Grace
Like sunflowers and the sun
8:00 AM, The Morning After
Grace peeked out from the curtains and smiled. She could hear Bill's footsteps, quiet, as he went through the house and finally arrived at the coffee maker, then sat down and started snoring in exhaustion.
There was a reason that he was exhausted, she reflected happily, stretching out her toes in delicious laziness. And the reason was sitting in his bedroom, stretching her feet.
The stripes of the blinds were racing across the floor, shattering Bill's room into strips of light and dark. Grace's foot was segmented into five illuminated pieces, traveling slightly downward as the sun rose a fraction.
"Coffee?" Bill smiled. Gracie started. She wasn't aware that he had entered the room. Smiling, she stared at him, and, keeping her eyes on his, stretched her toes and muttered a reply in the negative. Neither of them heard, because Bill was staring back and she was absorbed into the light that barred across his irises, giving them millions of new dimensions. He seemed more whole, awake, than she had seen him in years.
Bill had been a moody, withdrawn, silent roommate and Grace learned for years to withdraw, herself, and enjoy the peace and quiet. So she was surprised, learning that the world seemed no louder now that they were together. They were on their own, two against the world, in a little pocket of solitude that ended at the mailbox in front of the dust-cleaned, leaf-scraped lawn.
Bill sat down. The mattress sighed and lowered until it hit the ground, and an evil glint glittered in Gracie's eyes as she reflected that it had done that. A lot. Last night.
She took Bill's hand, idly flipping it over and running her fingers down Bill's palms. Closing her hand over his, Gracie turned onto his chest and closed her eyes, breath evening in sleep.
Bill watched her, afraid to move, happy and awake, nerves jangled from the sharp buzz of coffee that rushed to his brain. She was making little, abrupt sighing sounds as her exhales hovered for about an inch, and then surrounded Bill. He couldn't help a little smile that jumped across his face, leaping and growing until the room seemed to be filled with light!
Gracie opened her eyes in a squint, saw Bill fuzzily with a foolish grin on his face, inspired by the fact that he was holding her and they were both breathing.
Apparently, it doesn't take very much to be happy. Who would have known?
She moved her head a little and grinned up at him, eyes squinching into happy crescents, not caring that her face was moving in strange motions of eager bliss. That might have been embarrassing, say, yesterday, or really, the day before. Because yesterday, at breakfast, she had the oddest feeling in her stomach. It felt like she was carrying a child. Gracie was all over the place that morning, upset and in confusion. Until Bill walked through the door. That's all it had taken.
Everything had suddenly quieted and her strange feelings stilled. It was then that she knew that she couldn't keep her eyes off his face, forever doomed to pantomime a sunflower in worship to Apollo. She loved Bill, she loved him.
She smiled.
Grace peeked out from the curtains and smiled. She could hear Bill's footsteps, quiet, as he went through the house and finally arrived at the coffee maker, then sat down and started snoring in exhaustion.
There was a reason that he was exhausted, she reflected happily, stretching out her toes in delicious laziness. And the reason was sitting in his bedroom, stretching her feet.
The stripes of the blinds were racing across the floor, shattering Bill's room into strips of light and dark. Grace's foot was segmented into five illuminated pieces, traveling slightly downward as the sun rose a fraction.
"Coffee?" Bill smiled. Gracie started. She wasn't aware that he had entered the room. Smiling, she stared at him, and, keeping her eyes on his, stretched her toes and muttered a reply in the negative. Neither of them heard, because Bill was staring back and she was absorbed into the light that barred across his irises, giving them millions of new dimensions. He seemed more whole, awake, than she had seen him in years.
Bill had been a moody, withdrawn, silent roommate and Grace learned for years to withdraw, herself, and enjoy the peace and quiet. So she was surprised, learning that the world seemed no louder now that they were together. They were on their own, two against the world, in a little pocket of solitude that ended at the mailbox in front of the dust-cleaned, leaf-scraped lawn.
Bill sat down. The mattress sighed and lowered until it hit the ground, and an evil glint glittered in Gracie's eyes as she reflected that it had done that. A lot. Last night.
She took Bill's hand, idly flipping it over and running her fingers down Bill's palms. Closing her hand over his, Gracie turned onto his chest and closed her eyes, breath evening in sleep.
Bill watched her, afraid to move, happy and awake, nerves jangled from the sharp buzz of coffee that rushed to his brain. She was making little, abrupt sighing sounds as her exhales hovered for about an inch, and then surrounded Bill. He couldn't help a little smile that jumped across his face, leaping and growing until the room seemed to be filled with light!
Gracie opened her eyes in a squint, saw Bill fuzzily with a foolish grin on his face, inspired by the fact that he was holding her and they were both breathing.
Apparently, it doesn't take very much to be happy. Who would have known?
She moved her head a little and grinned up at him, eyes squinching into happy crescents, not caring that her face was moving in strange motions of eager bliss. That might have been embarrassing, say, yesterday, or really, the day before. Because yesterday, at breakfast, she had the oddest feeling in her stomach. It felt like she was carrying a child. Gracie was all over the place that morning, upset and in confusion. Until Bill walked through the door. That's all it had taken.
Everything had suddenly quieted and her strange feelings stilled. It was then that she knew that she couldn't keep her eyes off his face, forever doomed to pantomime a sunflower in worship to Apollo. She loved Bill, she loved him.
She smiled.