“If
there's ever a fire in here we're toast,” he kidded lamely.
I
laughed and shook my head in that oh-my sort of way.
“No?
Not funny?” he tripped as he said it and Christian caught him.
“You
okay, buddy?”
He
nodded with reddening cheeks and trudged on. Christian and I got
caught in eye contact and we smiled like we were sharing a joke.
“Hi,”
I said and immediately regretted it. I didn't want Senior to think I
was a stupid girl gushing over some guy who barely smiled at me.
“Hey,”
he reciprocated. “You were away last week.”
For
real?
I
nodded. “I went home to Philadelphia for a few days.”
“I
didn't know you were from the east coast.”
We
inched closer to the door with the herd.
“I
grew up in Topanga,” he said bringing his hand to his chest, “so
I think I'm required to hate east coast.”
I
obliged him with an awkward exhale that indicated some sort of
playful outrage.
He
put his hand on my shoulder and defended, “I'm sure you're a nice
girl.”
After
a silent moment I clung to our moment of communication. “So you're
basically a country boy then?”
He
laughed. He had a great laugh. It was the kind of laugh that men
have, you know, not the kind of laugh that accompanies jokes about
flatulence. “Is that Topanga’s stereotype?”
I
shrugged. “I'm not from around here.” I tried to be charming
about it. “There just seems to be a lot of forest out there.” My
face already hurt from smiling. My God, when was the last time my
face hurt from smiling?
“You've
never been there?”
The
door was getting closer and it made me breathless to glance toward
the target. I did not want to walk toward the light and why, oh why
did Senior have to be here today?
“I
actually live right around there but I've never actually been to
Topanga.”
“Oh
where do you live?”
I
was embarrassed to tell him. He was a teacher who was probably
cuckolded in some muggy bachelor apartment. “Ah, I have a little
place in the Palisades.”
He
raised an eyebrow. “There's no such thing.”
I
shrugged.
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