kissed had asked for more. Her tiny shake of the head let him know that just like the stairs it was highly likely they would be heard...whether a bed spring, a floor squeal or even one from her.
He smiled...knowing he was merely a guest in the good bones of a place that brought her to him.
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