Simple Complexity

A Simple Complexity

 "Blue jay"

"Hmmm?" Dee looks up from her salad, a piece of lettuce, dripping with salad dressing, hanging from her mouth.

"It's a blue jay," I say again, nodding to a small blue bird pecking at a scrap of crust on the ground. "Almost never see those around here."

She looks up at me blankly for a moment, the shred of lettuce remaining unnoticed in the crease of her lips. "You're such a geek," she replies, and looks back down at her salad. She uses her hand free of a salad fork to brush a strand of hair behind her ear and smiles before shoving another fork full of lettuce and tomato into her mouth. I love it when she does that. "I hate it when you do that," I say.

"I'm sorry?"

"You smile like a dork," I reply laughing. Dee just rolls her eyes and pulls out her phone. I watch her for a moment. Maybe a little more than a moment. Then return my gaze to the blue jay, which appeared to have multiplied. Two blue jays hopped around the piece of crust. One pecking, then hopping back to allow the other to get a jab. Kind of like a dance. A tango of unspoken understanding. I grin. "That's a good line, I'm gonna write that down."

Dee put her phone face up on the table along with her salad fork. "What has inspired you this time?" she asks. The wisp of dark chocolate hair she pushed behind her ear had slipped back out and hung right over her eye.

"The blue jays actually," I replied.

"Blue jays? I thought there was only one."

"Well there was," I nod my chin over toward the blue jays, but they had already flown off. The piece of crust lay half pecked on the stone patio, getting stale in the sun.

"Aww so sad looks like your little friends left you behind," Dee said with a smirk.

"Ohh shut it," I laugh. I reach into my bag and pull out a beaten red notebook. Its spine had long since been creased and cracked, its edges battered and worn. Dee pushes the last few bites of salad over to me. I look down at the leafy green shreds, half submerged in a thick layer of dressing.

"Want it?" Dee asks.

"Yeah I think I'll pass," I say, pushing it back to her, "You have quite literally drowned your food."

She scrunches up her perfectly done eyebrows so that it forms a small wrinkle on the bridge of her nose. "It adds flavor," she pipes.

"It should be a felony," I retort as I open the beaten red journal and flip through towards the back quarter.

"You're gonna need a new dream diary soon," Dee remarks. I give her a dirty glance, but reach back down into my bag for something to write with instead of responding. Most of the writing utensils I own consist of snapped pencils, dry pens and a highlighter with a fraying tip. I look over at Dee, about to ask if she had anything, but her hand was already outstretched with a ballpoint pen in between her fingers. I reach out gratefully but she snatches her hand back before I can reach it.

"This is the third one this week," she snaps.

"I know, I know. Sorry Dee. I'll give it back I promise." Dee hesitates, but then slowly lowers her arm to hand me the pen.

"It's my favorite pen. Don't you dare lose it." I quickly grab it before she can snatch it back again and uncap the pen with my teeth. Tango of unspoken understanding, I write and mark the date right after. I sit back, satisfied, and look up. Dee is leaning over the table trying to get a good look at the open page.

"What's your latest work Mr. Shakespeare?" Dee asks, trying to make out the journal's words upside down. Before I could respond, Dee snatches the journal off of the table and sits back, holding it up in front of her face. She flips back a few pages, glancing at each page's content before moving to the next.