Friday, March 11, 2011

Fiction Friday: One Sunday at Angels Knoll Park, Part 2

Click here to read One Sunday at Angels Knoll Park, Part 1

She was cleaning the gunk out from under her nails when he approached.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

She looked at his concerned expression, his kind eyes bathing her with softness. She remained hard inside.

“Do you really want to do this?”

“Do what?”

“This,” she said, waving her pointed finger between their chests. “Us. Together.”

He looked genuinely confused. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“How confusing is the word ‘us’?” she spat, exasperated. “I’m talking about you and me. Going out. Do you really want to be doing this?”

He started to get it, but only a little. “Don’t you?” he asked.

“That’s why I’m asking you!” She slapped her thigh in frustration. “I mean, what’s the point? It’s not like we’re going to get married someday. Have kids, live in a house. You’re a fucking artist, for Christ’s sake. Who knows if you’ll ever have money to buy a house? And I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with my life, so I just don’t get why we’re even bothering to pretend this is going anywhere when it clearly isn’t.”

She sighed heavily and closed her eyes, covering her face with her hands, wishing she could magically transport herself back to her apartment. Where her sofa sank in all the right spots. Where the heater rattled but made the place a cozy oven. Where the view from the window was small and familiar, overlooking half a bill board and the roof garden of the next building. Her safe haven – small and tight. She knew it well. Benches in the park overlooking the Los Angeles skyline were too unknown for her.

When she finally dropped her hands and opened her eyes, she expected him to be upset, his face soured with annoyance. Part of her expected him to be gone. Back on his bench or heading down the hill with his hands in his pockets.

But instead, he was standing with one elbow leaning against the tree like a male model. And he was looking right at her, into her, through her with an expression that could only be described as a mix of amusement and affection. His full lips were twisted up at the ends in mischief. He shrugged his broad shoulders and said, “Why not?”

Click here to read One Sunday at Angels Knoll Park, Part 3

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