Young Writers Society

“Ryan?”

Silvia finally moves from her position lying on my chest, and she looks up at me. “Yes?” I ask her, wondering what she would say in response to the past half hour of laying here on the kitchen floor.

She sits up further until she is facing me instead of lying sideways in my lap. Biting her lip, as if she is afraid of what she is going to say next, which is a new reaction from her, she responds, “I am sorry for bringing up that subject in my question. I had no idea that it would be such a touchy subject.”

After the completion of her sentence, she quickly returns her gaze to the floor next to my right leg. I, of course, have no sorrow for the question, but clearly, she was not going to accept this. I reach out with my hand and gently raise her chin up until she is looking at me again. “Silvia, please understand I am fine with your question. I know that it is absurd, but I really have no regrets. You must trust me, and know that I am simply not upset.”

As if to seal my statement, I lean in and kiss her. She is so amazing; there is no doubt in my mind that I love this woman. If nothing else, then I want to make her happy. I will help her fix this situation, once and for all, and I will happily allow her to return to her family. With my resolution to finish this problem for her finally, I complete the kiss and lean back into my leaning position.

When I look at Silvia still sitting cross-legged between my sprawled out legs, she has a look of sheer shock and excitement on her face. After a few seconds of pause in awe, she responds to my kiss with, “You kissed me. You kissed me!”

Such disbelief is spread across her beautiful face, and this gives me a sense of giddiness as well. She is so excitable. Here we are, sitting in the floor of the kitchen after some deep traumatic moment, and she is about to explode with excitement over a kiss. As I think about the strange woman I have in front of me, I start to smile wider than I ever thought possible. We stare at each other, utterly ecstatic, for minutes until finally we both lean in and kiss each other passionately for one last time.

Upon completion of this unplanned, simultaneous kiss, we both lean back and stand up in the same moment. The ability for us to follow the exact same motions without planning is astounding, and we laugh at our connection. “How about we finish that breakfast we were talking about?” I asked as we stood next to each other.

Silvia laughs and picks up the spatula she dropped to the counter, and she turns to me, “What would you like in a lovely omelet?”

I smile and respond, “Bacon!”

Laughing, she walks over to the fridge and pulls out eggs, cheese, and bacon bits. This girl, I have no idea what I will do with her. She is beautiful, and she cooks. As if she could read my thoughts, Silvia laughs again and starts making breakfast. Because I do not want to appear completely useless, I wander around the kitchen looking for plates and other useful items.

I look through fourteen wooden cabinets on the walls, and still no luck finding the plates. I find every other utensil known to man including eggbeaters, apple slicers, pans of every shape and size imaginable, corn peelers, sandwich cutters, egg separators, and even a homemade pasta maker. This does not even begin to describe the ungodly amounts of things that I cannot name for the life of me. After exhausting my resources, I return the island counter with Silvia with nothing, and she chuckles.

“I was about to tell you to get some plates, but it seems like you took the initiative. Sadly, you were looking in the wrong place. You were trying so hard, though, so I did not want to ruin your efforts.” She starts fully laughing at this point, and I jokingly glare at her.

“Where are the plates, you smarty butt?” I ask with a little attitude.

“They are in the dining room in the cabinet in there. Do not get too lost.” She jokes as I walk away to get the plates that so easily evaded me.

Upon arriving in the dining room, I am amazed at the classy look of the room. A long, wide hardwood table fills the middle of the room, and beautiful high back chairs are evenly spaced around the table’s edge. Decorative place mats are perfectly positioned in front of each chair and a brand new dining set has repeating forks, knives, spoons, bowls, plates, and glasses in classic arrangements on each mat. A set of seasonal decorations filled the space in the center of the table.

For a moment, I simply stand and stare at the classy, seemingly untouched, table. Regaining my manliness, which is not supposed to appreciate such girly and classically arranged things, I head to the cabinet and gather two plates from the shelves. I return to the kitchen where Silvia has her snide comment, “Did you get lost?”

Realizing my staring at the room has probably exceeded the expected time allotment for gathering plates, I simply respond with the only remark left to save face, “Maybe…”

Silvia laughs and takes the plates from me. She places the omelets on their respective plates, and sets them on the opposite side of the bar where she was sitting when I arrived downstairs. I sit down in front of my massive bacon omelet, and gaze lovingly at it. I did not realize I was so hungry, but now that I can fix that, I surely will.

She arrived back in front of me with drinks, and we both began our meal. The shock comes when Silvia finishes a bite and looks at me to ask, “Care to continue our game? There is a lot I still want to know about you, and surely, there is still a list of things you want to know about me.”

Although she is correct, I am scared to continue the game because I do not want to hurt her, but seeing as she asked, she must be okay to begin again. “Okay, sure. We will start with a simple one. What is your favorite color and why?”

Silvia laughs at my simplicity, and responds, “Black because it is the color of darkness. The dark is always so open and inviting, and unlike most everything else, it is not afraid.”

I thought for a second about her response and realize that the reasoning is sound. The dark is never afraid and that is what everyone is missing. Maybe she has caught onto something that the world is missing.

Laughing at my thoughts about her answers, she interrupts with, “My turn! And my question is not so simple. What does it mean to you to be “in love”?”

I pause in eating and stare at my plate a moment upon hearing her question. I have never thought about this problem; it has always just been a word or phrase that means what it means. I have never been asked to define its meaning. Taking the challenge in stride, I began to think about the meaning of being in love. To define “being in love”, my first thought: Silvia.