Cole and Angie (working title)

“You want pizza or Chinese or you cookin’?” Cole asked Angie as she sat on the living room couch staring out the window. He had his hand on the door with his coat already on.

“It don’t matter.”

“Well what you want for your birthday, do that don’t matter too?”

“I want some of those big bumble bee sunglass they got at the Chevron on the corner.” She said and then turned her face to him.

Cole didn’t know if she was taunting him again or not. She couldn’t have been. She knew better, he thought. “You already got sunglasses. Got plenty sunglasses.”

“Can’t wear those. They don’t fit.” Angie replied shortly.

“How glasses don’t fit?” Cole snapped and took his hand off the door and started moving slowly toward her. She remained quiet. Maybe it was too soon, she thought. She kept her eyes on his hands as he approached. She counted his steps. Counting always slowed her mind. She had counted his blinks, snore patterns, times in an hour he said fuck, how and how many times he said pussy when he had sex on her. Now she counted steps. By ten he was at her face lifting her chin with his forefinger and thumb.

“We goin’ over to your mama’s house today for Trina party right?”

“Color frames you want?”

“Not black.”