February 22, 2011

Print

Sam nervously looked at herself in the mirror, her silky white shirt hugged against her body around the waist and her eyes darted back down to her left hand where she adjusted her ring. She ran her hands over herself, edging over every single detail in her outfit. She looked around the loft seeing all the things that she and Rafe had put together. The stolen Barcelona chair that Rafe took out of the Yale architecture library for her, the rack of hockey sticks of stolen sticks that she took from various games they would go to when they would chase the Cornell Big Red. They always had to get one hockey stick from the opposing team and get the big red team to sign it. She carefully traced her hand delicately over the things on the dresser. She looked at them longingly and walked to the railing and looked down into the living room below. Rafe had a small little print shop in one corner and she had a small painting studio in the other. A couple of worn out brown leather couches arranged in a small sitting area with a flatscreen tv at the other end. Mugaboo, their wirehair terrier was snoozing on the sheepskin rug in the sunlight. She listened very carefully, she heard a record crackling on the turntable, the gentle breathing of the vacuum tubes as a slow voice slowly began to rise in a low crescendo over the gold wire speakers.

The shuffle of barefeet over wood and the sound of the old coffee boiler percolating in the kitchen area. Sam rested her elbows on the edge, counted under her breath, one... two... three... then from below her the shirtless form of Rafe walked out from the kitchen. A smile curled on her face as she watched his form walk over to the hot table and pick up a copper etching plate. As Rafe began to clean the plate, she carefully watched him dart from machine to machine finally running the plate through the itaglio press. Her hands clenched the rail nervously, anticipating the final result. Rafe pulled back the catch blanket, his face smiled as he pulled back the paper holding it against the light. She walked slowly down the stairs, her bare feet plodding down each step. Her hair, tied back in a little pony tail reflected against the large warehouse windows. She carefully walked down over to him, and she wrapped her arms around his torso and pressed her nose into his shoulder. Rafe dropped his arm and the print onto the table and grabbed her. He wheeled around, and looked at her.

You know, I gotta get these done for George.
I know babe, but I just want you.
Sush, you can help me if you want.
Well...

Sam leaned onto the press plate, she slid her bottom onto the platen, still kissing Rafe. His arms, wrapped around her. They kissed for awhile longer on the printing press. Before he stood back and realized what he had done.

Shit sweetie, look at your shirt.

Sam looked down at what once was her crisp, white satin blouse, now was pock marked with blotches of printing ink.

Rafe! I...

She blushed.

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