“ Lily,” I take the bottle of wine and move it to my side of the table.
“You were always so cute when you were mad.” “Looks like I’ve struck a nerve,” she giggles a little too loudly and I’m afraid the alcohol’s gotten to her. She doesn’t know anything about me, so why is she so comfortable. “I’m not, and they aren’t stupid.” I frown, taking a bite of the pasta I don't want and forcing it down to prove a point. “Don’t tell me you're still doing those stupid diets.” “Why aren’t you eating?” She quips and her blonde beach-waves bounce with her tilted head. I’m too nervous to eat, but Lillian looks like she’s out-drinking herself. I take a sip from my glass and push my pasta around the plate. Dinner was always better at your house.” She sighs and the awkward silence when I nod my head in response was deafening. Well, she reminds me of my no-good white friend anytime I do something that displeases her but, “She’s doing good. How’s your Mom? It’s been years since I’ve seen her.” She pours herself another drink before taking a bite from her steak. Good to know the criminal record point on your transcripts was wiped clean. I actually have an internship at the court of appeals in Albany next semester, so things are looking up for me.”
#DRUNK WORDS ARE SOBER THOUGHTS FULL#
“Wonderful! I thought it would be overrated and full of snobs whose egos are bigger than their bank accounts, but everyone seems really down to earth and all of the teachers have been great. “Well, what have you been up to? I heard you got into NYU forever ago, so how’s that been?” I hate the fact that I knew she’d do it - that I remembered. Her steak sizzles on the plate before her, which she promptly drowns in A1. They told me they go there often, but I would have never guessed to see you there.” She smiles and some of her red lipstick has transferred to the glass, leaving a lightened pink stain on her mouth. But, who would’ve guessed they kneow Lillian. They’re a regular and pretty good friends with Violet, so of course I would be familiar with them. I was only in this part of town to see someone and they wanted to drop by that little store since they're a painter - it was total luck!” “Yeah! I was so surprised to see you there. Going to City College is okay, and I work at the art store down the street, but you probably know that by now.” Her fingers linger by the half-full bottle on the table which is being emptied by her alone.
“So how have you been lately?” She smiles, knocking back the last swig of her second glass of wine since she’s gotten here. I mean, what was there for us to talk about? Remember that time we killed the guy who groped me on the bus and followed us home? Or maybe the time I cried in a jail cell after you had already left? Good times, huh. I don’t know why she invited me out for dinner anyway. The food got here while you were gone, so at least you don’t have to wait.” I forced myself to smile, trying to fix the coils I had diffused only 30 minutes ago. I mean, we’ve barely spoken thus far, and it's not as if our conversations are meaningful. It shouldn’t be this easy to still idealize someone who dumped you out of the blue. She wasn't this dressed up when I saw her earlier so it's a little jarring. Her plunge black v-neck blouse was more than revealing, but I didn’t let my eyes linger. Where were we again?” Lillian sits back down at the table and I do my best to maintain composure. “I’m sorry I was gone for so long, it was work. Violet was in the front of the shop, so I expected her to get it, but when a voice that sounded a little too eager and too familiar called my name, I wasn’t expecting to see her.
#DRUNK WORDS ARE SOBER THOUGHTS HOW TO#
I was in the middle of teaching an oil pastel class on how to blend darks to lights when the windchimes on the door jingled. I think it was a mixture of absolute shock and mild panic that made me act that way.
My hands are shaking where they sit in my lap, but I can’t let it show because I acted way too calm when she came into our store earlier. To say I’m nervous would be the understatement of the year.
0 kommentar(er)
