story prt.2

Where is that guy, Katrina thinks to herself. She glances at her watch. John's fifteen minutes late. He's not late often, but she's not worried. She knows he wants to meet her for coffee, so she just relaxes and waits for the knock on the door. Her basement suite is fairly light for being half underground, but it still feels like perpetual evening when she's inside. It's one of the reasons she can't stand being cooped up in the house for more than a few hours and is anxious to get outdoors. Even though it's not the brightest place, she's tried to liven it up with a few plants scattered here and there. Half are dead from lack of attention, but there are a couple still going strong; her favorites. It's not a messy place. Not the cleanest either. She's never been a big fan of a dresser so all her clothes are strewn around on the floor of her bedroom, but the communal areas are kept up to snuff just in case she has company. The TV drones on about something or other. Her mind's wandering and it's all just background noise. It's a wonderful daydream. She's with someone. They've spent the day walking through the park and are home now watching a movie she chose. Comfortable and safe with this person, a conglomeration of herself and others her mind melded together and in such a way knows more intimately than anyone else. She startles as the phone rings. Bah, she thinks. I bet it's John. He better be on his way.