A cold wind blew against the two dainty figures as they hurried out of the subway station, ascending dirtied concrete stairs until they reached the surface. The sidewalk was full of pedestrians, all of whom looked as though they worked in some very official, very important place. Sam and Delilah stuck out from the masses, each dressed in their own, casual manner and not at all mingling with the business-suit clad masses.
Months passed by quickly in the two room apartment. As different as the girls were from one another, they had grown close. Where Sam’s jogging routine had once seemed laughable to Delilah, she now encouraged her roommate or even accompanied her on occasion. On the same note, Sam had dismissed her initial dislike for Delilah’s particular sense of fashion and even let the eccentric red-head advise her on their rare (but all the more enjoyable) shopping tours.
Dry, brown leaves cracked beneath their boots as they hurried to their destination; an art gallery in the middle of the city. Both the girls were interested in art. Sam studied Art History as a major and Delilah had a blatant love for anything provocative or emotional. Therefore, the new gallery seemed like the person place for an outing. Given the mass of exams the last few weeks, they hadn’t actually had a chance to spend much time together, despite sharing the cramped apartment.
“And then I told that idiot to get out of my face. Can you believe him? I mean, it was just once, right?”
Coffee-to-go in one hand and cigarette in the other, Delilah looked like the type of girl that was always on the run. Upon first glance, she was a busy and important student. In truth, Samantha knew that she hardly went to her seminars and went out nearly every night. Though she had been greatly bothered by the constant visits from various man and women of every imaginable age group, Sam had learned to deal with it. When such visits did occur, she simply put on headphones to block out any obscene sounds or went outside to phone her boyfriend.
“Oh… No way. What a dork.” She hesitantly agreed, shrugging her shoulders half-heartedly. It was always easier to simply fake a smile and pretend, when it came to Delilah’s precarious lifestyle. She wasn’t in any position to criticize her roommate and avoiding confrontation just seemed like the most intelligent way to go about things. Content with the notion that her companion accepted her agreeing statement, Sam directed her attention to the large building ahead- the gallery.
Delilah stubbed her cigarette out on a nearby trashcan and tossed away her half-empty coffee, shrugging at the apparent idiocy of her one-night-stand. The two girls hurried inside the towering structure before them in order to escape the biting cold. Surprisingly, there weren’t all too many people wandering the spacious halls, which left the students with their much needed privacy. After hanging their thick coats in the wardrobe (both of which were a tad thin for late autumn but served more as a fashion statement than warmth), they set out to soak up as much culture as possible before the place closed.
After nearly two hours, they had skimmed over every last painting, sculpture and scribble. Delilah found herself sitting in a tiny, dark room that was sparsely furnished with a single cushioned bench. Tightly surrounded by black walls, she sat beside Sam. The two bathed in the glow of the movie projection on the front wall, only half-paying attention and half-resting from scurrying around. The film was in black and white, spoken in French with English subtitles, and portrayed the odd mating habits of various animals, such as sea horses or octopi. It was more of a documentary and hardly had anything to do with ‘art’, as far as Delilah was concerned. Still, she was captivated by the abnormality of seeing an octopus mate by sticking a special tentacle into a female octopus’ respiratory tube.
When that segment was over and the mating of jellyfish was shown, her thoughts drifted even further away from the actual movie. Since the dawn of time, people had contemplated over the terms ‘normality’ and ‘love’. Her lifestyle and perspective of ‘love’ wasn’t exactly ‘normal’ either, albeit more orthodox than poking her tentacle in her partner’s respiratory tube or laying her eggs in a male’s pouch.
On that notion, her gaze shifted to Sam, who sat to her right and appeared to be captivated by the jellyfish dancing on screen. Her radiant blue eyes reflected the creatures, serving as shimmering, curved mirrors. Delilah felt her heart throb within her chest, threatening to burst out of her body at any given second. Her own eyes jumped all over her companion’s face, tracing every shadow that was cast in the dim lighting. Every word spoken on screen seemed to slow down, drowning out until Delilah could hear nothing but Sam’s breathing and heartbeat.
Slowly, she shifted. Slender fingers glided over the smooth surface of the bench beneath them, until certain warmth crept over her skin. In the darkness, she had inched over until her fingertips just barely grazed the back of Sam’s hand. Delilah felt her mouth go impossibly dry, rendered utterly helpless by something that was, in any case, completely juvenile and meaningless.
Still, Sam didn’t pull her hand away.
