About a Girl

It was a little strange to have Kurt Cobain strolling around my living room, picking an indented spot on the lumpy striped couch. From my view in the kitchen I could see the tense set of his shoulders as he flipped through a magazine Heidi had left on the coffee table. Sighing, I raided the cabinets for something good to eat which was hard to come by these days. Not sure what Kurt would want, I settled on pretzels which seemed harmless, and a carton of orange juice to wash them down with. Arms full, I plopped down on the sofa next to Kurt.

The television was flipped on to some old cop-show re-run, an episode that I'd already seen two or three times. Clearing my throat quietly, the silence was becoming a little dense. Kurt grabbed the orange juice stiffly, eyes never leaving the screen, and started drinking straight out of the carton.

“Hey!” I exclaimed, jabbing him in the side with my elbow. “Use a glass.”

Kurt found that amusing. “I’m not hurting anyone; it's perfectly naturally. Human instinct, even.”

“That's a stretch." I spoke dryly, eyeing him. “There are these things called germs…”

“You’ve never drunk out of the carton before have you?” His mouth was caught somewhere between a smile and a smirk.

I studied the way his lips curved like pink wings, and hastily looked away. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“Try it.” He pushed, handing me the sweaty orange juice container. “C’mon. It won’t kill you.”

Hesitant, I brought the carton slowly up to my mouth and carefully took a sip. The tang of the citrus stung my lips in a pleasant way.

“It’s freeing isn’t it?” Kurt laughed. "Like nude beaches or freedom of the press." Shaking my head, I smiled as I handed him the carton again. He took another swig of it, and leaned back on a mismatched pillow.

“It’s not as bad as I thought… happy now?”

“Very.” He replied, with a grin. Breaking eye contact, Kurt pointed to the television, “My money’s on the boyfriend for being the killer.”

“Woah, no way.” I said, throwing my hands up. “The ex-husband murdered her. You can tell by the crime scene… not to mention his alibi is sketchy. 'I was at a bar in New Orleans, but I forget the name of it.' Yeah right.”

“But the boyfriend looks like a shifty character.Just look at those eyes," He pointed at the actor's set of darting black eyes. "I don't know about you, but I wouldn't trust that guy."

“So? Eyes don’t make him a murderer.”

“I'm criminal profiling." He defended. "You want to bet on this? I bet…” Smiling, Kurt reached into his pocket, “one dollar that it’s the boyfriend.” He threw the crumpled money onto the coffee table.

“And I bet one dollar it’s the ex-husband.” I fished around in my jeans for a Washington and chucked it on the table too.

We were mostly silent for the rest of the show, engrossed in the story and characters. Little comments of ours slipped out now and again like, “What? Are you serious?” and “What the hell?". Since we both had a dollar on the line this was serious business.

In the last two minutes of the program, the police officer interrogating the ex-husband said, “Mr. McGuire… You may have fooled your family and your children, but we found something at the crime scene that might interest you.” He paused for dramatic effect, and the camera zoomed in closer to his face. “Your finger print in blood on the wall.” Then his rights were read, he was cuffed while cheesy music played, and the credits rolled.

“Ha.” I said, scooping the two bucks off the table. “I was right.”

“It looked like it was the boyfriend all along right up until the last scene. You must be psychic or just damn lucky.”

“You can never have too much luck.” I stood and stretched like a cat waking from a lazy nap.

"But if you have too much luck then you think things come too easily."

Slightly in awe, I paused speaking quietly, "You into philosophy?"

Kurt just laughed, then I saw his expression change. “Wait a second. You saw that episode before, didn’t you?”

I grinned. “I guess we’ll never know; it's a mystery.”

“You just conned me!”

“Are you surprised?” I smiled shyly.

“I should have suspected…”

“Well, I’m going to go to sleep and let you ponder over the loss of your dollar.” I walked over to my bedroom door, and turned ever so slightly. “It’s late; you can just spend the night here.”

Kurt stretched his body out on the couch, yawning. “Alright, I am comfortable. Just remind me not to make anymore bets with you. I'll be broke by the time I leave here.”

I laughed, only replying. “Good night.”

“Night," Before I left him, he called from behind, “Hey, Ally?”

I looked at Kurt lying there, eyes closed. “Yeah?”

“I trust you.”

“That’s good to know.” I said stealing what he had said earlier at the lake when I had told him the very same thing.

The beginnings of a smile tugged at his lips, just small enough to miss if you weren't paying attention.