He’s dangerous, you know. Not like he could take his hand to you or the point of a pin or the edge of a knife. Not like he could break your windows or scratch the paint on your car with his key or kick in your door. No, it’s not that kind of dangerous that he is.
He says things. Small things and sweet. Drops them in your ear when you is least expecting. Whispered or blown, soft as dandelion clocks or feathers. And he has a way of smiling when he says something that he says only for you to hear and a burr in his voice that makes the words seem brown like strong coffee or burnt sugar.
‘The way you wear your hair today, May, I like it. Makes my heart skip and all my thoughts go wooly like the noise of bees.’
He just says those things and then he walks away and he acts like he’s done nothing out of the ord’nary.
‘In that dress you look like a film star I loved once and my head is all cartwheels and my heart is all plucked flowers.’
I don’t always make sense of what he says, but sense enough that the rest of his words play around in my head after he’s gone. Jeez, I’m a married woman and happily married and him saying what he says, well, it upsets me a little, tilts the world so things don’t sit straight.
‘Breathe,’ says Carly.
I snatch for breath and I feel light-headed and have to sit down.
‘Just breathe,’ says Carly.
Carly and me, we been working together for ‘bout six years and she knows me, almost as much as anyone does. And she says I ain’t myself these days. She asks me if there’s something I want to tell her and she smiles in the expectation of good news. She says it’s ok, like she already knows, and she asks me if I been and done a test to make sure.
Carly’s got it all wrong, but I don’t know how to tell her. She thinks maybe I’m pregnant, which we been trying for, and she’s grinning like she’s the one as has the good news to tell. And I smile a little weakly back at her, cos I’m thinking about my hair and how I’m wearing it today and thinking maybe I’ll wear it like this more often just so his thoughts are wooly and his heart skipping, or thinking about my dress and wondering what he meant by his heart being all plucked flowers.
I don’t even know his name and I don’t dare to ask for that would be to give something away. I tell Carly I’m fine, that I just need a minute and she’s not to fuss. I tell her I’m fine, even though I’m not. She looks at me funny, like she’s not sure. I smile again.
I don’t even know his name, but he’s in my head now, saying those things over and over, and it’s my head that is all cartwheels and my heart that is plucked, and that’s how dangerous he is.
Happy New Year, Patty. I’ve been away from here a while and I miss this. I promise to visit a bit more again in 2017. Hope you are well. Still looking out for your second book. Best wishes. L
Patricia Ann McNair 
He’s dangerous, you know. Not like he could take his hand to you or the point of a pin or the edge of a knife. Not like he could break your windows or scratch the paint on your car with his key or kick in your door. No, it’s not that kind of dangerous that he is.
He says things. Small things and sweet. Drops them in your ear when you is least expecting. Whispered or blown, soft as dandelion clocks or feathers. And he has a way of smiling when he says something that he says only for you to hear and a burr in his voice that makes the words seem brown like strong coffee or burnt sugar.
‘The way you wear your hair today, May, I like it. Makes my heart skip and all my thoughts go wooly like the noise of bees.’
He just says those things and then he walks away and he acts like he’s done nothing out of the ord’nary.
‘In that dress you look like a film star I loved once and my head is all cartwheels and my heart is all plucked flowers.’
I don’t always make sense of what he says, but sense enough that the rest of his words play around in my head after he’s gone. Jeez, I’m a married woman and happily married and him saying what he says, well, it upsets me a little, tilts the world so things don’t sit straight.
‘Breathe,’ says Carly.
I snatch for breath and I feel light-headed and have to sit down.
‘Just breathe,’ says Carly.
Carly and me, we been working together for ‘bout six years and she knows me, almost as much as anyone does. And she says I ain’t myself these days. She asks me if there’s something I want to tell her and she smiles in the expectation of good news. She says it’s ok, like she already knows, and she asks me if I been and done a test to make sure.
Carly’s got it all wrong, but I don’t know how to tell her. She thinks maybe I’m pregnant, which we been trying for, and she’s grinning like she’s the one as has the good news to tell. And I smile a little weakly back at her, cos I’m thinking about my hair and how I’m wearing it today and thinking maybe I’ll wear it like this more often just so his thoughts are wooly and his heart skipping, or thinking about my dress and wondering what he meant by his heart being all plucked flowers.
I don’t even know his name and I don’t dare to ask for that would be to give something away. I tell Carly I’m fine, that I just need a minute and she’s not to fuss. I tell her I’m fine, even though I’m not. She looks at me funny, like she’s not sure. I smile again.
I don’t even know his name, but he’s in my head now, saying those things over and over, and it’s my head that is all cartwheels and my heart that is plucked, and that’s how dangerous he is.
Happy New Year, Patty. I’ve been away from here a while and I miss this. I promise to visit a bit more again in 2017. Hope you are well. Still looking out for your second book. Best wishes. L