Everything Is Alright
Our Latest Idea
Justin helped me unload the boxes out of my car. I’ll admit it. I had let Justin convince me to move in. Maybe not one of our best ideas, but we didn’t have many of those, anyway.
“Last one,” I announced, taking the last box out of the trunk and putting on the sidewalk.
“Great, let’s unpack,” he said, picking it up. I followed him inside. He set it on top of another box in the cluttered living room.
“How about we unpack later?” I suggested. I didn’t even want look at the boxes right now. “Let’s see this empty room.” I followed him to it. He flicked on the light. There were a few boxes in the corner and a bed frame in the middle. Other than that, it was completely empty. “No offense, Justin,” I began. “But who picked the colors out for these walls?” He shrugged. They were a weird greenish color that reminded me of mold. Yuck.
“We can paint them, if you want.” I smiled.
“Really? Let’s go then,” I said, pulling him back out of the room by the hand.
“Right now?” he asked, as I led him out the front door. I shrugged.
“Why not?” He shrugged back. We were at the hardware store paint section fifteen minutes later.
“How about bright yellow?” he suggested. I raised an eyebrow.
“No way. It’s too…yellow-ey.”
“That’s the point. It’s yellow.”
“Well…I don’t like yellow.”
“Okay. Lime green?” I raised an eyebrow at him. I wondered if he had ever picked a color for an actual room.
“I think I’ll go with light blue,” I said, cutting him off. He shrugged.
“Whatever.” We took the paint and painting stuff we bought back to his apartment. I mean, our apartment. We carried the boxes out of the room and draped a sheet over the bed. We started painting.
We were done a few hours later. We were held up a while by a paint fight.
“Great. There go my jeans,” I said. They were splattered with paint.
“Your pants?” Justin demanded incredulously. “Look at how much paint you got in my hair!” I glanced at him and laughed. He pushed my shoulder, leaving a big handprint on my shirtsleeve. I breathed in the paint smell. I hate that smell.
“Oh man,” I said, remembering.
“What?”
“I can’t sleep in here tonight. I’ll fucking suffocate.”
“Oh yeah,” he agreed.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” I said.
“You don’t want to do that,” he reasoned.
“Why not?”
“The couch sucks. It’s old. And it probably smells bad.”
“Okay, then. Where will I sleep?”
“Take my bed,” he offered.
“Then where will you sleep?”
“Oh, yeah.” He scratched his head. “Um…we can share the bed, you know…” he suggested, waiting for my reaction. “It wouldn’t mean anything, I mean….”
“Right. Uh…” I thought. I trusted Justin, right? “I guess so.”
“Last one,” I announced, taking the last box out of the trunk and putting on the sidewalk.
“Great, let’s unpack,” he said, picking it up. I followed him inside. He set it on top of another box in the cluttered living room.
“How about we unpack later?” I suggested. I didn’t even want look at the boxes right now. “Let’s see this empty room.” I followed him to it. He flicked on the light. There were a few boxes in the corner and a bed frame in the middle. Other than that, it was completely empty. “No offense, Justin,” I began. “But who picked the colors out for these walls?” He shrugged. They were a weird greenish color that reminded me of mold. Yuck.
“We can paint them, if you want.” I smiled.
“Really? Let’s go then,” I said, pulling him back out of the room by the hand.
“Right now?” he asked, as I led him out the front door. I shrugged.
“Why not?” He shrugged back. We were at the hardware store paint section fifteen minutes later.
“How about bright yellow?” he suggested. I raised an eyebrow.
“No way. It’s too…yellow-ey.”
“That’s the point. It’s yellow.”
“Well…I don’t like yellow.”
“Okay. Lime green?” I raised an eyebrow at him. I wondered if he had ever picked a color for an actual room.
“I think I’ll go with light blue,” I said, cutting him off. He shrugged.
“Whatever.” We took the paint and painting stuff we bought back to his apartment. I mean, our apartment. We carried the boxes out of the room and draped a sheet over the bed. We started painting.
We were done a few hours later. We were held up a while by a paint fight.
“Great. There go my jeans,” I said. They were splattered with paint.
“Your pants?” Justin demanded incredulously. “Look at how much paint you got in my hair!” I glanced at him and laughed. He pushed my shoulder, leaving a big handprint on my shirtsleeve. I breathed in the paint smell. I hate that smell.
“Oh man,” I said, remembering.
“What?”
“I can’t sleep in here tonight. I’ll fucking suffocate.”
“Oh yeah,” he agreed.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” I said.
“You don’t want to do that,” he reasoned.
“Why not?”
“The couch sucks. It’s old. And it probably smells bad.”
“Okay, then. Where will I sleep?”
“Take my bed,” he offered.
“Then where will you sleep?”
“Oh, yeah.” He scratched his head. “Um…we can share the bed, you know…” he suggested, waiting for my reaction. “It wouldn’t mean anything, I mean….”
“Right. Uh…” I thought. I trusted Justin, right? “I guess so.”