Her hand rests lightly on my back, just between my shoulder blades. My eyes, closed, wince a little tighter together. I don’t want to hear it. It’s been a long day and I’m sick of the back and forth.
“What do you want?”
“Just some of your time.”
“I gave that to you already.”
She sighs. Takes her hand back and sits. I can sense that she’s getting low on patience as well.
“Look, are we going to figure this out?”
Now it’s my turn to sigh. I can’t…I won’t just give up that easily. She means more to me than that. I can’t even explain what she means to me. It’s like she’s always been there, throughout the years, even though I only met her a year ago. I feel like we’ve known each other since I was little. I let her answer.
“We’re going to figure this out.”
And yet, my sullen silence says that we are so different. She rises, puts her arms around my shoulders. I shrug her off spitefully, one shoulder at a time. But I can’t help leaning backward into her. It would have been imperceptible to anyone but her. She leans forward into me, balancing me, shifting me back on my feet from my heels, and wraps her hands around my waist, clasping them together at my navel. I tilt my head back so that we’re cheek to cheek, our eyes closed. I breathe-
I blink, staring at myself alone in my reflection while the other dancers stare intently at the instructor.
Sundays are like this.