Tangled Hair by Dashiell Crevel Page A

squeeze with a pleasurable tightness. Looking down on the long line of traffic, he thought of calling her and letting her know he was running late, and the very thought of hearing her voice sent tingles of euphoria running throughout his body.
    He reached down for the phone and dialed her number, but the traffic started to move and within minutes he was back at full speed on the road, and the sensation of flying returned.
     
    ~*~
     
    Fiona put down her magazine and paced in front of the window. She felt active—she wanted to do something—but there was little to do. She ran through her list of last minute preparations. She cleaned the apartment a few times over the week, and the television played nothing she was remotely interested in. The only thing to do now was to wait.
    She looked at the clock: seven-thirty. With each passing minute the silence created a greater sense of loneliness. Had John stood her up? Dark though ts filled her mind. Perhaps something happened; perhaps he got into an accident. Oh, stop it, she thought to herself. Always thinking the worst.
    She walked into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea, something warm to hold in her hand, and relax, calm her mind.
    Fiona set the steaming cup of tea on the window counter and folded her arms. Her thoughts turned to John and again the sense of worry came back.
    It was then that her phone vibrated on the kitchen table.
    “Sorry, I’m late.” He said. “There was an accident on the road.”
    “Are you okay?” Fiona asked, with concern in her voice.
    “Yeah, I’m fine. Just got stuck in traffic.”
    “I was getting worried…”
    “Really?” He said with a kind of excitement. “Well, I made it. I’m downstairs.”
    “Come on up. The code is two-seven-zero-two.”
    Fiona put the phone down and breathed a sigh of relief. Did she sound too concerned on the phone? She usually went over every minute detail during her dates. How she looked, how she acted, what the other person thought. Everyone does that, don’t they? Perhaps it wasn’t that she was overreactive and overconcerned—just normal.
    The doorbell rang, interrupting her train of thought, and a feeling of nervous passion came over her. She recalled the mental picture of John, as she had seen him last time. She couldn’t quite picture the face clearly—but his wide shoulders stood out in her mind.
    She opened the door.
    “Hello,” he said, and kissed her on the cheek, handing her a bouquet of flowers. The flowers were sprinkled with rain.
    “Thank you,” she said and opened the door for him to come in. “These are beautiful. I’m going to set them in some water. Make yourself comfortable.”
    She cut the stems and placed the flowers in a vase on the kitchen counter.
    John sat down on the couch. “Well, I was planning on taking us to a movie, but the way it’s looking outside, I don’t know—“
    “I have a subscription to HBO if you want to watch something here.”
    John said, “I don’t mind staying indoors in this kind of weather. It’s my favorite.”
    “ Rainy weather?”
    John nodded. “ I enjoy the serenity it brings.”
    “Me too.”
    Fiona sat down on the couch next to him. She noticed his gaze fixed on a painting on the wall. In tones of blue and green, an ocean stormed underneath a cliff—and on the cliff stood a tall lighthouse.
    “Nice painting.” John said.
    “Thanks.”
    “Where did you get it?”
    “Actually,” Fiona said, “I painted it.”
    “Really?” John’s eyes lit with excitement. “You’re amazing.”
    Fiona blushed. “Thanks.”
    “No, I mean it. How did you get so good?”
    “Plenty of practice, and grand delusions of being an artist."
    John laughed. “Well, you made it happen. That’s what counts.”
    “I wish it would’ve happened to a greater extent. I mean, I wish I could paint as a full-time job.”
    “Perhaps that would get boring.”
    “You think so?” She propped an arm under her chin.
    “Perhaps. If you have to do