10 posts tagged “conversational”

"You never get to see the shooting stars."

A long pause while she looked over his shoulder into the night and felt his heart beating against her chest.

"Maybe I'm not supposed to have a wish."

"I'll say that I walked into a door."

"And they'll say, 'Oh honey, we all know that's code for "Mark hit me in the face."'"

"Exactly. No, wait...knowing me, they'll probably think I really walked into a door. So I'll just cut out the confusion and tell them you hit me in the face."

"And they'll say 'Oh honey, we all know that's code for "I walked into a door."'"

She cuddled up under the covers, pale and tired-looking, holding her book in one hand and her green eyes staring at him dolefully from above dark shadows that had appeared with her illness.  He held up the bottle of NyQuil, waggling it  entreatingly at her.  "Do you want the Green Death?"

"No," she pouted.

"Do you want me to get you chocolate milk?"

"No."

"Do you want chicken soup?"

"No!" she pulled the covers over her head.  "Stop asking me questions."

"What's the capital of North Dakota?"

"...Bismarck?" came the voice from under the blue comforter.  A pause, and then she popped her head back out, "I didn't even know that I knew that."

He grinned at her, and left to go get her some chicken soup.

"What are you doing with that?"

"I'm leaving it in the glove compartment.  No one is going to be calling me that I want to talk to."

"But...what if I want to call you?"

Several seconds of stupefied silence.

"But that doesn't even -- you'll be with me!  Why would you call me if you're --"

Wistfully, "Sometimes I just want to hear your voice."

"But --"

"Shhh."

"But you can --"

"Shhhhh," insistently.  A pause, and then wistfully, again.  "This isn't one of those times."

She watched the light form patterns on the ceiling in the dark, and considered it.  "Yeah, but I have a list, so I love you more."

"You won't let me see the list," he reminded her.  "So I love you more."

"That doesn't even -- " she broke out laughing.  "Okay, fine.  I'm still dating you even though my mother hates me for it.  So I love you more."

There was quiet as he considered this.  "Okay, I have to give you that.  That's a good one."

"That is a good one.  In fact, I think it should count for at least ten."

"Five," he said, reluctantly.

"Ten!" she insisted.

"Five."

"Ten!"

"Five."

"Six!" she countered.  "Oh, wait -- " and they both broke out laughing again.

"Sold!" he agreed, through his laughter. 

"I didn't mean -- !" she said, still giggling helplessly.

He kissed her on the forehead.  "Remind me to never let you go shopping in the Diamond District of New York, okay?"

A hand clutched at his shoulder and a gasp escaped her, long and reverent, as her other hand pointed up at the inky sky behind him.  The stars were her prayers, and each moving one was a prayer answered.

"Shooting star?" he asked, reading the wonder in her eyes.  She nodded, still staring wide-eyed and artlessly enchanted by this beautifully ordinary act of nature.  And a smile lit her mermaid's eyes as he reminded her, "Make a wish."

"Always the same one," she confirmed, burying her face into his chest.  She felt enveloped and safe, small and protected, all the little pieces of her in his arms.  "You should make one too, even though you didn't see it," she added as her new always-the-same wish (the old one having had come true) floated up to the sky.  When she looked up, his eyes were closed behind his glasses.  "You always miss the shooting stars," she said, absent-minded, as she recalled her wish.

He held her, again, for what seemed like the first, the hundreth, and the last time.  Lifetimes ancient and proverbial recalled in that instant, he kissed the top of her head, and answered in his heart - I don't mind.  I see them reflected in your eyes.

"I must have done something really good in a past life to deserve this.  I must have cured polio.  Or freed the slaves."

"Or led your people out of Egypt."

"Nah, I knew Moses.  Nice kid.  Lazy eye."

"I had a thousand cookies for lunch today."

"A thousand cookies."  This was more an affirmation that he was listening than anything else.

"Well," she conceded, "more like four."

"Mmmhmm," came the answering bass rumble on his end of the phone.

A pause.

"You're not so much with the math, are you?"

"Eleven-eleven.  Make a wish."

An answering murmur as he closed his eyes.

"I always wish for the same thing."

"Well, then, you certainly can't tell me."

"No," she said, sadly.  "I don't think I can."