first edit: 12/16/2012
by Banuk
"Tell me something beautiful," she asks while his arms are around her, her back feeling the silent hum of his breath; his lips touching the fine hairs on her nape. They lay on the bed comfortably, surrounded by the mess around them – laundry and newly laundered clothes together in piles scattered all over. The sheets cover her whole body and half of his. If seen from above, their bodies are snuggly arched, ill-fitted, like pieces of an unfinished puzzle.
"Beautiful."
"Are you being smart now?" She said rather plainly, neither annoyed nor amused. She turns to face him. His lips touching her forehead and her leg wrapped around his lower back.
"You stink," she says trying not to break a cackle.
"So does your hair," he retorts not trying to hide his laughter.
"We should get up, take a bath and..."
"Later," he answers back. Not letting her finish, but hugging her tighter instead.
"I'm hungry."
"Me too," he answers yawning.
He shifts on his back and as he does, the sheets move revealing the upper portion of his naked pelvis. He pulls the sheets back up and simultaneously, in one swift silent move, her right arm is hugging his chest and her head is resting on his right arm. Their heads, legs, arms and fingers move on auto-pilot. Like it has minds on its own. Minds unaware - commanding the body to act naturally, gracefully. As if the actions and reactions are all too familiar. Like a rehearsed act, done a couple of times over.
Lying on his back, he raises his left arm over his head then, he starts talking. As he does, she feels the vibration on his chest. She doesn’t look up at his face, but she knows - from the way his chest hairs sway and the way the skin above his heart move up and down - she knows, he’s smiling.
"I was once reading a book at a park and the park streets were jammed of cars desperately trying to find a parking spot when I noticed this car, a convertible. An old Camaro convertible, I think. Inside was an old couple - white haired old - the man was driving and the woman was obviously irritated. You can see from afar that they were pissed off - maybe at each other, maybe at the traffic. So, they've been driving around for a while, passed by where I was a couple of times, when for the nth time they were once again in front of my spot. You see, at this point, the traffic jam was worse - people were yelling at each other, horns were honking wildly - when, all of a sudden, the man stopped the car's engine, climbed out of the car, walked to the side of his wife's car door and opened it. The wife went out, they held hands, walked to my direction and sat on the free spot beside mine. I overheard the man saying, "Now, this is our spot!" They laughed and laid down the grass. Curious, I looked at their car again and saw that the traffic was moving except that the cars behind theirs was stuck. The people behind their car was furiously yelling at the empty car."
"Did they call the police? A tow truck?" She asks mindlessly looking up at his face.
"Maybe."
"Now, that's beautiful." She says fixing her gaze on his lips as her own breaks into a smile.
"Is it? I just thought it was funny. Now, you. Tell me something beautiful."
She removes her hand from his chest, covers her mouth and yawns. She pulls herself up so her face is parallel to his, their eyes meet each other’s.
"This." she answers while touching his lips.
She lowers herself again to hug him tighter, "You."
He hugs her tighter while softly kissing her forehead, smiling secretly. Silently pleased. The kiss lingers.
She breaks herself off from his hug, stands up at the bedside and looks at the couple on the bed. She looked at the couple longer, her gaze fixated on the girl - on her. Indulging in her narcissistic smug, she thinks aloud, "My back looks good. Why, it should always look this good."
She looks around the room and sees a chair by the window. She sits on it and stares outside. It looks it's around quarter past 4, she thinks. She looks back inside the room, and then fixes her gaze on the blank white page on her laptop that's silently staring back at her. She stares back and this act drags on a couple of minutes longer. The longer it drags, the deeper she indulges in her own meanderings. One moment, she drifts into a memory – a memory, probably from the past or from the past’s own memory. Whichever, she gives in. The next moment, she longs for a future – a future with nameless faces, but no less real all the same. Then, she imagines a night that may or may not have happened. It was probably a year or two ago. It’s probably a scene she read somewhere, who knows. It was a night, she recalls, set in a messy bedroom. She lays half naked beside someone. She remembers feeling cozy. Vaguely, she also remembers a musky scent. She tries hard to recall his face – the one beside her - but fails. Although he feels his piercing eyes. She hears his laughter, too. She feels warm inside.
As if screaming for help - or praying or meditating or pleading - she stares ever more intently on the blank white page in front of her.
Still, nothing.
Then, in a split of a second, she thoughtlessly sets her fingers on the keyboard.
Finally, the blank white page and…
"Tell me something beautiful,"
by Banuk
"Tell me something beautiful," she asks while his arms are around her, her back feeling the silent hum of his breath; his lips touching the fine hairs on her nape. They lay on the bed comfortably, surrounded by the mess around them – laundry and newly laundered clothes together in piles scattered all over. The sheets cover her whole body and half of his. If seen from above, their bodies are snuggly arched, ill-fitted, like pieces of an unfinished puzzle.
"Beautiful."
"Are you being smart now?" She said rather plainly, neither annoyed nor amused. She turns to face him. His lips touching her forehead and her leg wrapped around his lower back.
"You stink," she says trying not to break a cackle.
"So does your hair," he retorts not trying to hide his laughter.
"We should get up, take a bath and..."
"Later," he answers back. Not letting her finish, but hugging her tighter instead.
"I'm hungry."
"Me too," he answers yawning.
He shifts on his back and as he does, the sheets move revealing the upper portion of his naked pelvis. He pulls the sheets back up and simultaneously, in one swift silent move, her right arm is hugging his chest and her head is resting on his right arm. Their heads, legs, arms and fingers move on auto-pilot. Like it has minds on its own. Minds unaware - commanding the body to act naturally, gracefully. As if the actions and reactions are all too familiar. Like a rehearsed act, done a couple of times over.
Lying on his back, he raises his left arm over his head then, he starts talking. As he does, she feels the vibration on his chest. She doesn’t look up at his face, but she knows - from the way his chest hairs sway and the way the skin above his heart move up and down - she knows, he’s smiling.
"I was once reading a book at a park and the park streets were jammed of cars desperately trying to find a parking spot when I noticed this car, a convertible. An old Camaro convertible, I think. Inside was an old couple - white haired old - the man was driving and the woman was obviously irritated. You can see from afar that they were pissed off - maybe at each other, maybe at the traffic. So, they've been driving around for a while, passed by where I was a couple of times, when for the nth time they were once again in front of my spot. You see, at this point, the traffic jam was worse - people were yelling at each other, horns were honking wildly - when, all of a sudden, the man stopped the car's engine, climbed out of the car, walked to the side of his wife's car door and opened it. The wife went out, they held hands, walked to my direction and sat on the free spot beside mine. I overheard the man saying, "Now, this is our spot!" They laughed and laid down the grass. Curious, I looked at their car again and saw that the traffic was moving except that the cars behind theirs was stuck. The people behind their car was furiously yelling at the empty car."
"Did they call the police? A tow truck?" She asks mindlessly looking up at his face.
"Maybe."
"Now, that's beautiful." She says fixing her gaze on his lips as her own breaks into a smile.
"Is it? I just thought it was funny. Now, you. Tell me something beautiful."
She removes her hand from his chest, covers her mouth and yawns. She pulls herself up so her face is parallel to his, their eyes meet each other’s.
"This." she answers while touching his lips.
She lowers herself again to hug him tighter, "You."
He hugs her tighter while softly kissing her forehead, smiling secretly. Silently pleased. The kiss lingers.
She breaks herself off from his hug, stands up at the bedside and looks at the couple on the bed. She looked at the couple longer, her gaze fixated on the girl - on her. Indulging in her narcissistic smug, she thinks aloud, "My back looks good. Why, it should always look this good."
She looks around the room and sees a chair by the window. She sits on it and stares outside. It looks it's around quarter past 4, she thinks. She looks back inside the room, and then fixes her gaze on the blank white page on her laptop that's silently staring back at her. She stares back and this act drags on a couple of minutes longer. The longer it drags, the deeper she indulges in her own meanderings. One moment, she drifts into a memory – a memory, probably from the past or from the past’s own memory. Whichever, she gives in. The next moment, she longs for a future – a future with nameless faces, but no less real all the same. Then, she imagines a night that may or may not have happened. It was probably a year or two ago. It’s probably a scene she read somewhere, who knows. It was a night, she recalls, set in a messy bedroom. She lays half naked beside someone. She remembers feeling cozy. Vaguely, she also remembers a musky scent. She tries hard to recall his face – the one beside her - but fails. Although he feels his piercing eyes. She hears his laughter, too. She feels warm inside.
As if screaming for help - or praying or meditating or pleading - she stares ever more intently on the blank white page in front of her.
Still, nothing.
Then, in a split of a second, she thoughtlessly sets her fingers on the keyboard.
Finally, the blank white page and…
"Tell me something beautiful,"