Sun-kissed Boho Sheets

Hopefully the beginning of a legitimate story, and not just sentimental descriptive writing once again!

My own breathing fades away as I suffocate myself in order to catch hers. My heart weighs down my chest and my breathing only becomes heavier as a result of trying to stifle it. In the brief moments of my own body's pure silence, I catch her breathing slow and steady, and let myself relax. My body slows its course as I listen to her, and we become in sync. Unlike waking up beside an almost-stranger in the past, I don’t worry about the journey to and out of her place, through the door. Instead, our bodies lay soft and silent and peaceful, not worried about taking up each other's space. I still can’t quite make up the courage to turn over and see how far apart we are, but I sure do wonder. I let my eyes flutter open.

             Her apartment is flooded with sunlight. Not beams, but a full glow of the day-time. My eyes are dry and sting, and I remember how I forgot to take out my contacts, too worried to lose them while my glasses lay back at my own apartment where the friends that I went out with last night must lay fast asleep. I scan the wall of posters that lay in front of me, catching subtle outlines of naked women and bright, 80s colors on vintage looking prints. My stomach churns a bit, remembering how I managed to sleep with the coolest woman at the bar. The kind of woman who could not be bothered, so unbothered that you wonder why she goes to a bar at all.

             I reach down to scratch an itch on my leg, only to find my hand glide across my body surprising ease. My eyes widen as though I haven't been laying naked in her bed all night. This girl who’s name I can’t remember but who I will never forget…my own body shivers and I close my eyes with a force that makes my already sore eyes twitch. I slowly open them again, this time catching the reflection of the sun and automatically flipping onto my back.

             S**t. I think, and slowly shift my focus over to her, where she lay fast asleep. My gaze softens on her, although I cannot see anything but the top of her head. Even the top of her head makes my uterus insides squirm, and I flash back to trying to run my hands through her dreads, only to end in us falling backwards laughing. I remember how she laughed…it gave me butterflies.

             I turn back over to the nightstand, which is covered in a sticky coating of bubbly wine and a wine glass that will forever leave a stain. I reach for my phone and unstick it as smoothly as I can. I pull it to my chest and lean back once again, looking back over at the girl, who still lays silently, her body in rhythm with the earth. I can’t imagine that she is anything less than a goddess. I turn back to my phone and click it on. 12:13. Far later than I would’ve expected, even though we fell asleep only 6 hours earlier. How unusual it is that my anxious brain will let me sleep further than nine in the morning when it isn’t my own bed, nonetheless a bed that my body has never touched before. A cozy, memory foam bed covered in classy, boho throw pillows and blankets, made as though she knew an inexperienced, hopeful, new-to-town girl was going to be sleeping in it, with her, a woman, for the first time…

             Oh my god, calm down.

             I open my phone to my camera, hoping that I wake up as peacefully as I imagine she will. I did not. My eyes are dark with the makeup I did not remove, and my bangs point in every possible direction. I try my best at patting them down, but they don’t bother. The curls I forced into my hair the day before have turned into pure frizz and puffed up a whole lot than usual. I become very willing to leave, worried that this goddess of a woman might not be used to waking up with raccoon-like women. I check maps, wondering where in Portland she lives. I recognize it immediately, as the apartments around the corner from where my roommate works, and I wonder if she’s left for lunch break yet. I pull up my texts.

             Anna.

             Why, hello there. What’s up?

             You leaving for lunch break soon? I’m just around the corner.

             Yes. In 10. Meet me at the coffee shop?

             I sigh, as softly as I can while still gaining the satisfaction of losing a heave of air. My look screams a walk of shame.  But how differently people would look at me if I had a sign above me telling the world that no, I didn’t have a one-night stand with a man, but with a mermaid-like woman who could make Aphrodite herself cum. I look over at her one last time, before reaching over to the nightstand, grabbing my bag that is full of writing utensils and change, and writing my number down on a tip envelope. I slowly move my feet to the ground and get up as slowly as possible. I scan the room for my clothes and catch the eye of my under-garments, that applaud and cheer. I pull them on as quickly as I can, then throw my tiny, sparkly, navy dress on. In an attempt to find an excuse to see her again, I grab the flannel from the floor and tie it up around my waist in hopes that I can calm my outfit down. I pat down my hair and rub at the area below my eyes. My reflection still holds a woman who did not sleep in her own bed, but someone who confidently did not sleep in her own bed.

             You live in Portland. I tell myself. Who is going to look at you and judge? They’ll applaud you. I feel nothing but relieved that I don’t have to walk the April streets of Saskatoon.

             I look back over at her once more, relieved to still see the sweet and slow movement of her body. Part of me wondered if she fakes being asleep, but then I think of the way she was last night, and realize this isn’t a woman who hides who she is. This isn’t a woman who sleeps to avoid the world, but because she needs it. Oh, how I would love to be more like her.

             I smile, before slowly opening the loud and heavy door and slipping my body through it and into the apartment hallway. As I gently let it close, I swear I hear her body stir.