I followed her to the landing at the foot of her staircase. We sat facing one another in the cramped space; our knees bent. She toed the carpeted stairs, and I toed the wall against which she reclined. I told her the story she asked to hear. She listened intently, asking more questions. We played as we talked, taking turns throwing balled-up tin foil up the stairs for her kitten to chase. A bond solidified, I think. Maybe it did, or maybe I just thought it did. She told me my voice was endearing. What does endearing even mean? I always thought it was pejorative…
She ran over to her purse for some lip-gloss. I followed her to the couch and we sat down to watch the television. When she smiled her lips glistened. Maybe she was transfixed on the show. Maybe she knew I was watching her. Maybe she was tired of my company, but when saw that smile, I wanted to dive in and immerse myself.
And then the clock struck ten.
