Warm Crevices

She showers after work, puts on fresh clothes and a dash of perfume, and makes a pot of coffee. She casually crosses the street, two steaming cups in hand, something tucked under her arm, and walks up three sturdy two by fours with cinder blocks between them, makeshift stairs.

He comes home to find her on the top step, her back reclined against the RV door, with a novel in her hands and a notebook beside her which she picks up every few minutes and scribbles several lines in.

“Man, I’m beat,” he says and wipes his brow with the back of a grimy hand holding a baseball cap by the brim.

She looks up and smiles at him, and his face softens into a grin. She raises an eyebrow. “I’m lookin’ for a guy named Ernie Marinara,” she says, with the twang of a New Yawk accent. Her tone and demeanor are detached, as if they are strangers, belying a deepening intimacy they are both still getting used to. “Are you him, by any chance?”

He puts one foot onto the second step and bends down, leaning into it. “Who wansta know?” he replies.

“I got somethin’ for him, is all,” she says, in a breathy and suggestive Marilyn Monroe kind of voice. He laughs, and sinks heavily down beside her. The board makes a loud creaking sound as if in protest of their combined weight. She hands him a mug. “Coytesy of some dame across the street.”

He takes a swallow, then looks at her. “Nice dame,” he says. “And kinda cute. I seen her out walkin’ a time or two.”

She blushes faintly and grins, then he leans his shoulder into hers and says, “You think she might like me, or somethin?”

“Or somethin,’” she says, leaning gently into him.

He scratches his head and yawns, then stretches his tired, muscular legs out in front of him.

In the faint beginnings of dusk the slinky grey form of a neighbor’s cat springs out from behind a bush, then just as quickly darts off. In the distance, maybe three blocks away or so, a car screeches. A Pacific breeze dances around them, a seductive temptress bidding them release the tensions of the day, slide into the peace of the evening. In the warm crevice of space between their bodies, two hands reach out and find the other.

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5 Responses to “Warm Crevices”

  1. daily grind indeed. i enjoyed this.

  2. For a minute there, I thought you were
    going to get down and dirty with this one,
    but it did end up in a sweet spot after all.

    You really had me going. Good job!

  3. Thank you Noah. UT, down and dirty, huh? Gotta go for the sweet spot every now and then, don’t you think?

  4. This made me smile and taste the bittersweet of relationships, of my own relationships with men. Especially now. I’m going to go old school and print this one out. Love it.

  5. Thank you both, I’m glad it struck a chord.

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