Slowtown

24

Waking up next to a best friend after you've not tried to commit double suicide is great.

Waking up with aches from sleeping on the floor is not great, but I can deal.

Her hand is still resting in mine. A smile spreads across my face and I rub my thumb softly over her knuckle. She's my favorite. I hope she's not sore or anything.

I get to watch her sleep for about fifteen minutes. It slowly gets brighter as sunlight filters through the curtains, and when her eyes flutter open, the golden sun melds into those blue oceans of hers. She turns her head and looks at me. In an early-morning voice she says, "You're smiling. I bet you've been smiling all night, even in your sleep."

My laugh sounds gravely. I squeeze her hand.

I feel that everything from last night is still here. Stars trapped in our eyes and a dozen giggles stuffed in our mouths and traces of nervous infatuation down our spines and on our fingertips. Well, maybe that last one is just me. (I hope not.)

"Why did we sleep on the floor?" I have to ask.

"Because there's not enough room for two people on my bed."

I call BS. "Uh, if we arranged ourselves right, yeah, there is."

"Well I didn't think of that."

"So why didn't you just sleep in your bed?"

Her voice quiets, but I hear it loud and clear, "Didn't feel like leaving you," and she squeezes my hand.

"Josh would've let me sleep in his bed," I grumble, fake-annoyed.

"He definitely would've," she nods, suddenly knowing me well enough to not buy it.

My stomach twists with a growl, deciding it wants to change the subject to its needy self. "I'm starving," I yawn. Yeah, I haven't been eating that well since I came. Kinda been neglecting myself, but whatever (I say as I continue to neglect myself).

"What do you want for breakfast?"

A short pause from me which she fills in herself. "Don't think about it too hard because there's only Cinnamon Toast Crunch."

"Sounds good, I'll have that."

But we still lay there for a minute that lasts a millennia. Staring at each other kinda goofy-looking. Oh, how to stomp on those butterflies before they fly up my throat with something cheesy to say?

I don't recognize these feelings, but I'm sure getting used to them as if I do.

She pushes herself up on her elbows, and I begin to ask, "Hey Jen– sorry, is it okay if I call you that?"

"Sure, Ty," she kneels, pulling me up with her.

Nicknames are the first base of friendship. Big Meaty Claws can tell you that. Oh, actually, no he can't... I haven't called him that outside my own head. I will, though.

"What is it?" she asks because I haven't said anything at all.

"Oh... I forgot." Honestly, seriously, not lying.