I return fiercely, “Love is love. It don’t discriminate. And it sure as fuck don’t wait ‘til you’re ready for it.”
He sighs, “I know it, man. I know.” The sound of things clattering, then, “Listen, man, I gotta go. Rocco’s playing Frisbee with dinner plates.” I chuckle. “Just think about what I said.”
Then my friend is gone.
I hear footsteps come up the stairs and stop typing. Lifting my head, I wait for them to come closer to me, but they stop halfway down the hall, by my office. My office, which is occupied by a tiny woman dressed in sweat pants and one of my tees.
Listening closer, I wait for my visitor to find me, and I’m already making excuses in my mind.
Can you believe that? Fucking excuses. As if I owe him an explanation. I slowly shake my head at my misplaced panic.
Finally, he comes looking for me, but by the time his silhouette shadows the door, I throw myself back into my work. If it looks as though I’m busy, he might leave me alone.
Keyword there: Might.
“There’s a sparrow sittin’ at your desk.”
Not looking up at him, I grunt. “She has work to do.”
Let it go, man. Let. It. Go.
As he takes a few steps into the room, I look up at my oldest friend. The man who most likely saved my life when he took me into his home and kept me under a hawk’s eye, making sure I was healing from…well…what life had dealt me. I’m not sure which one of us was dealt the worst hand, but I do know that my head is not programmed like other peoples’.
No.
I can tell you that I have issues. Issues I’m not proud of. Issues I’m trying to overcome.
As usual, Julius looks like he just stepped out of an Armani photo-shoot. Wearing a tan suit that contrasts his mocha-colored skin, his dark hair – which we affectionately call ‘nappy hair’ – neatly cut and styled, and his incredulous face set on mine. The only man I know with darker skin that has light blue eyes. Those eyes see more than they should.
He repeats himself, slower this time, “There’s a sparrow…sittin’ at your desk.” When I don’t respond, he pushes, “A sparrow, Twitch.” Remaining silent, he adds, “A sparrow at your motherfuckin’ desk. Using your fuckin’ computer. The computer that holds all your information on it. A computer that holds all of my fuckin’ information on it, brother.”
He’s pissed. No doubt. But he doesn’t know, Lexi. So it’s warranted.
Lifting my hand in a dismissive wave, I tell him distractedly, “I switched users. She’s got no access.”
“Who is she?”
“She is who she is,” I say in dismissal.
Stepping closer to me on the sofa, he asks slowly and almost threateningly, “I said, who is she?”
No answer. There’s no point. He’ll just go explore anyways. Just as I knew he would, without another word, he retreats and I sigh. He always did stick his nose where it didn’t belong. Standing from the sofa, I close my laptop and set it down on the mantle before I trudge after him.
Nosey motherfucker.
He’s already at the office door staring in when I reach him. A small smile pulls at his lips. And I can’t help but shake my head at Lexi. The ‘sparrow’ can’t sing for shit. But she doesn’t care. She likes to sing. So let her sing.
Approaching with slow steps, his head turns a little towards me, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Lexi. “She for reals?”
My lip twitches, but I don’t respond. Moving closer, I stand by my friend and watch Lexi from the door. She looks so small at my desk, in my throne of a chair. I’m sure her feet aren’t even touching the ground.
I take her in.
Even wearing what she’s wearing – which I do not approve of – she looks like she belongs on a magazine cover.
Singing (more like squawking) Marry You by Bruno Mars without a care in the world, she bounces in her chair but types away before stopping suddenly and leaning back to look at her work. Confusion written all her face, she stares at the computer screen and scratches her head. “Hey, Twitch,” she calls out.
“Yeah?” I answer from the door. She yelps in fright, her hand flying to her chest, “Don’t do that! I hate when you sneak. Or creep. Or skulk.” Her face scrunched in annoyance, she says, “No more skulking, dammit!”
Then she lifts her head to find the both of us looking at her through wide smiles. Her face pinks and the lady comes out of her. Standing slowly, she brushes down the backs of her sweats and my grey tee – which looks ridiculously huge on her – then reaches up to her messy bun as her eyes widen in what I think is shame at being caught out in an outfit like the one she’s wearing.
Serves her right.
Approaching the man by my side, she puts on an easy smile and holds out her hand to him. As he looks down at her with narrowed eyes and a small smile, she explains softly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”