I didn't understand the mood.
You refused to look at me,
pretending to make dinner -
pots clanging, cabinets slamming,
dishes sliding in my direction
where I sat confused.

I still hadn't learned
to read you.
I went from being “the kid”
to a friend, to a date -
sometimes all in one day.
You finally sat down, asking me
why I was there.
Wasn't I seeing someone tonight,
a new woman on my arm?
Someone young -
a pretty, giggly thing in tight, ripped jeans?
Went on about being seven years older,
more mature, and not my type,
your eyes like smoldering coal.

I got up, said I was not dating anyone new -
leaned forward to kiss you,
trying to diffuse confusion -
when my right foot slipped on dog drool.
I caught the the dog’s eyes following me
as I fell backward
sprawling onto the floor.

My head met the refrigerator
and vibrated like a tuning fork.
I closed my eyes to gather myself,
thought I heard you say something like,
Oh my God -
then you were there,
cradling my head in your lap.
I felt something warm run down the
side of my face.
Yep, the dog was there, too -
still drooling,
dog spit running into my ear.
I smiled at your upside-down face.
“I'm okay,” I said sheepishly.
Then you kissed me, hair falling over my skin.
I thought I’d passed out from the blow -
but it was just you taking my mind
to another place.

© Laura DeHart Young