About a Girl

“I only just met you, but the smile is on my face.” – Pistol Youth

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I yawn, stumbling sleepily into the kitchen in search of breakfast.

“Morning,” a soft voice startles me, and I glance towards the table, where Rachel is picking at a plate of scrambled eggs.

“Morning,” I reply, smiling briefly at her as I prepare some cereal and a slice of toast.

“Bill is up visiting his parents in Barrington today,” she informs me, and I nod.

She watches in curiosity as I spread a generous amount of Vegemite on my toast and join her at the table.

We eat in silence, but it’s not awkward.

It’s just silence.

Her phone vibrates after we’ve cleaned up after ourselves and she immediately grabs it and turns it off, not even glancing at the caller id.

“You have any plans today?” I ask, just to be polite. She shakes her head, not saying anything for a few minutes.

“I hate just sitting here. I want to be doing something,” she sighs, fidgeting slightly.

“What do you want to do?” I ask. She shrugs, falling silent again for awhile.

“Do you want to go to the park?” she asks abruptly, a few minutes later.

“The park?” I ask, confused. “Isn’t it too cold?”

“Well…yes, but…” She shrugs again.

And like that, less than half an hour later, we’re sitting on the cold, deserted swings, and I’m freezing slowly as cold wind whips around us and makes me sneeze and sniffle every once in awhile.

“You’re from L.A., then?” I ask, because I don’t know what to talk to her about, all I know is that I like listening to her say things.

“No,” she shakes her head. “Not originally. My bandmates are,” she clarifies. “I’ve been living there.”

“I lived there for awhile last year,” I say. “So…why’d you leave L.A.?” I ask curiously.

Her smile fades first from her mouth, then her eyes.

“I…I just…I wanted to come home,” she states, avoiding my gaze.

“I’m sorry,” I immediately apologize. Her eyes flicker back to mine. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” She exhales lightly.

“It’s not you. Things have just been…off lately.”

I don’t know what to say.

I have no problems performing in hundreds and hundreds of people on stage, and I feel like a nervous idiot just trying to talk to one girl.

She suddenly laughs, as if she knows what I’m thinking.

“I’m sorry. This is really stupid, isn’t it? I mean, we’re at a park, and it’s thirty degrees out. Sorry.”

“I don’t mind,” I say. She laughs again, standing up. I follow suit.

“Of course you do. You’re freezing.”

“I need to get used to it,” I shrug, as we head back in the direction of William’s apartment.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she smiles, and I feel less idiotic.

I don’t know why.

I smile back.