May 21, 2012
Sam laid in bed, her chest rising and falling to the rhythm of her breathing. Rafe also was in bed next to her, but he was sitting up, sipping from a steaming cup of coffee with a copy of the sunday morning paper spread over the entire cover. He looked over to the clock on Sam's side of the bed. It said 10:45 in bleak red bars. He leaned back against the headboard and continued to sip coffee. As he shuffled through the papers, he read whatever article caught his eye. The utility company is to change out transformers in the north part of town, Local boy wins first at the county youth swimathon, Mayor caught walking wife's dog while wearing only fur coat and flip flops. How odd Rafe thought and looked back at the article title: Mayor's caucus on creation of new dog walk wears anti fur activists over his flip-flop. I suppose that makes a little more sense. When he tossed aside the metro section, he saw Sam roll over onto her chest and an idea popped into his head. Rolling the little audio cart into the bed room, the only sounds he made were his feet padding against the wood floor and the sound of the casters rolling. He plugged the cart into the socket and from the bottom shelf, grabbed a Charlie Byrd record onto the turntable and switched on the machine. Carefully dropping the arm onto the record, he waited for magic. Then it happened with a gradual crecendo as the tubes warmed up. "Blues for Felix" slowly arose from nowhere as it passed through the speakers slowly filling the room with the rich sounds of guitar and bass. Sam rolled around once more and this time buried her head into the pile of pillows on the end of the bed. With a muffled groan, she slowly came to. The sound she made could only be described similar to when an old man gets out of a chair. While Rafe looked pleased at the cart, he didn't realize that aims were being taken from the bed. As he stood with arms folded looking at the cart, a pillow knocked him in the head and he wheeled around. There sat Sam in the middle of the bed wearing only a tshirt and shorts with another pillow cocked in her arm, ready to be chucked. As he tried to approach her, another pillow sailed towards him and this one he deflected and tossed back at her. She smiled as she bounced with each pillow thrown. "Moin moin sleepy face." "Ugh, I want to sleep." "Sleep's so overrated silly face." "No it's not." She looked at him and tried to squidge her face into puppy dog eyes. "Yuck, don't do that. You know that turns me on so much." Rafe said jokingly. This time, she squidged her face even harder to exaggerate puppy dog eyes. Without warning, he pounced on her and kissed her all over. "Aaugh, stop. Okok, I'll wake up." "Haha, here, put pants on." He threw a pair of skinny jeans at her face. As they dressed, record kept going on the turn table. With each song, Mr. Byrd kept playing as the two milled around the room. Rafe tossed out the coffee in the kitchen sink. Sam collected the papers and put them in the kindling bin by the fireplace. When chores were finished and done, the record came to a close as they plopped onto the bed tired. The sound of the record needle on the finish track made a pleasing sound Rafe thought. The drone of the dust and the click as it rolled over the finishing guide, he listened to it keep going until the action finally decided to return the arm home. He rolled over to Sam and kissed her.