early times

Melanie locates the sugar bowl on the counter and spoons a few into her steaming mug with the logo of some forgotten company. She pours the cream and sips. 'Good morning to me,' she thinks. She sits on a stool at the counter and gathers the sections of paper spread out and discarded by her boyfriend, Charles. In local news: there's a story of a man saved from drowning; by his cat. A rare spot of good news against the backdrop of stories whose titles contain the words: murder, scandal, collapse. She reads a couple of lines and tosses the section back on the counter, and gives up on news.

Charles descends into the kitchen from what Melanie thinks of as "that weird stair". He smiles as he sees Melanie in her business suit. He's always found her sexiest in her work clothes. Something that he's never told her outright, but guesses she suspects. His gaze wanders down to her legs wrapped in nylons. He worships those knees, those calves.

Melanie flashes a smile, in turn, from the attention. "What do you think about Thai tonight?" Melanie asks to distract Charles from his current train of thought.

Charles knows that means she's almost done with her coffee and is headed out the door. "Great. Do you have time to meet me for lunch?"

Melanie eyes come unfocused for a fraction of a second. The thought of their last "lunch" almost makes her knees buckle, sends a shiver up her spine.

"yes," she says weakly.

"Probably," she declares, as she regains her composure. "I'll text you."

Melanie crosses to the dishwasher, going out of her way to brush against Charles going past.

Some steps in the right direction.

She, with her startling blue eyes, surprised me twice in one focused glance.

"Art or laziness or fear or thought or..."

"Just. One. Word." As she cut me off, her speech became a tango.

"But..." I said as I missed a step and stumbled. Then realized that was my answer. At least that's all she would hear. I felt a weighty unease at that answer. Unease. Because. It. Fit.

I laughed and spun around in my head.

There are some questions, unique. Not that they have never been asked before. But, that they fill a void, a gap in understanding, for that moment. They lead down dusty roads of thought which seem to be abandoned, or worse: never traversed.

Then I nodded, looking for balance from my thoughts. "How can I change that?"

"How am I supposed to know all the shit you carry around in your head?" She shrugged. "Although, you should probably stop making excuses."

"Just do it?" I giggled.

She glared at me for being flippant.

"No, seriously." I smoothed out my expression. "Would you like to dance."

She nodded, smiled and put out her hands.

As I took her hands, I repeated her question silently, like a prayer: "What one word has defined your life?"