The Muse

HE arrives and is all like Where is my café? What is this – merda on my chair? And he shoves my books and phone from the couch to the floor.  Plops down in a purple Boho huff.  And I’m all giddy anticipation, a groupie, just staring.  He slips off his aviator sunglasses, futzes with his man bun.   I’m still gawking.  Until he snaps his watch and mala beads down his wrist.  Says tick tock, except it sounds like teeck tawck because his name is something like Alessandro or Alejandro (pronounced  ah-leh-HAHN-dro) depending on his mood that day.  I’m all like Here’s that coffee – black – in your hand warmer mug, because I had it pre-poured and sitting on a warmer.  I sit beside him on his couch.  And he all looks me up and down. You walk this morning? You walk or you get fat, slow, si?  I tell him I’m down four pounds.  He nods, looks warily optimistic.  Takes a sip of coffee.  I try not to smile.  He’s like never actually tasted my coffee before.  Makes a “not bad” face.  He settles in, arms stretched across the back of his couch. Cocks his head. A wicked smile.  My heart races.  Today he’s Alejandro.

Copyright © 2015, Ilana Hulsey Rea. All rights reserved.

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