Twisters

My admiration for her grew and grew. I wish I could eat your ideas, I sighed. We went out to a zombie movie together. She kept her distance.

I texted her. I want to touch you, I said. She texted back. For real? she asked. She called me gross. I poked her instead. She poked me back.

She pauses after my question and in that pause all the possibilities lead to self immolation and finally she says, I’m not pregnant I’m fat.

She yawned, and my insecurities flooded my soul. She studied her watch. I didn’t sleep last night, she said. Of course not, I said, bitterly.

I called her back, I don’t know why. She said, I think I love you, and I said, You make it sound so simple. As if she didn’t know me at all.

I hate myself enough already, I tell her. Slowly she puts down the knife. You smell like a dog, she says. I take a sniff. Check mate, I say.

The wind foretells a change in season. A death of warmth. I wrap my arms around her. Offer comfort. It’s time to break out the tweed, I say.