A talk with Vicki

Hey Vicki!

She scowls at me; her hair thin damp ropes around her head, a drop just about to fall off the tip of her nose.

You know what I think about Hey, she says…

Do you, though, Vicki? Or is that your mom’s voice? Isn’t it just me trying to say hello and be friendly?

She pulls the towel around her shoulders. I see that her jeans are wet, too, but just in front.

Got caught biking in the rain?

She nods.

Sucks, I say. I’m sorry.

She says something that comes out so low I bend forward towards her.

What?

She shakes her head.

C’mon, Vicki, you can’t keep it all bottled up.

Her eyes close for a minute, and I see her thin chest heave in an inaudible sigh.

Whisper it to me, Vicki, I urge, and sidle up close, so my ear is nearly touching the thin pale lines of her lips.

I

Hate

The

Fucking

Weather

Here

I smile for a second, and then, turning to her, recompose my face.

Everyone does, I tell her.

She raises an eyebrow.

Really, they do. Ask anyone. Dutch people hate the grey, windy, rainy days. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar. That’s why, when the sun comes out, even for a bit, even when it’s still cold, you’ll see them all sitting outside on the terraces.

And topless on Museumplein?

Yup. You got it.

She shakes her head, and then taking her towel, wraps it elegantly around her wet hair into a turban.

What else did you want to say, Vicki? I ask.

Just finish it.

What?

Your book, dummy. Do it already, before I regret telling you about it all.

I nod, grab my laptop, and run upstairs. She gave permission. She’s ready.

Note: This photo was taken from my TV while watching The Good Doctor.

Another note: Without Caroline Donahue, and The Secret Library Cafe Lobby, I’d still be stuck in my dry writing spell. Thank you to her and to Aleksandra Merk for their inspiration today!