I Eat Oreos

3

Kayla

Knitting was my favorite thing to do at night. During the day, I was always busy with school or helping around the house, so I didn't have time to knit. When everyone would leave or go to their rooms, I would go outside and knit for a few good hours.

Weekends and other school breaks were even better because I could stay up until one in the morning. I always made people scarves, gloves, and sometimes sweaters. I even made coffee mug holders.

I would play some jazz music as well. Since it was December I was playing Christmas Jazz, a gold mine very few people know about.

"Kayla?" I heard and turned to my left to see Gavin. "Oh hey, Gavin. What's going on?" I looked to his hands to see a cup of milk and the package of Oreo's I put in his room.

"It's past midnight, what are you doing?" he asked confusion laced on his face. I gave my own confused look.

"Um, knitting," I raised the scarf I was knitting, "and I could ask you the same thing."

He came and sat down on the chair that was next to me. He placed the milk and Oreo's on the table between us.

"Just thinking..." he trailed off. I nodded not pressing for answers. He'd say something if he wanted to.

"So, you knit?" he chuckled slightly. "Yeah, it's quite relaxing." Mrs. Rosenburg had taught me when I was younger. Maybe around seven years old.

"I'd say the jazz music does that all on its own," he said stuffing an Oreo in his mouth. He picked up the package and gestured it toward me. I took one myself.

"No offense, but I don't share milk," he said. "None taking. I don't even like milk."

"What? Are you kidding? That's like saying you don't like..." he looked around seeming to look for a comparison. His eyes landed on something. "Jeeps. That's like saying you don't like Jeeps."

My eyes went wide and I clenched my teeth. His mouth dropped open.

"You don't like Jeeps!?" he asked stunned. "Not really," I said scared of being reprimanded, "they're so boxy. They're like shoe boxes. If you had a big, big pair of shoes you could put them in your car as a shoe box."

He looked at me disappointed, then slowly but surely, began to laugh. "I actually see your point," he said dipping an Oreo into the milk.

"But," he held up a finger, "doesn't mean it's ugly. It's a beaut."

"Whatever you say," I replied letting him win.

We sat in silence for a second. He ate his Oreos and I knitted. The jazz music filled the space as we minded our own business, but not for long.

"So, what brings you to Georgia?" I asked. I always liked to know the story of why people came here. It didn't seem like it, but people rarely chose our home. They were too prideful. They wanted to show their wealth or hide their poverty by steering clear of our place and getting some hotel that made you pay big prices. It's funny how people waste their money to look better. In the end, no one really cares.

"My Uncle just died last week," he said shortly. I made an 'O' with my mouth. "He lived here?" I asked.

"Yeah. He moved down here a few years ago. So, I came down here to fix up his house and get ready to sell it. I'm also doing the funeral here. Someone at a coffee shop recommended you guys." I nodded showing I had heard what he said. The pain must have made him not want to stay at the house.

"Well, it's nice to have you Gavin. Which reminds me. If you don't mind, I'd like to get a picture of you. I always take Polaroids of new people," I mentioned.