Memories

In the confines of their home, Bette laid her head on Tina’s lap and opened the Art & Design section of the New York Times. Tina adjusted her position on the couch and tucked her book between her leg and arm rest. She combed her fingers through Bette’s hair and began to twirl strands of hair between her fingers.

“Mmmm, that feels nice.” Bette purred as she placed the newspaper on her chest and closed her eyes.

Tina leaned down and kissed Bette on the forehead.

“T?”

“Yes, babe.” Tina leaned back on the couch.

“Tell me a story.”

“What kind of story?” Tina asked as she continued to twirl the strands of hair.

“I don’t know. You’re the one who works in film. There must be a lot of stories to tell.”

“Okay, let me think.” Tina closed her eyes.

“I know. Tell me the story about how you got this scar on your knee.” Bette turned slightly and began to trace the faint line on Tina’s knee. The scar was barely visible, but Bette knew it was there.

“How do you know I have a scar there?” Tina stopped twirling Bette’s hair and looked down at her.

“I know every mark on your body, baby.” Bette turned and kissed the scar on Tina’s knee.

“Is that so?” Tina questioned.

“That is so.” Bette, smiling, looked up at Tina.  “Now, tell me the story.” Bette turned and settled back on the couch and waited for Tina to begin.

“Let’s see. I barely remember. I can only go by what my mom said. It was the summer when I was five and we had been vacationing at Cape Hatteras. My said I was playing near the jetty and fell and cut my knee on the rocks.”

“That’s it?” Bette asked.

“No. There’s more.” Tina closed her eyes and began to play with Bette’s hair. “Let me see…now I remember. There was this girl I used to play with. She was older than me. I think she was six. She was so pretty. She had long dark brown hair. I wanted her hair. My mom always kept my hair short because I couldn’t be bothered with it. Anyway, we became friends, best friends.”