Entangled Spaces

Tip of the toe

Some things in life hit you like stubbing your toe on the leg of a chair, or maybe like stepping on a pointy object that definitely shouldn't be there. Right now it was both and one more.

While I hopped around the room on one foot while trying to not step on any other miscellaneous items lying around on the carpet, I was also trying and failing to ignore the person in the room responsible for my tender foot.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

He smiled nonchalantly, "You left the door open, and that is usually considered a sign of inviting in a guest. So seeing that I was a guest and the door was wide open, I let myself in."

"You are never a guest in my house. I think I've made that abundantly clear." I speak while trying to get a look at the sole of my foot. It hurt like hell.

My uninvited visitor stands silently observing as I try to make sense of what is happening around me. I look at the clock, it isn't even 5 a.m. yet. This isn't fair, no other normal human has to deal with their problems before 10 in the morning and definitely after a good cup any kind of caffeine.

I feel my sole after giving up trying to get a look. There is definitely something wet, I look at my fingers and of course, blood. I haven't even fought my battle with my visitor and already I am bleeding. Such irony.

"You hurt your foot" he says matter-of-factly.

"No shit Sherlock."

He sighs and walks around the kitchen counter I had been barricading myself behind and takes my foot from my hand, not even pausing to give me a warning. I almost fall backwards and hit my head, but he supports me with his other hand. This is definitely not a position I have ever wanted to be in. No seriously, I'm sure there can't even be a yoga position like this.

"The fuck dude!" I grab the counter with my hand trying to maintain some distance between the both of us. He is too close, and him being this close is not a good thing.

Ignoring my outburst, he continues to check my foot prodding at it (OUCH!), and then notices the tiny bruise on my toe.

He sighs.

"It isn't that bad, just put a band-aid. And you really need to learn to watch where you walk."

He drops my foot and I almost lose my balance again. Ugh I hate him. He stares at me again.

I open the drawer in the cabinet and take a band-aid out ignoring him. Maybe if I ignore him enough he'll leave and I won't have to deal with him. Ha! That would be perfect. Let him get a dose of his own medicine.

He sighs again. I'll have to ventilate the room later to get all his germs out.

He opens the cupboard behind him and takes out a saucepan, pouring some water into it. He then picks up the sugar bowl and puts two spoons in it. Turns the gas on and puts the saucepan on top.

He isn't leaving. He's making coffee.

I observe him. His shirt is crumpled and his chin is still scruffy. Which isn't something new to me, I've seen him looking like that more than I have seen him looking put together, he always did like looking unruly. Late night shifts as a intern doctor does that to you I guess. But his hair is combed, and that gives it away. He didn't come here from the hospital.

He still looks the same though. The same jaw, the same eyes, even if his mouth is no longer the kind that was always stretched into a smile. Its more sardonic now, tight and pursed, almost mockingly telling you that if you were a better person, you would have gotten a better smile.