“You don’t even know what a pair of crossed keys mean, do you?” He held up my glass of rum and swung it gently before me.
“I know a few interpretations, but they are other people’s words. I don’t understand them.” I knew better than to take the glass away. I would wait for him to place it back, if he places it back at all.
“What other things have you crossed, girl?” He smelled the warmed contents with deliberate movement.
“I’ve crossed streams, and crossed water. I’ve crossed myself, and crossed preachers. I’ve crossed fingers, and crossed the street.” My mask of decorum slipped, just long enough for me to singsong, “But I’ve never crossed you.”
His gaiety froze in place. I could feel the temperature in the room drop to match his sudden disposition.
“Girl, surely you’re not planning to do so. I forgave your audaciousness that first time. I may not be so kind to forgive another.” He emptied my glass with determination, and placed the suddenly dry vessel upside down before me. “Never mind what that fiery bastard may have told you. You do have limits.”
I realize I needed to hear him say that. I needed the boundaries confirmed. My decorum regrasped, I nodded in agreement. “Aye. I do. I’ve learned a little since that audacious day. I hope to learn more. And I hope never to cross you, intentionally.”
A flash of mirth sweeps his face only to be quickly hidden once more by elder severity. “Intentionally?”
I remain polite, but I can’t hide my mischievous grin. “How many times, have I willfully turned left, just in this week alone?”
He laughs. A deep, throaty, chest filling laughter. “You keep turning left, girl, and you’ll forget how to turn right.”
I looked down at the upside down glass, wondering if this too, was part of the whimsy. I whispered, barely enough for me to hear, “Sometimes, I wonder if I ever was able to ‘turn right’.”.
I felt the room shift around me, and knew the whimsy had passed. I looked up, to find my guest was gone. The room was empty save for me, the way it was when the whimsy started. I looked down to where he had placed the glass, and stared at an empty desk. That too, was whimsy.
I sat in the empty room for a moment, then loudly exclaimed, “What the flying fuck was that all about? I really need to stop sleeping with my eyes open.”