Playing With Chance

Playing With Chance - Chapter 19

"Of course," he said, starting to pull me toward the house again.

"This is my room," Chance said pulling me into a large bedroom with black walls, and some kind of dark wood floor.  

I walked over to his bed, and sat down. 

Chance stood in the doorway, and watched as I bounced on his bed a few times. 

"Mine's more comfy," I stated looking at him with a smile. 

"I kn.... I'm sure you're right." 

What's with people and stuttering today?  First his mom with the whole 'new friend' thing. Now him with the whole 'I'm sure you're right,' thing. I wonder what they were going to say, because it clearly wasn't what ended up coming out of their mouths. 

In both situations it seemed totally uncharacteristic too.  It makes me curious.  What are they not telling me? 

My musing was interrupted when I noticed Chance walking toward where I was sitting. 

I started to scoot back on the bed, slightly apprehensive of what he was doing. 

Last time I sat on a bed while he walked toward me, I ended up wet. Not going to say that it wasn't partially my fault, but still. 

Wet! 

Instead of going to the end of the bed like I thought he was going to, he turned to the right, and went to the top of the bed. 

He sat down behind me, and pulled me up the rest of the way so I was sitting in his lap. 

"When I was little, I always wanted to marry a girl that could cook. My mom found out, and decided that it was sexist for someone to want to rely on someone else for all the cooking. For a month she made me help her in the kitchen so I could learn to cook. It didn't really work. I learned how to make omelets, but everything else that I touched ended up turning to ashes in the end. She was extremely persistent, and she tried everything she could think of to get me to understand the concept. It failed. She probably would have tried to keep teaching me too, but my dad started to bring home dinner because he knew that if he didn't he'd have to eat whatever I screwed up. I'm not as bad now, but I still can't really cook." 

How did this come up? 

"The day I turned eight my mom decided that I needed to learn how to dance. I didn't really see the point of it, but I did what she told me, and went to all my classes. Kind of. For the first week I hid in the back room until class got out, then I would go talk to my teacher, and have her show me the individual steps so my mom wouldn't know I wasn't actually going into the classes. When she found out she started to watch all my classes, and if I didn't have a partner she would be my partner. She did that for a month before I got sick of it, and told her that I would never skip again if she stopped coming to the class." 

Oh! I understand now.  It's story time!  When it's story time you take turns, right? 

Don't know. 

"Is it my turn?" I asked trying to look up at him. 

"If you want it to be." 

"Nope. You can go again." 

"Okay.... On my seventh birthday my dad brought home a grand piano. It was a big black one with glossy white keys. I wanted to learn how to play so bad that I didn't wait until my dad found a teacher for me. Instead I started to 'play' as often as I could. This wouldn't have been a problem except that we didn't live in such a secluded place back then. Our neighbors came over, and told mom that if I didn't stop they would call the cops because I was disturbing the peace. After that dad got me a teacher, and put the piano in a sound proof room."