Friday Morning

After rolling over and staring at a different wall for the umpteenth time this night, not really ever falling asleep, I heard a message on my computer ding. It could only be one person.

Want latkas?
In August?
I'm not traditional.

We talk for a little bit. I can't really say about what anymore. Trivial. I showered and drove over there, each red light that stopped me coinciding with another hike in my anxiety level.

I have a guest, I've got to go. He's on the phone as he slides open the door. Hey.
Hey. I take off my sweater, cross my arms, and retain this position for nearly an hour as we clean, shred, search for spices. The latkes are too salty for my liking. I'm too quiet for my liking. I say I'm Sorry too much for my liking. It's ok, he says each time. I feed him a strawberry.

We're looking at pictures. I move some stuff off of his bed. Books catch my eye, as they always seem to do at his place. Anne Rice. Marquis de Sade. Kama Sutra.
Don't look there. He says something to that effect. Jokingly. A black satin sheet underneath the fleece and the book. I adjust the book cover on the de Sade. Open up the Sutra.
No, don't actually do that. Serious now. Humiliation handling de Sade, how appropriate. Another apology. I notice a woman's purse off to the side.
I have to go get my laundry. I look around at the piles of clean clothing on his bed.
Ok, yea, I have to go too.

The nurse takes my blood pressure. Looks down, hums, jots something down. Is this high?
Yea. I've had a weird morning.
She looks up, waits. Quiet.
Well, I just got a cat.