kiss, she wasn’t ready for that.
I poured some in a glass and said, “Would you like to try it?”
She took it and smelled it. It reminded me of Jake
saying it smelled nasty.
“How does it smell?” I asked her.
“Good,” she said, “Fruity.” I knew she was smarter
than Jake. She took a sip and said, “Hmm, it’s really good.”
“You want a bagel to go with it? I think I’m going to
have one.”
“Sure,” she said. “By the way, I’m sorry for falling
asleep on you last night.”
I smiled and said, “Are you sorry for falling asleep
on me in the middle of the movie, or literally falling asleep on me.”
She shook her head and then with a smile she said,
“Both, I suppose.”
“Don’t be,” I told her. “It was the best night’s sleep
I got in a while. Do you want cream cheese on your bagel?”
She smiled. “No thanks,” she said.
After our bagels were done, we took them out on my
little balcony. It overlooked the back lawn of a dilapidated, should-have-been-torn-down-years-ago
house and across the street from one of those fortune teller places with the
big neon palm out front. Needless to say, the view is not what we’re paying for
here. While we ate I asked her, “So how long have you known Megan?”
“We met in kindergarten and bonded over our first
haircut.”
“Your first haircut?”
“Yeah, you know she cut my bangs, I cut hers. All
kindergarteners do it. Didn’t you?”
I thought about it for a minute. Part of what my
cancer treatments have done to me is mess with some of my memories. I don’t
really have short term, or long term problems, per se. It’s just harder to
remember things then it used to be. Good old radiation zap to the head about
thirty times will do that.
“I don’t remember doing it,” I said. It was as honest
an answer as I could come up with.
“How about you and Jake?” she asked.
“Jake moved into the neighborhood when I was eight and
he was seven. I acted like I didn’t know him at school, but at home we played
together almost every day.”
“Why did you act like you didn’t know him at school?
Was he already a little weird?”
I laughed at that. I loved the fact that she liked
Jake, yet she also loved to pick on him. She never did it in a mean way, just
funny.
“I was eight,” I told her. “I had just started third
grade. Third grade is a big step up from second. It was about my image, my
reputation. I couldn’t be seen running around the playground with a seven-year-old.”
“Of course,” she said. “What was I thinking?”
“What about high school?” I asked her. “Were you a
cheerleader, prom queen or all of the above?”
She smiled one of those far away smiles that said the
memories were either bad or bittersweet. Her eyes looked kind of sad as she
said, “I wasn’t much of a socialite in high school. Megan did all of that our junior
and senior year and I lived vicariously through her.”
“It’s hard for me to imaging that you didn’t have a
hundred offers to go to the prom. Were you an emo girl, against all of the
establishment and the gender and societal norms?” I was kidding, sort of. I
really couldn’t wrap my head around this beautiful girl not being the most
sought after, popular girl in school.
“No,” she said with a smile. She got that it was
mostly a joke. I liked that about her too. She had a great sense of humor. “I
was too cool,” she said. Then she grinned. I thought she was kidding, but I
wasn’t sure.
She finished her bagel and we carried our dishes back
inside. She washed her plate and her cup and sat them in the drainer. I needed
a roommate like her. Jake lets them ferment until one of us gets home from
school or whatever and can’t stand the smell any longer.
“I should head home,” she said. “I could really use a
shower and my toothbrush.”
“Okay. Let me get my boots on, I’ll take you.”
“I don’t mind taking the bus.”
“I don’t mind taking you. I’ll be right
I poured some in a glass and said, “Would you like to try it?”
She took it and smelled it. It reminded me of Jake
saying it smelled nasty.
“How does it smell?” I asked her.
“Good,” she said, “Fruity.” I knew she was smarter
than Jake. She took a sip and said, “Hmm, it’s really good.”
“You want a bagel to go with it? I think I’m going to
have one.”
“Sure,” she said. “By the way, I’m sorry for falling
asleep on you last night.”
I smiled and said, “Are you sorry for falling asleep
on me in the middle of the movie, or literally falling asleep on me.”
She shook her head and then with a smile she said,
“Both, I suppose.”
“Don’t be,” I told her. “It was the best night’s sleep
I got in a while. Do you want cream cheese on your bagel?”
She smiled. “No thanks,” she said.
After our bagels were done, we took them out on my
little balcony. It overlooked the back lawn of a dilapidated, should-have-been-torn-down-years-ago
house and across the street from one of those fortune teller places with the
big neon palm out front. Needless to say, the view is not what we’re paying for
here. While we ate I asked her, “So how long have you known Megan?”
“We met in kindergarten and bonded over our first
haircut.”
“Your first haircut?”
“Yeah, you know she cut my bangs, I cut hers. All
kindergarteners do it. Didn’t you?”
I thought about it for a minute. Part of what my
cancer treatments have done to me is mess with some of my memories. I don’t
really have short term, or long term problems, per se. It’s just harder to
remember things then it used to be. Good old radiation zap to the head about
thirty times will do that.
“I don’t remember doing it,” I said. It was as honest
an answer as I could come up with.
“How about you and Jake?” she asked.
“Jake moved into the neighborhood when I was eight and
he was seven. I acted like I didn’t know him at school, but at home we played
together almost every day.”
“Why did you act like you didn’t know him at school?
Was he already a little weird?”
I laughed at that. I loved the fact that she liked
Jake, yet she also loved to pick on him. She never did it in a mean way, just
funny.
“I was eight,” I told her. “I had just started third
grade. Third grade is a big step up from second. It was about my image, my
reputation. I couldn’t be seen running around the playground with a seven-year-old.”
“Of course,” she said. “What was I thinking?”
“What about high school?” I asked her. “Were you a
cheerleader, prom queen or all of the above?”
She smiled one of those far away smiles that said the
memories were either bad or bittersweet. Her eyes looked kind of sad as she
said, “I wasn’t much of a socialite in high school. Megan did all of that our junior
and senior year and I lived vicariously through her.”
“It’s hard for me to imaging that you didn’t have a
hundred offers to go to the prom. Were you an emo girl, against all of the
establishment and the gender and societal norms?” I was kidding, sort of. I
really couldn’t wrap my head around this beautiful girl not being the most
sought after, popular girl in school.
“No,” she said with a smile. She got that it was
mostly a joke. I liked that about her too. She had a great sense of humor. “I
was too cool,” she said. Then she grinned. I thought she was kidding, but I
wasn’t sure.
She finished her bagel and we carried our dishes back
inside. She washed her plate and her cup and sat them in the drainer. I needed
a roommate like her. Jake lets them ferment until one of us gets home from
school or whatever and can’t stand the smell any longer.
“I should head home,” she said. “I could really use a
shower and my toothbrush.”
“Okay. Let me get my boots on, I’ll take you.”
“I don’t mind taking the bus.”
“I don’t mind taking you. I’ll be right
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