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  And now we continue with our next installment of Formerly Fun's BlogOpera.
When we last left off, the barista and our heroine had made love. She asked him about his scar and he explained that when he was young, he swallowed a Steve Austin action figure. Later, he asked if she should go and she said, "Stay." They kissed and fell asleep ... - F. Lawrence Caslin
BlogOpera (pt 6) My cell phone alarm rang from the other room; I'd forgotten to shut it off. I relished for a moment that it was Saturday and I didn't have to work. I opened my eyes and remembered last night, looked next to me. Dylan was awake, gazing in my direction.
"How long have you been awake?" I asked, feeling slightly self-conscious with this near-stranger in my bed awake while I still slept.
"About a half an hour."
I stretched my limbs out trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep. "Why didn't you wake me up?"
"I was enjoying watching you sleep." he replied.
"Why," I asked," because it's one of the few times my mouth's not moving?"
"No", he laughed, "have you heard that before?"
"No comment."
"I was just enjoying a few minutes appreciating you without feeling like I'm staring."
"But you were staring." I said.
"Well," he responded, "it's not really staring if someone's not awake to feel stared at."
"What is it then?"
"I told you," he paused, "it's appreciating."
"Well, stop appreciating me, it's weirding me out." I laughed and playfully pushed his face in the other direction.
"Do you want some coffee?" I ask.
"No, I don't touch the stuff," he answered.
"Huh?" The coffee guy doesn't drink coffee?
"I'm just kidding, I'd love some."
"You hungry?" I asked, my own stomach begging for some nourishment after last night's workout.
"Starving."
"I'll make us some breakfast," I said and got up from the bed, pulling on my robe.
"Can I help?" he asked as he grabbed his pants from the floor and slid them on.
"Sure."
In the kitchen, I delegated the coffee-making to him. "Why don't you make the coffee. You are after all, the expert."
"I can do that, where is it?"
"The coffee pot is in the corner," I replied, "and the coffee and filters in the cabinet above your head." I pointed above where he was standing.
He opened the cupboard door to find my crushed and rumpled, misshapen filters and my can of 'club special' store-brand coffee. I was embarrassed by my low rent choice of coffee and tried to explain.
"It's not that I like that coffee, it's just more of the, you know, emergency coffee, the coffee I make when I don't have time to go to the café or when I need to brew some for a dessert recipe or company's over."
"You serve this to company?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
"I have." I said cautiously like I may be further incriminating myself. Maybe I should have chosen my words more carefully. Take the 'I do not recall ever having served that coffee to others' line of response that so many politicians have used to successfully shirk responsibility.
"I won't judge," he said, shaking his head to imply there is definitely judging going on.
"Thank you."
I turned back to the omelette and threw two English muffins into the toaster.
"Butter, jam, peanut butter?" I inquired of him.
"Yes please."
"Which one?" I asked.
"All of the above."
"Really?"
"Sounds delicious," he said.
"Okay, it's your muffin."
I carried our plates to the small breakfast table overlooking the courtyard I share with the other three apartments in the fourplex. He followed behind me, coffee, napkins and forks in tow.
"So, are you busy today?" he asked casually as he shoved an entire peanut butter, jelly and butter slathered English muffin half in his mouth.
"Nothing immediately pressing," I answered.
He put his hand up to pause, working the last of the muffin down. "Could I persuade you to maybe spend the day with me?" he asked.
"I might be persuaded," I said cautiously. "What did you have in mind?" (to be continued ...) |
Formerly Fun
