Orange Slices, Nudity, and Coffee
I woke up and everything was perfect. The three blankets that had us swallowed whole were smooth from the balanced warmth of our bodies and the cold air that filled the room. You were laying on your side, facing toward me. Every feature of your face was completely relaxed, I would have said in that moment that not a single muscle in your whole body was tight or ready to wake up. The dream that was happening in your head kept you content.
I carefully removed the side of the blankets that kept me under. I slipped my feet in my fuzzy bedside slippers, put on a clean pair of underwear, my jammies on top of that, and then that extra large jersey (that’s too big for either of us) over the rest of my bare skin.
....
A half hour or so had passed. I sat at my writing desk. Outside the window in front of me, the view was of winter in its most gentle form. Soft snow specks the size of marbles just falling through the air with no care as to where they’ll land. A few birds, black against the white, dappled the air over the park and its willow tree.
The steam from the hot cup of fresh Caribbean brew lifted toward my nostrils. I continued to stare outside and think of the quiet while sipping at the coffee. It took me a total of twenty-two patient sips to finish the coffee. The counting plus the coffee always set my mind into a calm yet ready state to get to whatever the day had to offer.
Setting the cup down, I began to peel an orange from the fruit bowl on the window sill, then another, and another. Soon I had a plate full of thirty-two orange slices. I ate them, and with each slice, I felt the sweet tang on my tongue and down my throat.