Indeterminate

1) A gentle breeze blows in through the curtains,
2) carrying with it the hint of the last
3) evaporated drops of dew from the summer
4) grass. Sunlight sneaks in with the breeze and
5) dances lazy patterns on the floor, accompanied
6) by the rustling of the curtains.
7) You take a slow deep breath in through your
8) nose, hold it for a moment, then let out a long
9) sigh, rolling to your left and stretching your
10) arm out. The pillow and sheets next to you
11) are cool, and you curl back up. Wait. Cool?
12) Why would they be cool? One eye half peeks
13) for a moment – nothing wrong exactly, but
14) that side of the bed seems to have expanded
15) since you last looked. Odd. Extra pillow. You
16) reach out to retrieve it and pull it in to a
17) hug, burying your head in to keep the sun out
18) of your eyes. Mmm, smells like,… You hear a
19) page turn and you roll back toward the
20) window to squint at me, sitting in the bench
21) seat in the bay window.
w) “Hey, Sneaky, whatcha doin’ over there?”
a) Shh, go back to sleep. I’ll wait ‘til later.
i) “Whatcha readin’?”
t) One of yours, now go on and sleep, you could
) use it the way you’ve been going lately.
f) You close your eyes, but with a little sharp
o) sigh and one corner of your mouth frowning.
r) Okay, wait just a second. I get up and come
) over to sit on the floor beside the bed,
i) leaning against it, with my legs stretched out
t) toward the window to get my feet in the sunlight. You scoot closer to the edge to put your hand on my shoulder, squeezing for a moment, curled back up yet again. I lean my head back against your forearm, close my eyes, and listen to you breathe. Your breaths get a little deeper and more regular as you start to nod off again, so I go back to reading. I close my eyes for a moment to imagine and appreciate your story’s scenery…
“Hey, come on Sleepyhead, I made you some good coffee.”
You’re dressed, and opening the curtains. I’m still rumpledy, with award-winning bed head and stubble.
“Here, you want this down there?”
Ahh, that is some good coffee, thanks. Is there anything around for breakfast?
“You’re on your own there – took me long enough to find everything for coffee. Where are we anyway?”
Don’t know, I have a feeling it doesn’t matter for this one – someplace nice, as far as this place goes, though. Where’d you find the shower? The discrepancy here is a little embarrassing.
“Speaking of embarrassment, how long were you sitting watching me sleep?”
Let’s go back and check – looks like about 20 lines or so before you noticed.
“What were you doing before that?”
Well, I woke up when it stated to get light – didn’t want to pester you: you were in the middle of a dream, shifting a little and moving your lips slightly. I thought I recognized what you said, but that might’ve just been me dreaming.
“Was?” (Could we keep it auf Englisch please? “Hey, it just slips out sometimes…”)
Nothing, or Nobody I guess.
“Whatever. Was it a good dream?”
You were smiling. For a moment, I thought you were just pretending to be asleep and looking at me.
“Maybe I was.”
Um, yeah, so at the point I was tempted to reach for your temple and cheek, I was able to restrain myself to merely brushing your hair back.
“No, wait, that I think I do remember.”
Well, then your lips wordlessly said the same thing they had before; which was when I knew I better get up. Found my notebook and figured the window was a safe distance away. Hey! When did you manage to write this piece on the back pages? I only noticed it by accident this morning when the breeze blew it open.
“You’re not the only one capable of surprises – now leave that with me and go do something about yourself – that can’t be the hair you’re going with today.”
I put my hand to the top of my head to try to get an idea of the havoc – eek, that’s got to be some stylish do. Where’s the shower?
“Right through there.”
Back in a jiffy…
When I get back, I’m back to looking like my normal self, though still a little droopy-eyed. You’re sitting on the bench seat now writing, in my notebook. Excuse me?
“How can you write with these medium point pens? It’s just messy.”
Well, that way when my handwriting looks messy I can just blame the pen. Writing anything special?
“How did you put it? ‘wait for it’?”
Funny. Scoot over a bit and let me sit in the window with you.
We sit side-by-side with the sun shining on our backs. I try to play it cool, just being quiet, and letting you write, but I can’t help it: I have to try and peek at what you’re writing, and, of course, I get caught. You pull the notebook to your chest and give me a scolding look and a wag from your finger. I put on my best innocent face and shrug my shoulders, but it’s no use: you’ve shifted to sit against the side of the window with your feet on the bench and notebook on your thighs. There’s just enough room on the bench for me to sit the same way opposite, but only if I put one foot on the floor. I open the windows the rest of the way to let the breeze finish drying my hair and to admire the gardens. Maybe we could take a walk later?
“Hmm?”
I said, I thought maybe we should take a walk in the garden later.
“Maybe, not right now though; I want to finish this and give you your notebook back. I’ve got another surprise for you.”
How can you have another surprise? We don’t even know what’s around.
“I’m very resourceful, and I’ve got a hunch about this place – starting to know what to expect from your stories.”
Too predictable, eh?
"Not too predictable, but there’s always a detail just for me and I’ve anticipated today’s – you’re not the only one who listens.”
Well, that’s got my interest, let me try to hurry up with the writing, and you stop me when I get to where you want to surprise me.
“Okay, I’m done with the notebook – we’ll make mine the next story, okay? You want to take another turn writing in it now? It’s nice here in the window.”
No, I’ll scribble this in later, let’s look around some more.
We stay on the top floor. Everything is sunlit. We pass the central staircase with its skylight and come to the parlor beyond.
(“And in the parlor there is a…”
Oh, yeah, I got you...)
And in the parlor, there is a piano.
“Perfect, ‘cause I’ve got a surprise for you”
You sit at the piano, and I stand beside it where I can see you play but not be in your field of vision. You open it up, place your fingers on the keys, and start to play,… scales.
Scales? That’s the surprise?
“That’s the surprise if you don’t know enough to not pressure me by being in the room.”
I did stand where you can’t see me.
“Since when do I have to see you to be affected by you?”
Okay, how about I take my notebook out on the balcony then? French doors open out onto a balcony where the ironwork framing is thickly covered in climbing roses. I sit in the chair, put my feet up on the small table. Two sensations sneak up on me almost simultaneously. First the scent of the roses, vague at first, then unmistakable. Similarly the first few notes tease the memory and the following notes float on the breeze like cheveux de lin (“Didn’t you say we were going to stay en Anglais?” I know, but it’s important there). I want to call out my appreciation to you, but I am silenced by the beauty and feeling of the playing. And flattered by your selection. The music, and the perfume, and the gesture all dance with my attention in turn and I am transported: from wherever else I might be, to this place now.
When you get to the end, you call out to me, “Not too bad, was it?”
No, that was great. Would you play it again for me sometime?
“I’ll do it right now.”
Can I read your story while you play?
“Of course, why else would I write it?”…