texaswildfire

I took a shower.
Shaved, used apple blossom shampoo, Caress.
I straightened my hair then lined my eyes.
Seth and Jonah were napping when I left.
Mom was on the phone with dad.
She didn't notice I left until well after the fact.

Marc answered the door for me as if he'd been sitting by it waiting.
He locked the door.
I remember because the click of the lock rang in my ears for a full 30 seconds.
The house is so cool.
Temp. wise. Summer is killer here.

"I just got my 'gentleman' hat on so, you should be advised that I am haven't fully adjusted to the good-side yet," he says, smiling, leading me through the livingroom to the sofa positioned just across from the grand big screen T.V. in the room. "While it sinks in, you should stay here and find something on while I call for a pizza."

"Okay, now you're scaring me," I tell him. "We don't talk for years and we make out and it completely affects you in the way treat me. Pizza, having complete control of the remote...this smells oddly of one of those nights you hang out with someone before you start either dating them or having sex with them."

He laughs against the reciever of his phone.
He makes the order quick.
Extra cheese. Beef. The thickest crust possible.
I like his taste. Literally.
I wonder how long it will be before we ignore the pizza.
Wonder how long it will be until he comments on my bra.

He hangs up the phone then sits with me.
30 minutes or less.
That's what they promise.
That's all the time it takes to get in trouble.

"You need to quit reading whatever books you are," he sighs. "I want to hang out with you, Rose. That's it. I don't care if we just sit here until 2 a.m. watching Seth Rogen movies. I guess I just want to see that it's possible for a girl to sit and laugh at the same things I do for once."

"Did she-who-shall-not-be-named really screw you up that bad," I ask, not expecting or wanting an answer. "I couldn't stay with someone so stuck-up their own butt that way for very long. It wouldn't even be like a real relationship."

"It wasn't," Marc says. "What about you? Weren't you dating Elliot or something for a while?"

Elliot.
He's cute and clean-cut.
A guy's guy.
Plays baseball and rides 4-wheelers.
He got my best friend pregnant three months ago.
I was devestated.
Marc just listens quietly as I tell him that.
He heard the rumors.
He was just shocked they were true.
For once.

"And I thought I had problems," Marc states as he pulls his wallet from his pocket. "How did you find all this stuff out? Did he tell you? Did she tell you?"

"Neither of them said anything," I confess. "It was hardcore devestating. I was at Target with Seth and Elliot's mom came over to me and said something about how she was 'heartbroken' to hear he'd broken up with me but thought he was doing 'the right thing' by being with Jenna. I was pissed."

"Rightly so," Marc says, pulling a $20 from his wallet and laying it on the coffee table.

He's not like Elliot.
He's tall and wears his weight well.
Normal looking accessorized with:
Glasses.
Wild wavy hair.
T-shirts and sharp jeans.
Black plastic bracelets.
Elliot was boring.
Marc is God like to me.
His father is Indian.
His mother is French, like mine.
His skin looks just lightly tanned all year 'round.
His eyes are deep green, like jade.

"We're both just differently wounded," I offer, trying to sound clever. "You by someone that was incredibly boring and me by someone that was a complete jerk. And, here we are, quite nicely put back together and no worse for the wear."

"So says you," Marc laughs. "I am testing to see if you have a sense of humor and you think all I want is sex. Though the thought is one that repeats over and over, I can go without it. Do you think you can?"

"Sure, almost 17 years without it, why should I be so quick to jump the gun," I shrug.

Marc gets up to answer the door.
30 minutes never flew so fast.
Maybe it was less.
He throws the pizza onto the coffee table.
Drops beside me again.
He takes the remote and finds a movie.
"Knocked Up".
He quickly changes it.
"One Missed Call" on Pay Per View.
Guess he didn't think the first would be fun for me to watch.

It wouldn't have been.
Last thing I need is to think about Elliot when I'm with Marc.
But I have already seen this movie.
With Seth.
I don't tell Marc that, though.
I treat him like he's a pillow and lay my head on my lap.
His fingers immediately start to play with my hair.
Liquid Rose.
That is what I am known as when he does this.

"Is it okay that I do that," he asks, just to make sure that I like it.

I tell him it's fine.
He keeps on.
I get comfortable against his lap.
Almost fall asleep.

He jerks and freaks out a bit because of what's on the screen.
I laugh, sit up and wrap my arms around him.
He smiles as his head rests on my shoulder.

"I have never seen anything so odd in my entire life," Marc exclaims, closing his eyes as if that will erase the vision from his mind. "How come you didn't freak out?"

"It takes a lot more than some freaky kid to scare me," I lie. "You know, if it's too much for you, you can put it back on 'Knocked Up'. It's actually a pretty good movie, even though the amount of weed smoked in it is insane."

"Like you need visual reminders of what Elliot did," he says, clicking the T.V. over to some odd kids' show on Noggin. "Maybe we should just eat pizza and watch something else. What's on that you like?"

"I like watching 'The Universe' on The History Channel," I tell him, trying to make it come off as a joke when I really do watch it every single Tuesday.

It backfires.
He checks the listings and finds it on.
The channel switches for the fourth time in an hour and a half.
We watch while the pizza grows cold.
We have conversation about the things we have seen.
White holes, drawf planets and the end of the universe.
We both relax.
The next time I see the clock it's 10 after midnight.

"Maybe I should get home," I tell him as I toss crusts off my lap and onto the coffee table. "I mean, my mom knows I'm here but...I don't think it would do well to subject you to another full night with me."

"I haven't complained once and you live right next door. It's Saturday, well, technically Sunday morning," he says, standing to clear the mess we've managed to make with crumbs and soda cans. "But, if you have it in your head that you should go, I won't try to make you stay."

"Why not," I fastly question, letting my curiousity pour out over the awkwardness of the timing.

He's quick.
His fingers touch my cheek as if he's touching china.
Finally his hand holds my face.
Delicately his thumb moves against my skin.
Slow. Sweet. Turning me back to my almost constant fluid state.

"Because the more you try to have things your way, the less likely you are to get them your way," he tells me. "I know how comfortable and luxurious your own bed is. If I were you, I'd want to be there, too."

"This...it's not a matter of wanting. It's a matter of trying to hold some sense of dignity and self-respect for myself," I explain, knowing I make absolutely no sense. "I don't want to go to school Monday and be seen as a whore, even if we didn't do anything more than kiss. You know how rumors like that start. They are so hard to squash. And, really, I don't know if you just want to be friends that occassionally make out and have pizza and intelligent conversation or if it's something more, or less or..."

"Does your brain ever stop thinking about everything? No, overthinking things. Staying here doesn't automatically turn you into a whore, or me into a sex fiend, it doesn't mean that I want more than all this. Why does it have to be more? Why can't it just...be," he asks, dropping his hand from my cheek.

"Just be, what a concept," I laugh, reaching out for his hand as if I have done it a million times before. "How do people do that exactly? It's either you're just friends or you're with someone. It's usually a totally black and white issue and I don't look good in grey."

"You should wear more of it then," he says. "I have worn white for too long myself and I don't do well in black. Maybe grey will suit me for a while. It's just a matter of setting boundaries and lines and..."

"And what, Marc? That sounds like a relationship," I tell him. "Setting standards and limits. You wanted to just 'be'. Does that mean hang out with me when you feel the need to and, when you are tired or get bored or need something more, you go find someone else but still expect me to be here whenever you call?"

He shakes his head and smiles.

"Nothing like that, Rose. I don't have anyone else nor do I think I will for a great long time," he tells me. "It's all up to you. It's not a choice you should make now or tomorrow but whenever you're ready to make such a decision."

Yeah.
He's leaving it up to me.
Shades of grey in a world of black and white.
I miss white. (Relationship)
I do black miserably. (Singledom)
Grey (untitled) might suit me.
After all, Marc is no Elliot.
He stayed with Julie for so long because he did care about her.
Elliot cheated on me because I wouldn't crawl into his bed.

I'm 16.
He's 18.
Summer is closing in quick.
So is prom.
Graduation.
Marc leaving for school with Seth.
Maybe a heavy-duty summer romance is in order.

So, he walks me to the gate in the fence seperating our yards.
No one is in the back yard.
Starlight hangs overhead and it's warm for May.
The way he opens the gate for me makes up my mind.

"I'd like to try grey on for a while," I tell him once the gate is latched and seperates us. "Maybe I will look good in it. Maybe, just saying, it might turn into one of the unmuddled colors."

"Maybe," Marc smiles. "White, I hope."

Yeah.
Me, too.
Black is slimming for a reason.
It's depressing.
White flows better for summer.
But grey fits in now.