Strong [h.s]

Blue Beanie

     I s i s

In one word, I'm confused. I'm confused by Harry's actions, I'm confused by mine. I actually wanted him to kiss me. I wanted Harry to kiss me. Randie is sitting next to me on the couch, completely immersed in her Barbie movie. I'm staring at the screen, but my mind is quite obviously elsewhere. Wiping my hands on my jeans, I stand up and make my way into the kitchen.

I pick my mug up from the counter and pour some fresh coffee in it, not that I need any extra caffeine. I carry it over to the window above the sink, looking out at the colourful backyard. It's still raining a bit, just a light drizzle. I glance to the right, and see Harry sitting under the shelter of the pergola, writing in what looks like a leather journal. He's wearing another raggedy bandana on his head, pushing back his curls from his face.

Quietly, I slide the sunroom door open and sit on the couch. He's sitting at the left side of the table, hunched slightly over his journal. His eyebrows are furrowed as he concentrates, his lips pursed thoughtfully. I sit there in silence and watch him write, occasionally pausing to lift his mug of coffee to his lips.

After some time, Harry slowly looks up at the world around him, closing the book. One look to the right, and his eyes lock with mine. An expression of surprise crosses his face, but it's soon followed by a warm smile.

I watch him push his chair back and stand up, taking a few steps forward to pull the door open. "Well hey there," He greets casually.

"Hey," I respond. Harry sits down on the wicker chair across the small room, and he leans forward comfortably.

"How are you?" He questions, pulling the headband out of his hair and running his fingers through the  unruly curls.

"Fine, how're you?"

His eyebrows raise up the slightest bit, and by the look he's giving me, I know he can see right through my lie. He waits a moment before saying anything, taking in a deep breath. "Isis, about last night-"

     "It's fine," I interrupt. "It was late, and we were both tired. We just got a little caught up in the moment, that's all."

     "Caught up in the moment," Harry repeats quietly, staring down at his tattooed hands. I follow his gaze, and my eyes settle on the weathered journal he's clutching so tightly.

"Yeah. You agree, don't you?" I have to shut the conversation down, because Harry has a way about him that makes me want to spill my heart out to him, to tell him everything. I don't dare to look up, because I know that the moment I meet his compassionate gaze, everything will come out.

Harry opens his mouth to answer, but at that moment, Randie barges into the sunroom with the remote in her hand.

"The movie is over," she whines, sliding the remote across the couch to me. "I want more Barbie."

"You sure like films, don't you?" Harry asks. He looks to me, and the worry in his eyes is gone, like it never existed. "Whats playing in the theatre?"

"I have no idea, why?"

     "Hold on. . ." He pulls his phone out and begins to type, sparking Randie's interest. She rushes over, and attempts to climb onto Harry's lap. He reaches down with his right arm and pulls her up so she's able to watch everything he does on his phone.

"There isn't anything playing that Bambi here can see," Harry says, playfully squeezing her sides. She squeals and wiggles away, only to come back and be lifted back onto his lap. "There's bound to be something we can do on this fine Saturday." I'm a bit surprised by how normal Harry's acting; he completely changed his mood the second Randie entered the room.