Sta.sh
This is nice; I like this feeling. I like to sit here, my back against the wall, next to my friend. The movie plays in front of us in its preprogrammed fashion. Without the sounds of the television the room would be uncomfortably still and quiet.
My friend sighs and I look over to see their eyes closed. I lose a little of my happiness now that they aren't watching the movie with me. I wonder if they became bored or if they were tired and didn't tell me.
Now I sit here and listen to the movie, not entirely focused on the pictures. My friend's breathing seems to be just as loud as the movie. I turn the volume down slowly so I don't wake them up and now I can hear their breathing better.
I watch their chest rise and fall in smoothly, rhythmically, and repeatedly. I watch the right side of their bosom to see if their heart beat moves their chest as well.
Minutes pass and the longer I stare, the more the movie seems to become quieter, their breathing becomes louder and my heart begins to beat harder.
My eyes begin to wander away from their chest; I look at their neck, noticing their large blood vessels and the color of the skin.
By now, it seems like the movie is a whisper to me. I can only focus on my friend. I watch their eyes move behind their lids, the minor twitches in their face. I look at their mouth, their lips; even and smooth and twitching on occasion.
While whatever it was that they were dreaming of made me curious, I was more curious about what their skin feels like, what their nose, lips or hair might feel like.
The room seems strangely quiet as the movie ends. I dare not move and risk waking my friend. I look away from them for a moment and observe my room; the computer is asleep, the clock ticks endlessly and quietly keeping time and reminding me that the hour continues to grow later and later. I look at all the still, inanimate objects in my room like the books, things on the shelves and pictures.
Finally, my gaze returns to my friend. At first, I look at their twitching foot and slowly go up their leg. But just before I observe their hips, I'm stopped. Everything, the clock, my breathing, all the noises seem to have come to an abrupt halt as my body is shocked. I slowly turn my head to find what had stopped time itself: my friend's head, the face I had watched and observed just a minute ago had come to lean against my shoulder, still asleep.
I can't help but wonder why I feel like I am in a state of panic. My heart is beating harder and faster, my muscles are all tense and I can't seem to figure out where my hands are without making a lot of movement.
I slowly make a fist with my left hand hoping it isn't under my leg. I turn my head slowly to visually confirm that it lies next to my leg. To my silent relief it is unhindered. My right hand, however, is not within my view and it is warmer than my left hand. And I'm afraid that it may be against my friend's body.
I lightly and slowly wiggle my arm to get a measure of where my elbow is and how much room I have to move it. But now I know where my wrist is and with it my hand against my friend's leg.
If I move my hand now, I might wake my friend up. I avoid turning my head anymore to my right to avoid breathing on them. I take a moment to calm myself, relax and stare at the blank, quiet television.
Slowly, smoothly, I retract my hand. I swallow as I get my hand just two inches away from their body. My friend, still locked within their dream, shifts and moves. I seize this moment of tempest to fully pull my back and away from them and against the wall.
My friend's head, now in my lap, comes to rest with a quiet moan. Even though my lap is getting warmer, I am not as worried about waking them up with my breathing or movement; I relax with a quiet sigh of relief.
I look down at my friend and observe their profile: the shape of their nose, their lips and eyes. I look at how their hair falls over their face. I look at the shape of their ear, their cheek and shoulder.
It's interesting to see my friend from this angle. While I have seen their profile many times before, never have I observed it in such detail. I don't think I'm supposed to see them like this; perhaps it is something that only a lover is supposed to see.
As I look at how their arm is draped across their side, where their body bends at the hip and at how relaxed their face has become I notice that my heart has been beating a little faster and harder possibly because of what I am seeing.
I can only imagine that seeing someone the way I am seeing my friend is what may cause people to fall into a trance where they begin to contemplate stealing a kiss from the unknowing face that lay before them.
But even as I sit in the silent tempest of my room, as my friend dreams, as my heart beats, I am faced with a dilemma: What will I tell them when they ask about the movie I never saw?
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