“I’m a little bit crazy” She said over her steaming cup of green frothy tea. She dropped her eyes and smiled to herself reminiscent of a serial killer. She continued. “But at least I know I’m crazy and not trying to convince myself or anyone else that I’m sane.”
We were sitting on wooden and metal chairs on Motor Way outside of the shop she spends too much time at. The sun was bright but the air was cool, the rush of the freeway sounded in the distance. I pungent smell of coffee beans being roasted on site invaded my nostrils. Quiet conversation from the homeless who sat a few feet from us. Their cigarette ashes piled on the ground. I smiled at her and said nothing. She wrapped her hands around the glass, brought it to her lips and sipped.
“What?” She asked. “Like you’re not a little off your rocker in some way?” She grinned at me, looked me so hard in my eyes like she was trying to read all my secrets. I held her stare and smiled again.
“No, I’m perfectly normal just like everyone else.” I replied. She cocked her right eyebrow slightly at me. I knew already I couldn’t lie to her. She was not the type of girl you could do that to. She was obviously skilled in that department along with the other areas she excelled in. I sat back in my seat to get an inch of distance, she did the same. My back pressed into the wicker part of the chair felt hard, but gave a little with my weight. Freeway noise, a gray bike silently rolls by, the rider clad in red and blue spandex, sweat visible on his very tan face.
She rubbed her hands together, brought them up to her mouth and blew hot air onto them. I gripped the arm of the chair I was sitting in, stood slightly and pulled the chair closer to her, the legs of the chair scraped along the concrete making an audible sound, I sat back down. I extended both my hands, palms up across the table, asking silently for hers. Her eyes glowed, I knew that’s what she wanted. She placed her hands into mine, they were warmer than she was letting on. Warmed from the steaming hot cup of frothy green tea she was sipping on. Though she was tall, she had delicate hands, mine were almost twice the size I could easily hold them both with one hand. Her nails were short, I ran my thumbs softly over the tops of her hands, her skin smooth, still tan, tiny freckles. She watched me make slow circles on the tops of her hands, eyes down.
“You know there is something about you.” She said softly, looking down then up at me again. I know she practices that look in the mirror. I knew what she was getting at so I tried to divert her.
“I think there’s something about you too.” I said trying to disarm her with my smile.
“Yes, that too, but there is something about you.” She put emphasis on the ‘something’. I laughed and continued to rub her hands, the heat between us growing.
“What?” I ask keeping my cool. “Like I’m a vampire or something?” I laugh again, she cracked a smile.
“You wouldn’t be out here in the day light if you were a vampire sweetie.” She quipped. She paused, her face grew blank when she spoke again. “There is something familiar about your touch.”