esperanza

Harper

I thought about funerals held on Halloween. I'd come back to that again and the goosebumps of the fear of the unknown had a little war with the shivers of concern I felt for the girl who had stolen a ride. I heard her moving in the kitchen, and then the glass door being opened and I decided that she must be loading the dryer.

I wondered what she had found to wear, something of her own or something of mine. I tried not to picture what she would look like with one of my size-17 long-sleeve white shirts draped on her soft, slender body falling almost long enough to be a dress.

If a transvestite wears men's clothes is it criss-cross-dressing?

Just for the heck of it I looked up court cases regarding ghosts and claims of life-after-death, reincarnation and the like. There was too damn much of it to be believed, so to speak.

She knocked softy again, "I made coffee. Do you want it in there or out here?" I hate drinking coffee at the computer, I always drink too much, don't enjoy it and end up with acid stomach. And then there are always spills. But I probably drink at least a pot a day sitting right where I was sitting just then.

"Bring it on in." I tried not to anticipate how she might be dressed.

The door opened and she came in, plastic coffee butler dangling from one hand and two thick ceramic mugs from the other. She wore one of my robes, the orange one my sister Beth had bought me for Christmas nearly two years ago. Beth lives in Florida and hasn't seen me in years and thinks of me still as her teen-age brother, I guess. She also thinks of me as someone who would wear orange, apparently.

On Kelly it looked good, damn good.

The robe, much too tight for me in the shoulders and tending to blare open at the waist, hung loosely from Kelly's narrower frame and nearly went twice around her slender middle. The color contrasted with the green towel she had wrapped turbanwise around her hair and somehow this made her eyes appear more green and her skin glow with clean pink health.

Her legs flashed beneath the robe, on her, mid-calf hem. Long and smooth and needing a bit of a tan.

She grinned when she realized I was taking it all in.

"Like the package?" she asked as she sat the cups down and opened the butler.

I probably blushed and felt an enormous need to clear my throat and sound really adult and masculine.

"What do you take in your coffee?" she asked innocently.

"Nothing, just black. Sugar and cream make you fat and sweeteners just taste bad."

"You said it." She poured two cups and I caught myself watching the robe where it lapped over on her chest. No cleavage there, not really but the young skin of her neck working over the angles of the clavicle were... lovely.

"You've got good taste in coffee, Chock-Full-O-Nuts." She took her cup, smelled the aroma and smiled.

"Did you put on your glasses to be sure?"

She stuck out the tip of her tongue at me. Was she doing these things deliberately? Damn.

I took a sip. It was good. Funny how some people can make bad coffee even with an automatic pot.

"Mmm. Blue Ribbon Coffee," I murmured.

She giggled at my gibe, sipped, made a face and then tried not to cough. "Eww! Bitter! How long have you had that can?"

"Since Tuesday, maybe you don't drink coffee."

"I've been drinking coffee for fifty years!"

"Maybe you don't drink it black. Now." She tried sneaking up on another sip of the stuff. When it hit the back of her tongue she almost gagged again.