WIP Wednesday...

[chicating]

She didn’t answer and just fiddled with the pillowcases, but even without being a domestic goddess, I could see the pillowcases were beyond the fiddle of human hands. She just wanted to seem busy. Across the room, close enough to me that I was always conscious of him, Brian fidgeted, his foot smacking against the cabin floor, as it jiggled involuntarily until he tapped his own knee to get it to stop. Not having mobility was a huge pain, and I’d pretty much stopped hoping my life would align in such a way that I would be completely at peace with where I ended up, but I had to say that there was nothing like abled people for needing to complicate a quiet moment. At least we were used to sitting still.

In a different world, maybe one less obsessed with both the acquisition and protection of private property, I imagined befriending Coralie. That version of her had freckles, and easy laugh and an excellent biscuit recipe. In that dimension, I could imagine that it would be easy to be her friend, and not only because I wouldn’t be sent out on behalf of an insurer, either. Coralie would never have caused me to doubt my principles. “How are you?”

Even though the bed was made, Amelia leaned over and straightened out an imaginary wrinkle in the grey blanket. “Busy. You know?” She caught Brian’s eye, as if she wanted him to talk some sense into me, a look I was somewhat used to but still hated, as if they were two adults talking over the overly dramatic teenager, a look that doesn’t improve with repetition, or time.

“Look. Ma’am,” Brian said, his voice taking on that low rumble that made me shiver most.” I’m just here as her legs, all right? Pretend I’m not here. You can talk to the lady herself.” It made me cheer inside my heart to have him defend me, beside the point though it may have been.

Amelia giggled like someone who knew she’d been captivating, but hadn’t used her skills for a while. “Well said…I don’t believe you, but you got through it and it sounded good, right?”

“Sure,” he said, seeming more at a loss than usual when women he didn’t know responded to him. He splayed his fingers and looked for a moment as if he didn’t recognize them. He even shuffled his feet a little. The silence that followed was brief, but encompassing. Note to self: crip arts camp was a boner-killer, not that that should surprise anyone but me and possessive little Rita at the paint table.

Comments

The edit was no big...

[chicating]

I think I copied a few grafs twice. I like them, but not that much! Thank you for your patience...