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A Home Cooked Meal

My world began to spin as I looked down from the roof that had been transformed into an extension of his personalized room.  I could feel his eyes on me from the doorway leading to this safe haven.  I imagined what he saw, what his eyes were drawn too. The vertigo almost forced me to drop the wine glass that transformed me into an adult.  With the stem between my forefinger and middle finger and my thumb gripping the curvaceous, red stained glass, I stood there hidden from the world below, but able to see everything.

Ella Fitzgerald’s voice sang to me as I watched the people below create their lives and have defining moments.

“You ready?” He asked.

I turned around and on the table sat our meal for two.  Rice that was a deep maroon color.  Green Curry with carrots and chicken and Thai eggplant and peppers.  Finally an omelet cooked perfectly yellow and fluffy with bits of bacon.   I sat down in great anticipation of this vibrant, potent food being introduced to my tongue.  He stood up once more.

“It’s hot.  Let me get the fan.”  He said as he slipped his sandals back on to tread over the ground dusted with the dirt of the happenings of the day.

I smiled, hiding my disappointment.  Taking another sip of my wine, I saw the sparkling.

Red and gold and white and green and orange. Magestic and elegant.  It was framed by the roof of the balcony next door, allowing only a part of the temple’s roof to boast its loveliness.  It forced the spectator to use the imagination to conjure up the vision of its entire being in full view.  Behind the birdcage that hung low from the balcony roof I could make out outlines of the sharp geometric angles of the various triangles, acute and obtuse, that made up this intricate being.  The darkness of night obscured it even further, making it mysterious with only a glimmer here and there.  I was transfixed.

He returned.  A breeze now flowing in our direction.  I looked at my friend across the table.  His dark eyes behind his sphere framed glasses.  His mustache outlining his top lip.

Ella was now singing a cover of Cole Porter.

We talked, exchanged our beliefs and opinions, many of which differed, some of which were the same.  He taught me.  Patience, beauty, music, art, religion.  I taught him. Confidence, diversity, passion, emotions, words.

He smiled forcing his mustache to grow.  “What?”  He asked with a little giggle that had come to indicate an ease between us. I had gotten lost attempting to understand this moment of simultaneous comfort and intrigue.  I was in love with that instant.

It was pure excitement and anxiety and admiration and vulnerability and poise and comfort and gratitude.

I smiled, my fingers tracing the bottom of my wine glass.

“This meal was delicious”  I told him genuinely.

“The omelet wasn’t  too salty?” He asked.

“Nah, I liked it.”

And with that Ella interrupted, forcing us to listen.  And so we did.

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