Read Online Can't Go Home (Oasis Waterfall) by Angelisa Denise Stone - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Angelisa Denise Stone
Tags: Contemporary
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of the horse and start singing, “You spin me right round, baby, right round” as everyone stares and laughs. I’m horribly off key and loud as hell, but surprisingly not feeling the rush of embarrassment at all. This is who I want to be now.
Kathryn flips a leg around, sitting sidesaddle, and belts out, “Like a record baby …” We continue singing, destroying Dead or Alive’s hit, until the merry-go-round attendant comes over the speaker, admonishing us, instructing us to remain seated.
Once the carousel comes to a “complete and final stop,” I help Kathryn down off of her yellow horse, and she says, “Redundant much? ‘Complete and final stop.’ That’s stupid.”
As we step down off the platform, I take her hand in mine, interlocking her tiny fingers with mine. Kathryn doesn’t protest, but says, “Dead or Alive’s got nothing on us.”
“Hell no they don’t! We can sing about spinning while spinning,” I proclaim.
Sitting on a bench near the kiddie rides, Kathryn asks me, “So what’s the game?” She pulls her knees up and tucks them under her chin. She’s so small, I wonder if she’d fit in my pocket.
“Easy game, your horse went up and down 26 times; you have to tell me 26 things about yourself,” I announce.
“Oohh … I love it. Love talking about myself,” she giggles, adjusting her body to face me. “Hey wait, that’s why you sat on one of those stationary horses! No fair!”
“I can’t help it if you aren’t any good at this game,” I say, smirking at her.
“Whatever. Fine. Number one, my favorite color is yellow,” she states.
“Boring! I want good stuff. Not favorites,” I complain.
“Two. I hate coffee. Three. I don’t use profanity,” she reveals.
“Wait? What? You don’t cuss?” I ask, realizing that she must think I have the most vulgar mouth in the world.
“Not really. When it’s a must , I do. But normally, I just try not to,” she explains.
“But why?” This bit of information is crazy to me.
“I had a college professor who said that swearing breeds ignorance and lack of class. I thought about it for a while, and decided he was probably right. So, I’ve tried to quit,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “I do ‘think cuss’ though … a lot. I’ve got a potty brain.”
“Think cuss? What the fu—what the heck does ‘think cuss’ even mean?” I ask, correcting my language.
“Just because I don’t verbalize it, doesn’t mean I don’t think it,” she elaborates. “Four. My middle name is Denise.”
“Come on, Kathryn, give me the good stuff, not the stuff I can read on your Facebook page,” I pry. “Don’t be a coward.”
“Me? The coward? You sat on an invalid horse,” she points out.
“Touché. touché”
“Five. I’ve been in love once, maybe one and half times.” My eyebrows rise, questioning her on the half, but she doesn’t reveal anything further. “Six. I haven’t had sex in over 14 months—not that I’m counting.”
“Fourteen—”
Cutting me off, she continues, “Seven. My middle toes are my longest toes.”
I glance down, laughing that she has those silly knee socks and tennis shoes on. I reach down, grab her foot, and take off her shoes and socks. She’s right; her middle toes are her longest toes. I’ve never seen that before. I have to admit; it’s pretty ridiculous. Absent-mindedly, I start massaging her feet. Kathryn’s eyes widen in surprise, but she makes no effort to remove her foot from my lap.
Winking at me, she says, “Eight. I have two tattoos.” I eye her carefully, looking for visible ink. Not finding any, my penis hardens. Shit.
“Nine. I want to write a book someday about my parents’ marriage.”
A book? Now that’s interesting. About her parents? That’s something I could never do—nor want to do. I sit listening to her continue to pepper me with little facts and tidbits about her life. With each number, I get more and more intrigued and interested in her.
Kathryn flips a leg around, sitting sidesaddle, and belts out, “Like a record baby …” We continue singing, destroying Dead or Alive’s hit, until the merry-go-round attendant comes over the speaker, admonishing us, instructing us to remain seated.
Once the carousel comes to a “complete and final stop,” I help Kathryn down off of her yellow horse, and she says, “Redundant much? ‘Complete and final stop.’ That’s stupid.”
As we step down off the platform, I take her hand in mine, interlocking her tiny fingers with mine. Kathryn doesn’t protest, but says, “Dead or Alive’s got nothing on us.”
“Hell no they don’t! We can sing about spinning while spinning,” I proclaim.
Sitting on a bench near the kiddie rides, Kathryn asks me, “So what’s the game?” She pulls her knees up and tucks them under her chin. She’s so small, I wonder if she’d fit in my pocket.
“Easy game, your horse went up and down 26 times; you have to tell me 26 things about yourself,” I announce.
“Oohh … I love it. Love talking about myself,” she giggles, adjusting her body to face me. “Hey wait, that’s why you sat on one of those stationary horses! No fair!”
“I can’t help it if you aren’t any good at this game,” I say, smirking at her.
“Whatever. Fine. Number one, my favorite color is yellow,” she states.
“Boring! I want good stuff. Not favorites,” I complain.
“Two. I hate coffee. Three. I don’t use profanity,” she reveals.
“Wait? What? You don’t cuss?” I ask, realizing that she must think I have the most vulgar mouth in the world.
“Not really. When it’s a must , I do. But normally, I just try not to,” she explains.
“But why?” This bit of information is crazy to me.
“I had a college professor who said that swearing breeds ignorance and lack of class. I thought about it for a while, and decided he was probably right. So, I’ve tried to quit,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “I do ‘think cuss’ though … a lot. I’ve got a potty brain.”
“Think cuss? What the fu—what the heck does ‘think cuss’ even mean?” I ask, correcting my language.
“Just because I don’t verbalize it, doesn’t mean I don’t think it,” she elaborates. “Four. My middle name is Denise.”
“Come on, Kathryn, give me the good stuff, not the stuff I can read on your Facebook page,” I pry. “Don’t be a coward.”
“Me? The coward? You sat on an invalid horse,” she points out.
“Touché. touché”
“Five. I’ve been in love once, maybe one and half times.” My eyebrows rise, questioning her on the half, but she doesn’t reveal anything further. “Six. I haven’t had sex in over 14 months—not that I’m counting.”
“Fourteen—”
Cutting me off, she continues, “Seven. My middle toes are my longest toes.”
I glance down, laughing that she has those silly knee socks and tennis shoes on. I reach down, grab her foot, and take off her shoes and socks. She’s right; her middle toes are her longest toes. I’ve never seen that before. I have to admit; it’s pretty ridiculous. Absent-mindedly, I start massaging her feet. Kathryn’s eyes widen in surprise, but she makes no effort to remove her foot from my lap.
Winking at me, she says, “Eight. I have two tattoos.” I eye her carefully, looking for visible ink. Not finding any, my penis hardens. Shit.
“Nine. I want to write a book someday about my parents’ marriage.”
A book? Now that’s interesting. About her parents? That’s something I could never do—nor want to do. I sit listening to her continue to pepper me with little facts and tidbits about her life. With each number, I get more and more intrigued and interested in her.
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