Danglingly

'What do you do?' 

she asked very directly.

A moment of silence fell between us.

I struggled – embarrassed.

It came out danglingly on the tip of my tongue

 – my confession.

She smiles. 

She understood.

I was suddenly very shy.

There was a sense of magic in the air.

But this is not about me,

it is about her.

An unexpected generosity bubbled in her words as she spoke with a down-to-earth,

getting-to-the-point, putting-it-down-on-paper sort of way.

It reflected itself in every tiny detail of the room.

Nothing was out of place.

'I'm glad you told me,' she said.

'I didn't want to.'

'Why not?'

'Because it might have gotten in the way.'

'Well I'm glad that you did.

Look where it has taken us.'

It is that conversational thing

that I wanted to avoid.

Better to ask the questions and listen to the answers

than to volunteer one's self as a sacrifice on a first visit.

Tactics, we all use them,

but she was one ahead of me.

I fell at the first hurdle.