Hanging Out and Smok’n in
Havana
"JOSHUA," Donna
bellows from her desk.
"What?" I
scream back, knowing the bullpen is mostly empty. Most everyone is at the Red Mass.
I hear her sigh loudly
and throw something on the desk, probably that self help book. She appears in my doorway, as I knew she
would.
"CJ just called, the
President is taking a few questions about needle exchange and she said for us
to go home."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. And what the hell is this?" she asks as
she picks up Amy's balloon...thing.
"I honestly have no
idea." I admit as she hits me over the head with it. "Amy made it, she's been
practicing."
"Not too hard I
hope," she snorts as I take it from her and hit her with it. "Let's get out of here."
I stand up and start to
pack my backpack while Donna untwists the balloon making that annoying
noise. "Stop, you're hurting my
ears," I hear myself say in a very whiny voice.
"Oh stop
whining," she says as she pokes me in the stomach with the balloon.
"So you want to do something? We've
been so busy lately we haven't hung out or anything." she says with this
adorable, slightly shy look on her face.
"We hung out for 20
hours trying to get back from Indiana.
Aren't you tired of me already?"
She mumbles something
that sounds suspiciously like "not really" as she turns to leave.
"Wait, I was
kidding. Look, I was just going to go
home and watch the Mets try to throw some strikes. Why don't we just hang out at my place?"
"Great, I suppose
we'll need to pick up something to eat." she smirks, knowing the usual
state of my refrigerator.
"Unless you want
YooHoo and pickles. Bring your little
self help book."
"Oh great, baseball
and self help, what more could a girl ask for?" she sighs. "And for that, I get to pick the
food. I'll be there in half an
hour," she announces as she walks out of the room.
Not in the mood to argue
and knowing I won't win anyway I resign myself to probably eating veggie pizza.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I've just gotten out of
the shower when I hear Donna let herself in the door.
"I'll be out in a
minute," I yell as I pull on my pajama pants and a Bartlet 2002 t-shirt.
Donna's in the living
room wearing a pair of sweatpants and a very familiar Harvard sweatshirt.
A vaguely familiar scent
hits my noise as I enter the kitchen.
Oh, she wouldn't have, I think to myself. Maybe she did. She moves out of the way so I can see the bag
on the counter. I think I start drooling
at the sight of the Golden Arches. YES,
the nose was right, McDonald's. She
hasn't let me have McDonald's in well over a year.
"What's the
occasion? Trying to kill me?" I
smirked as I grab a fry out of the bag.
"Well, your blood
pressure's been good and ever since you mentioned McNuggets yesterday I've been
craving them," she says with a laugh as she carries the bags to the coffee
table. I grab the drinks; diet Coke for
her and a vanilla shake for me.
We settle on the couch
with our food, a Big Mac and fries for me, McNuggets and fries for Donna. We
watch the end of the Mets game, which involves seeing them blow a 4 run lead in
the top of the 8th inning. By the time
the game's over I am not a happy camper.
So Donna feels the need to spend an hour enlightening me with life tips
from Teddy Tomba. Which have made me
feel vaguely sick to my stomach. Or that
could have been my food plus the 3 chicken nuggets Donna gave me after she was
full.
I get up to wander around
for minute. I'm a little stiff from
sitting in one spot. Donna's rooting
through her tote bag for something.
"Yes, I did bring
it," she yells triumphantly as she holds up a bottle of nail polish.
I just give her a look. I
thought it was an amused look but I guess not when Donna turns to me with that
worried look on her face. "Are you
ok? You're not going to throw up are
you?"
"I'm not great but I
don't think I'm going to toss my cookies," I smirk as I hop up to sit on
the counter.
"You shouldn't have
eaten those McNuggets," she says as she shakes the nail polish with one
hand and opens the fridge with the other.
She roots around for a minute and finds a can of ginger ale in the back.
"Here, drink some of
this."
"Thank you Dr.
Moss," I smirk as I hold out my hand for the soda. I take a couple of sips
while Donna hops up on the counter next to me.
All the seating that's available in my apartment and we choose to sit on
the counter. Yeah, we're weird. She's
about to open the nail polish when I hold my hand out for it. I figure I'll be nice and paint her nails for
her.
Yes, I know how to paint
nails. Let's just say it got really
boring when I was recovering and Donna and I watched Bull Durham way too many
times.
Donna looks at me strange
again. "I already did my
fingernails," she points out as she waves her hand at me. "I was going to do my toes."
"Fine."
She gives me an adorable
grin and scoots back into the corner, sitting back against the cabinets. She
hugs her knees to her chest and puts her heels on the counter and her toes on
my thigh. I shake the bottle for a
minute and then take a good look at the color.
It's nice, sort of a deep, rich, rust color.
"Smokin' in
Havana." she says.
"Huh?"
"The name of the
color, Smokin' in Havana."
"Oh yeah," I
mumble as I remember most of her nail polish colors have unique names.
As I paint her nails we
talk about my aspirations of becoming a major league baseball player. Those ended, not yesterday morning but one
winter morning when I was 17 and my car skidded off the road into a ditch. After 4 hours of surgery my right arm was
pinned back together. I never pitched seriously after that.
OK, let's be honest, I
wasn't making it to the majors anyway. I
mean, how many Jewish starting pitchers are there?
But my version sounds better,
more manly. At least in my mind it did,
Donna doesn't think so, she's laughing at me.
"OK, you can locate
the light switch and stop laughing at me any time now. Besides, I wouldn't make fun of me about
now," I snort as I wave the nail polish brush a little too close to her
nose.
"Oh, you wouldn't do
it. And besides you have nail polish
remover in your bathroom."
What? I'm not real good
with crazy glue, that's why I have acetone in my bathroom.
"There, done,"
I announce as I admire my work.
"Looks good,
thanks,"
I slide off the counter
to pace for a minute while Donna puts her legs over the edge and swings her
feet a bit to dry her nails. I put on
some water for tea and stretch a little trying to loosen up my back.
"Come here,"
she says with a smile.
I walk over to her and
she makes a little circle with her finger to get me to turn around. I do and stand with my back to her in between
her knees. She takes a hold of my hips and
pulls me a little closer. Her hands stay
on my hips as her thumbs press into my lower back on either side of my spine. I
sigh a lot louder than I anticipate and then laugh nervously although I'm not
sure why.
Sure, if someone saw us
like this they'd get the wrong idea. To
put it a little more bluntly, if Amy saw us she'd have a cow. But since I don't even know where we stand at
the moment I don't particularly care. So I lean back a little into Donna's
touch. She's hitting all the right
spots. I close my eyes and am seriously
considering the possibility that I am about to relax too much and fall down
when Donna slips her hand under my shirt.
"Oww," I yell
as she pinches me right above my left hip.
"What was that for?"
"Two things, you
were starting to sway a little and I didn't want you to end up on the floor."
"And what would be
number two?" I ask as I turn around to face her.
She just looks at me and
shakes her head until I realize the teakettle is whistling.
"Ah, you want that
green tea you brought over last week?"
"Sure."
We settle on the couch
with our tea and Teddy Tomba. Our roles
reverse as she reads aloud and I am left to do the notecards. I stretch out and try to get
comfortable. Which leaves me with my
head on the arm of the couch and my feet in Donna's lap. But she's not complaining. We work, drink our tea and make fun of
Teddy. A while later I abandon my
notecards and curl up a little. I'm really not feeling so great at the moment.
"You OK?" asks
Donna as she tosses the book aside. I
shake my head a little. She pats my feet
so I move them and let her up. She grabs
the ginger ale I left in the kitchen.
She comes back and lets me curl up with my head in her lap. It's nice and her running her fingers through
my hair relaxes me. It's just one of those things....one of the things that happen
frequently but we don't ever discuss.
Like the way she rubs my back for me when I'm uncomfortable, the way I
paint her nails for her, the fact that we each have a stash of clothes and
other personal items at each other's apartments, how I let her borrow my
heating pad on certain days of the month, the fact that I'm even aware of those
days. Those things are just part of who
we are. And those things are nobody
else's business but our own.
Donna clicks on the TV
and turns the sound down low. Her touch
relaxes me like nothing else ever does and I'm starting to doze with her gently
rubbing my stomach.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I wake up with a start,
trying to recall where I am. Oh yeah, at
home on the couch, alone. The clock on
the VCR tells me it's a little after 3.
So I haul myself off the couch and head for the bathroom. I'm feeling better and I'm sure I'll be fine
after a few more hours sleep. As I get to the bathroom the door to the cabinet
under the sink is open a little so I kick it shut and as I do I look at my
feet.
Oh, I'm going to kill
her! My toenails are a lovely shade,
Smokin' in Havana, to be exact. I can
only assume the cabinet was open cause she forgot to close it when she stole the
acetone.
Yeah, I was right.
But at 3 in the morning I
don't care so much. It's not like it's
the first time she's painted my nails.
So I head for bed to dream up some revenge.
THE END
