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“…like I said before, the fact that you’re still giving her attention…allows her to be comfortable, complacent, and able to take you for granted. She’s not going to do anything until she has to…”

This idea/story was inspired in my mind while in the car and Little Dragon’s “Stormy Weather,” began to play.

The patter of the rain drops ricocheted off of the panel windows of our hotel room. I peered over and watched your uneven respiration as the New York sky was hidden by dark clouds and torrential downpour. The sweat beads were still fresh and sparsely sat atop your long neck. Your neck of a model always mesmerized me, and still did. I gazed upon your back running into your legs, and the sweet way they all connected. We had wasted time, not experiencing this, and though the future sat behind a murky cloud, again, we couldn’t say that we had not tried. Your creamy beautiful skin, still supple and sun kissed as you recovered from what seemed longer than a couple of hours ago. I sat thinking of the things I had missed, you in my hands. The way you wrapped your arms around me, tight, unwilling to relent. I heard your sound, and finally breathed your scent.

Where did this come from? The way you looked at me in those dark shadows, why now…that’s the way I used to look at you. Well, that’s the way I still look at you. Now, glancing at you, still exposed, your skin raised due to the chill, but your face remarkably pleasant as you lay atop your pillow, on folded arms. Your taste still fresh on my lips, and I’m not sure whether I should pull the blanket over you, or continue to marvel at your form. The wind whips harder, andIi wondered how that it does not disturb your sleep, though content you did not wake. The iPod playlist I created for us allowed Maxwell to wail softly, nothing like his concert we barely made it through that closed early this morning. Those weary hours, as our eyes could not break their lock. That uncharacteristic cab ride, my hands around you for that last drink in the lobby. We were alone, among those packed into the hotel bar, that serves more as a bar…thank goodness we were staying there. I remember how you barely finished your drink, your smile intoxicated me. My kiss, satiated you. We stole away with each other only to…you remember. Me, mind returning to this room, I was still weary enough to just sit, and not turn the iPod off.

I glanced at you again, I must admit, those two moles had me mesmerized…adding a lil extra, not that I had to, I smiled to myself. However fleeting, because I did not know where this would end, just possibly another complication on an already very winding road. I still smiled looking at you, nothing less than the work of art you had been.

I smiled, hoping…well knowing that you “enjoyed” New York, and allowed you to cuddle back against me, as I chose to go back asleep with you…until we woke Up and started again.

The manuscript Blue Lines is the fictional coming of age narrative of a young California woman Key Yemaya Walker, and her 2 year growing journey through school, love, and life period piece, written by Kenneth Suffern, Jr., taking place at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill between the years of 1997 – 1998. Loosely based on true events, and experiences during that time, told through the eyes and voice of the main female protagonist, a freshman first attending the school.