finally talking with her, really talking;
finally feeling comfortable with her again, and her with me.
i remember how we slipped back into our casual dynamic,
how she lay across me, and back into me.
and putting one arm over her, around her,
and how, after we returned to our friend's room,
i noticed the lines running across her barely-bared midrift
and wondered at what they were,
perplexed, voicing the question,
when suddenly i looked down at myself
and it dawned on me
that they were the lines from where
the sleeves of my "ribbed tee" had pressed into her.
and i laughed and gave the answer
so as to not keep her in the dark
and our friend looked from her to me and back
with one eyebrow raised and said,
"i don't want to know."
and she protested in that sincere-ingenue way of hers,
and i smiled.
add a comment | others by Father