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Later Saturday... (Part Seven)

  • Aug. 5th, 2005 at 11:11 PM
Grendel
"Hey," Miranda whispered in the dark. "You guys asleep?"

"Yes," the Muse said quietly.

"No," I said. The Muse and I were sharing the small bed, her on the outside, me spooning her, my arm around her waist. "What time is it?"

"I don't know," Miranda said. "I don't want to turn on the light to find out."

The Muse rolled onto her stomach, and I rubbed against her lower back through her light shirt. "It's tomorrow," she said. "I'm antsy. I can't sleep."

Miranda's bed squeaked, and I heard her bare feet padding toward us across the wooden floor. The Muse bent her legs up at the knees, and our bed bumped a little as Miranda sat on the end of it.

"Long as you're there," the Muse said, lowering her legs into Miranda's lap, "you can at least rub my feet for me."

"You're the most spoiled girl in the world," I said.

"Keep that back rub going, monkey boy."

"I can't sleep either," Miranda said. She scooted backwards against my shins, her rear pressing my legs against the wall behind me. "I'm nervous about the move. I can't shut my brain off."

"Big move," I said. "Big moves are always scary. I moved across the country, for God's sake. I know exactly what you're going through."

"My eye is twitching," the Muse said.

"You okay?" Miranda asked.

I rubbed a little higher on the Muse's back. "It's nerves. She gets a little twitchy sometimes."

"I should have had more to drink," she said. "That would have put me out."

"Am I doing the right thing?" Miranda asked suddenly. "Should I be moving?"

"Course you should," I said. "You're a big fish in a little pond here, as lame as that sounds. Getting into deeper waters will be a good thing for you."

The Muse grunted into her pillow. "He's right for once. Get out there. Get a Muse of your own. Do something grand with your life."

Miranda's hand found my leg in the dark, and she gave me a little squeeze. "We didn't have sex, you know."

"Don't tell him that," the Muse muttered. "He needs things to dream about."

To Miranda, I said, "I know. It doesn't matter."

"It does matter," she said. "You two might be hiding things from yourselves, but you can't hide it from me. I pay attention."

"What are we hiding?" I asked.

"You know what. You know perfectly well."

I stopped rubbing the Muse's back and held still. "Care to be a little more clear with that? I'm thick sometimes."

"You're not that thick, stupid. Neither are you, Muse, so stop pretending to be asleep."

The Muse snorted. "I'm staying out of this. I'm sleepy."

"All I'm saying," Miranda said, scooting forward to the edge of the bed, "is that you shouldn't waste your lives. You give me advice all the time, and generally it's pretty good. This is me returning the favor."

"Sleep," the Muse grumbled. "Now is the time for all good Muses to get some rest."

Miranda got off the bed, and the Muse rolled back onto her side, pressing against me again. "Just don't miss out," Miranda said. "That's all I'm saying."

"Goodnight," the Muse said. "Pancakes and bacon in the morning."

Miranda slipped back to her bed and got into it. "Goodnight, guys. Sleep well."

The Muse was asleep in minutes. As for me, I lay awake a long time, staring in the dark toward the ceiling.

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