I Opened Her Diary and Read It; Don't Judge Me; You Don't Know the Story Yet...
Part 1
She arrived late, the back of her hand pushing back an unruly lock of hair, while the other juggled books stacked precariously atop her laptop. I watched—amused—as she sunk into the only chair left in the room that had long ago lost its spring. It was avoided at all costs by those who previously had made the mistake of arriving late and thus were doomed to endure the two-hour book discussion held captive within its suction-cup of overstuffed cushions.
She looked like a quirky rag doll; her green-framed glasses sat crooked on her button nose and her thick, strawberry, dream locks appeared animated against her alabaster skin. The barrage of cushions forced her shirtless shoulders to shrug, her elbows to wish-bone, knees to knock and her tippy toes to kiss. She was absolutely, adorable.
Someone accidently dropped a book and the resulting thump startled me; that's when I realized I had been staring at her. I immediately averted my gaze. I felt heat tingling in my cheeks as I blankly looked at the open book spread out on my skirted lap for what I hoped to be a respectable amount of time before daring to look up at her again. With head still bent, I peeked out from beneath a veil of half-closed lids.
She was adjusting her wide-rimmed, glasses and looked up, unexpectedly. Before I could avoid eye contact, her eyes locked onto mine. And there I was caught...staring.
Under normal circumstances, that is, my usual course of action, I would have averted my eyes and pretended I hadn't been doing exactly that which her eyes hadn't yet accused me of. But her eyes were enchanting; there was a neon wildness flashing behind them that piqued my curiosity. I couldn't look away.
Up until that moment, I thought curiosity to be a thinking process, mundane at best. But there was nothing mundane about the explosion of excitement that was coursing through me. My heart was racing, my breath had shallowed, and inside my head a billion lights were blinking. I instantly wanted to know everything about her, not just what caused her to be late. I wanted to know what kept her up late at night; how she ate ice-cream; why she joined this book club; where she was born and raised; who had hurt her and how had that caused her to change. I wondered what she would look like with the morning sun shining across her lips and I wondered if her laugh would heal the world. I wondered with a virgin curiosity.
Then she smiled and I suddenly couldn't feel my legs. The room, and all the tittering, disappeared. I smiled back and then she licked her plump rosy lips and spoke.
"I'm sorry. So, very sorry. I hope you all can forgive me. I knew I should have given myself a bit more time, traffic was horrible, "she spouted off hurriedly in a deep, raspy voice I was sure could make me cum if she read the right words.
"Everyone this is Sam, Sam, everyone," Rosa waved one flabby arm around the room and giggled. "Sam has just moved into my condo building and well, I thought she'd fit right in." Rosa blew Sam a kiss and told her she was glad she had decided to come.
I acknowledged to myself that I felt a twinge of jealousy at that kiss; that twinge was quickly followed with a twinge between my legs.
Before I got to thinking about what to do about that twinge, our hostess, Jan, spoke up, "Maybe before we begin, we can go around the room and introduce ourselves and say a little bit about who we are. Cindy, how about you start."
There were eleven of us in the room. I quickly counted from Cindy's right, that would make me the seventh to speak. That gave me maybe three minutes to come up with something that would make me sound interesting, intelligent, and hopefully, desirable.
My mind scrambled among all the blinking lights flashing like a winning slot machine in Vegas to find something, anything. When it was my turn to speak, I opened my mouth and out came Dawna Markova's poem, "I will not die an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, make me less afraid, more accessible..."
To my surprise, Sam joined in, "...to loosen my heart until it becomes a wind, a torch, a promise. I choose to risk my significance; to live so that which came to me as seed goes to the next as blossom, and that which came to me as blossom, goes on as fruit."
Somewhere along the way, our eyes met again, and maintained the gaze as we co-recited the poem. The room had been silent while we spoke but the second we stopped, they began to clap as if we'd just sang the national anthem at the Super bowl.
We smiled at each other, before I added, "Emily. My name is Emily. Welcome to the group."
After the meeting was over, I walked over and offered Sam a free hand to ease the rise out of the sunken chair. She said something along the lines of 'thank God' as she reached out and grabbed my hands, accepting my offer. Whether I'd pulled too hard or she bounced with too much vigor, I don't know but we ended up chin to chin, bumping breasts; we laughed, as she joked about 'them' always getting in the way.
"I'm starving. Are you hungry at all?" she asked in a half whisper.
"I could eat," I said in an equally quiet tone, then added, "They'll serve some appies soon."
"I was thinking of something...less crowded." She looked at me, her eyes asking if I would consider joining her.
"Let's, shall we," I said and then I turned, made our excuses to the group, and walked out arm in arm, laughing like schoolgirls.
"Where to," I asked.
"Well, I was thinking Felicific on fifth. It's not too far." Sam said trying to balance her load while getting her key from her purse.
