At the very first lights passing through the window, she opened her eyes. She checked the clock, still 2 hours for her alarm to ring, but she was too excited to fall to sleep again.
She stood up, people sitting at the table politely moved the chairs to leave her space. She sped up as she went out of the dinner table sight, she closed the door behind her, rolled up her eyes to the wall, to the Greek fret on top of the porcelain tiles, she got to know that series of angles quite well in the last couple of hours – damned Escargot à la Bourguignonne.
He bit his lips.
“I said don’t move!”
“But I’m totally still!”
“No you’re not and for God’s sake stop talking! I am doing the lips now”
He prevented from replying and tried to get back in the exact position as before.
She stood, baffled, in front of the lilac, white, yellow, short, leafy, narrow, wide, flowers bouquet the stands offered, and to such a number of types of flowers different smells spread out from them – but to her they all smelled the same, like disinfected wrinkled skin on hospital beds.
She leaned towards the metallic bowl – silver, no jokes – dried leaves and flowers artificially colored in purple, that was from where the smell came from.
Withstanding the hot stream of water, high pressure, pinching her forehead, a bindi around which her universe was built – momentarily personified by lavender and Waterloo Sunset.
“Sturm und drang”
“Say that again?”
“Sturm und drang. From Klinger”
She posed the pen down on the book to give him full attention.
“Do we have to know that too?”
“Well yes, as the ending act of Neoclassicisim period”
“Jesus, Jesus Christ!” she exploded in a huff, smashing her book on the corner of her desk.