...Something's got me reelin', it stopped me from believin'/Turn me around again/Said that we can do it, you know I wanna do it again...
"You will like it," he said, pushing his cup of chai towards me. "Here, taste."
It was a strange moment, one that held its breath, almost. We didn’t know each other well, and the afternoon had been awkward already. And yet, he knew enough to know. Of all the tense and chilly moments that day, it is this warm one I recall.
It’s at once unnerving and reassuring to be known in that way, the way in which someone can say, She loves Chinese, and be certain.
"I know you only did this because I asked you," he says to me. He is right; I had. I am accustomed to being Wicked Stupid about people. I am accustomed to everyone knowing I am Wicked Stupid about this one, everyone, his spouse, mine, everyone. I am not accustomed to this being acknowledged. He knows, and he acknowledges. "I know you only did this because I asked. I owe you," he says.
I say nothing, poised between a witty response and an honest one. I opt for witty, quickly realize I have no wit for this moment. The silence stretches uncomfortably. I default to honesty, but there is nothing safe to say.
Long pink clouds stretch like birthday party streamers across the evening sky.
Every Morning; Sugar Ray