Layers

– We sit there, her and I, in that small room with off white walls. I sit, legs bent back against the wall, on the aqua marine carpet. She’s at the edge of the bed, facing me. Her tense muscles exposed. The breeze blows in behind the heavy curtain. Her thigh muscle twitches a little. This brings me a smile. She looks at me questioningly and grabs for one of the pillows to cover her bare skin. She holds it against her midsection it covers the thin straps of her bra and most of the black lace just above her thighs. She looks like a coy centerfold. I can’t help but smile. Her eyes squint at me. I want to explain, but I hold back. Meanwhile, her thigh muscle continues to twitch, still visible under her bare skin. She lets out a heavy sigh.
“Well?” she says.
I shake my head.
“This is fine,” I say.
She smiles, almost a laugh, quizzical, tightening the pillow to her. Her eyes on me, she squints.
“I’m not saying anymore than I’ve already said,” she says, still smiling.
I glance at the ceiling quickly, evading, then back at her, her arms pressing down on the pillow.
“I don’t expect you to,” I say.
She looks over at the wall, away from me, her smile gone, her lips purse to the right. Her arms loosen around the pillow and it shifts in her lap, the burgundy curve of her bra now visible.
“I told you I had a boyfriend,” she says.
“Only once, only when I asked you,” I say.
She looks at me closely; a suppressed laugh.
“Am I supposed to introduce myself ‘Hi I’m Jen, I have a boyfriend’?” she asks.
I glance down. Her toes, burgundy polish, little white flowers on top.
“Of course not,” I look back up at her, “of course not.”
“Well?” and her eyes move over to the window, to the right above me.
The sun burns in through the screen, through the narrow opening the blinds permit. There’s a deep orange haze to it. I could see the shadows of the trees touching her thigh, lightly, mostly falling off to the edge of the bed and the carpet. Her eyes glaze over; they sparkle in the light that pours in. There’s a beauty there, an unspoken breath and she exhales, deeply. Her lips come together tightly. Looking back at him she breaks into a smile. I’m caught in the aura and follow her lead, my smile extends.
“What?” she asks, a little concerned, a little amused.
My head shakes without instruction, without direction, it just does. I continue to smile; I have no further recourse. My eyes dry out a little, I could feel it and I close them, a little too long.
“What?” she says stretching the word out, the laughter riding the vibrations of her voice. She’s left with a calm expression.
“We’re here,” I say. My smile reduced to half, hers arising naturally, enticed.
“Could we be more vulnerable?” I ask.
“I feel a little insecure,” she says, “but I’m comfortable with you.”
I look at her; her eyes, her hands, her toes.
“You have nothing to be insecure about Jen, nothing,” I tell her.
She looks at me intently, taking a quick breath, her lips parted; she just stares. Her lip quivers slightly.
I laugh.
“I thought if we removed some of the layers, we could be honest,” I say.
She brings her lips together and presses them, closes her eyes and nods. Opening her eyes, she returns her gaze to the window.
“What do you expect me to say,” she says.
Returning her eyes to me, she shrugs, the pillow in her lap shifts and folds over, fully exposing the burgundy of her bra. She looks at me, expectantly.
“Tell me about connection,” I say.
I watch her closely, trying to read the gestures. Her lips part, she swallows and raises her eyes to the ceiling. She takes a deep breath.
“You mean, what I meant?”
“What it means,” I say.
Her gaze drops, still above me, on the off white walls. She raises her arm, her fair skin warm by the evening glow. She touches her hand to her face, her fingertips across her cheek and then over her mouth. Then she lets her hand fall onto the pillow. It rests there, as she speaks.
“We connect with people,” she says, “not with everyone, but with certain people at different times. Sometimes, when we do, it feels like it means. Then who knows?” Her eyes stay focused on the wall above me; the whole time.
A single breath laugh escapes me. I look off to the vanity, the mirror, her reflection, so clear. I study her, as her eyes drop to where I’m sitting. There’s an expression on her face. I know it, but I doubt myself.
“The human tragedy,” I say, “is that you see it, life, like watching a play, and you read it, you read the signs, the gestures. You know, but you hold back.”
I look directly at her. There’s almost a smile.
“You hold back, because sometimes you’re right, sometimes you are, but sometimes, sometimes you’re wrong.”
“So, you think…you’re wrong,” she asks in a soft timid voice.
My shoulders rise, a shrug.
“I could be,” I tell her.
“So could I,” she says.
I force a smile and shake my head. She watches and gives me a weak smile.
“It’s not easy,” she says, “it’s not easy…it feels so selfish.”
I glance down at the aqua marine carpet.
“Another tragedy of being human,” I say, “inevitably, your decisions are going to affect others.”
I shrug, without raising my stare. I laugh to myself.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “What do we do?” she says.
Run away with me, I want to tell her, but I don’t. I look at her with a shrug and feel the brows over my eyes rise a bit.
“What do we do?” I ask, with half a breath.
She bends forward a little and my hand reaches up. It connects with hers. Without thought, without control, my hand firms around hers. She closes her eyes and bows her head. Her hair covers her brow and I can’t help but smile. My eyes close, all I see is her, that moment.
I feel her hand slip, as she stands up. The pillow in her lap falls to the floor in front of me, and she walks over to the chair, the one with the clothes. Her clothes folded neatly. She starts to cover up. We add layers. Then walk out of that room in silence, leaving only the pillow misplaced.
We stand near the parking lot. We stand there awkwardly, studying each other, trying to figure something out.
“Home?” she asks.
I nod.
“I guess.”
Still, we stand. Two figures in the dying sun, two silhouettes. A series of half smiles and questioning looks and we part. I hug her, but I do not. A part of me says; I may not want to let go if I do. She does the same, leaving me with a half hug.
I sit in the car a while, trying to make sense as I listen to that solo sax riff that plays in my mind.