#davis mitchell

“What do we do with a couch like this?” Davis looked at you with a small grin on his bearded face. He pointed his index fingers down at the couch while he sank further into the cushions.

Your first instinct was to say to buy a new one. And your instinct was not wrong, the couch had seen better days. The seats were worn out, torn at the seams. It got bumps in some places from when you had struggled to carry it in the living room. It could benefit from never carrying the weight of your world again and passing along this responsibility to a fresher, newer couch. Despite all of those thoughts running through your head, you did not speak. You watched. You watched Davis while he pulled the couch apart.

He plopped the decorative pillows and blankets on the floor. He dragged the couch away from the wall and grunted while he flipped it so that the back rest now created a roof. He used the big seat cushions as walls on each side and he surprised himself, realizing that it seemed sturdy enough to keep this shape.

You watched him demolish and build anew. It was not the first time that he transformed your living room in a pillow fort, but there was something different about the way he built it, like he was putting his heart into it. There was something different about him, period. With that thought lingering at the back of your mind, you tried to intervene. He turned down every single offer of help that you made and he insisted that he could do it alone.

“It’s your birthday." Davis simply answered, as if this specific date on the calendar prevented you from doing anything at all. Even when you two were baking a box cake mix together an hour ago, he only let you preheat the oven. He did the rest all on his own. Well, he tried to. The last time he had attempted to make a cake this way, it was with his mom years and years ago. He murmured under his breath that it wasn’t considered fancy enough so he stopped having them.

The idea sparked in his mind when you told him that you did not have anything planned for your birthday. He showed up, dressed in baggy pants and suspenders, with the box of overpriced chocolate cake he somehow found at a gas station that carried some groceries, for emergencies and last minute plans. You were lucky that it had not expired already.

Davis insisted that birthdays required a cake. So he got to work. Davis insisted that he must prepare it for you, so he did. He wanted to give you this special attention. This special attention came with the secret term and condition that he must eat the batter straight from the spatula until the oven beeped, announcing it was ready. You did not quite have a cake anymore, the mould was half empty (”Half full,” Davis rectified).

It was the thought that counted. And you definitely appreciated Davis’ thoughtfulness. You laughed when he told you he did not care about the stains of batter on his clothes, the army surplus had many more he could buy. You wiped the dishes dry after he washed them, laughing again at how he was making a mess of soapy water everywhere. It was not the cake that held sentimental value, it was the moment you were sharing together.

“Your castle is waiting for you, milady.” The upper half of Davis’ body peeked out of the pillow fort. Somehow he had found a flashlight in your living room and he used it to light up the inside of the fort. A wide smile, from ear to ear, greeted you when you walked across the living room and got on all fours to crawl into the mountain of cushions and pillows.

Before you crawled, you handed the plate of leftover cake to Davis so you both could have a snack in the cozy fort. You took a bite as soon as you were settled in. Soon enough the air was getting warm under the blankets and you took off the cardigan you were wearing.

Davis grabbed it and set it aside for you. He looked at you, still smiling wide. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you.” You pushed the plate of cake in his direction. He made the last few bites of the chocolate dessert disappear. It caused him to giggle at himself and the happy sound of his boyish laugh made you smile back at him. “It’s been a very happy birthday with you.”

Silence crept between the two of you. He was not a very talkative man, for the most part, and it was hard to come up with a conversation topic a lot of the time. You were learning to welcome the silences. And you were also learning to accept the more random conversations, the wild thoughts that ran through Davis’ mind and that he spoke out loud, half intentionally and half accidentally. “I like this couch.”

You chuckled and nodded slowly. “You do?” You encouraged him to keep talking.

“Yeah. It’s... You know, it’s comfortable. It makes the room comfortable.” He fidgeted with the spoon in his hands. He was sitting, cross-legged, with his back making a bow. It would probably hurt tomorrow. But tomorrow was another day, another set of problems. There was no problem in this moment, with you. “I hated my house. It was just shiny stuff.” 

His eyebrows arched on his forehead, creating wrinkles that you found yourself thinking of kissing.

“I love your house. It’s just full of you.” He shrugged. “You’re everywhere in this house. I like that. That’s where I want to be.”

“I’m happy you feel like this. Thank you for telling me, Davis.”

“You’re welcome.” He gave you a corner smile and brought a hand to his head. He quickly scratched his scalp and knocked his knuckles on his forehead. It looked as though he was holding himself back, or that he was getting lost in his thoughts.

You couldn’t tell. You offered silence instead as you watched him.

You watched him switch positions from sitting to laying down. “Do you want to do something tomorrow?” He marked a pause. “Together?”

The question surprised you. He did not make plans, usually. He was more of a show up at your door, ringing the doorbell and hang out until his social battery died kind of guy. You knew that about him, only you had always wondered why he would hang out for a longer period of time with you than with anyone else. “I’d love that.”

The flashlight flickered a little bit. His eyelids were getting heavy. “I’d love that too.”

“Good.” You looked at him, your eyes squinting while trying to read what was going on behind those blue eyes.

Davis’ legs were sticking out of the fort, uncovered and exposed to the much cooler air of the room. He rested his head on your bunched up cardigan and he laid on his side, watching you watching him.

“You look tired.” You smiled faintly, he yawned as you spoke.

“Is it midnight yet?” He was not used to staying up late. He got better at it than before, but his body woke up ridiculously early every day like clock work. When you shook your head no, having quickly peeked out of the pillow fort to look at the clock on the wall, he took a deep breath. “I want to be with you until the end of the day.”

You smiled again, this time wider. You decided to lay down next to him. Your faces and bodies were close, but there was a comfortable distance. “You know…” Davis’ big puppy eyes stared at you. “Sometimes I wonder what’s going on in your head.”

Your eyes were met with Davis’ usual blank stare, one that left you perpetually perplexed. It seemed as though there were a million thoughts running through his head but also none at the same time. He took another deep breath. His eyes looked at yours, then looked at the rest of your face and down to your lips. He did not respond with words, but he still gave you a surprising answer.

Your eyes widened from the surprise when you saw him moving closer to you. He got closer and closer, slowly and tentatively.

Davis erased the distance between the two of you and kissed you, gently and tenderly. His lips moved slowly against yours while he made the kiss last for several seconds. His heart was racing, and so was yours. He pulled away and studied your face briefly.

You thought he was afraid of your reaction, when he buried his face in your neck without waiting for you to say or do something. You could not be more wrong.

He kept his face there, hidden in your neck. The smell of the perfume on your skin, the scent of your baking shenanigans on your clothes, the warmth of your body as well as the familiar feeling of your embrace when you wrapped your arms around him… It made him feel safe, it made him feel good. So good that his body relaxed in your arms. Soon enough, you realized, by the way his breathing slowed down and by the faint snoring noises that he made, that Davis had fallen asleep on you.

You relaxed too. Your hands started to stroke his back until you stopped, feeling the urge to hold him close and tight against your body. You looked up to the blankets draped over the couch above you. One sudden move and it could all fall apart. It was a good metaphor for your birthday. One sudden thought and you would spiral away. However, if you stayed right here and there in this moment, this simple yet agreeable birthday celebration would carry on.

Davis did not tell you what was going on in his head nor did he tell you, in full honesty, what he truly and genuinely cared about when you asked him earlier. You dropped the question like a bomb while he was mixing the ingredients of the cake. He told you that the last time he truly cared about something, it went all the way back to when he was a kid and he wanted to run faster than his peers. You could tell this was not the truth, but you let it slide. There would be another time to ask this question, and hopefully another time to kiss again. He let the kiss, this shy yet meaningful peck on your lips, speak for himself. 

Au moment où je vous écris, je suis toujours assis sur le même siège, celui en face du distributeur numéro 714 à l’hôpital St Andreas, au second étage. La première fois que j’ai utilisé ce distributeur il n’a pas non plus fonctionné, tout comme vous j’avais demandé un paquet de friandises sucrées mais le sachet est resté bloqué. À ce moment j’avais vraiment envie d’un paquet de M&M'S, sûrement autant que vous pour votre kitkat, mais ce distributeur n’a pas voulu faire son travail. J’avais très faim, et aussi ma femme venait de mourir, peut-être que vous aussi vous aviez très faim.

Sur vos manches il y avait du sang séché et même si ce n’est pas quelque chose d’anormal dans un hôpital, ça m’a interpelé. Vous aviez un air confus sur le visage et vos lèvres étaient rouges, vos dents n'arrêtaient pas de les mordre. C’est dommage car je pense que vos lèvres sont très douces, enfin ce n’est que de l’observation. Vous n’aviez aucunes affaires à part un peu de monnaie dans votre poche gauche alors je pense que votre accident était soudain, comme la plupart des accidents. Ma femme s’est pris une voiture à 90km/h, c’était soudain pour elle, alors que moi j’ai eu une demie seconde pour voir cette voiture arriver. Comme vous, en allant au distributeur je n’avais pas d’affaires, tout avait brûlé lors de l’accident, mais j’avais encore trois pièces au fond d’une poche presque trouée. Moi aussi j’avais du sang sur mes vêtements, mais pas autant que vous, et moi il n’était pas sec. Je l’ai remarqué en marchant dans le couloir, mes chaussures laissaient de très légères marques rouges au sol, avant je n’aurais pas remarqué ce détail, j’étais du genre à ne pas faire attention aux choses. Avant de mourir ma femme m’a dit ‘pas ta chaise pas ton problème’ et elle avait raison. J’espère que le sang sur vos manches n’était pas celui de quelqu’un que vous aimiez, car j’ai retiré celui de ma femme en crachant sur ma chaussure, et maintenant je me rend compte comme il était précieux.

Lorsque je vous ai dit que le distributeur appartenait à une compagnie privée et que l’on ne pouvait donc pas l'ouvrir pour récupérer notre nourriture, vous avez sursauté. Pourtant les femmes avec qui j’ai couché m'ont toujours dit que ma voix était douce, mais peut-être que vous étiez simplement dans vos pensées. Vous m’avez regardé en fronçant les sourcils et vos lèvres déchirées se sont ouvertes mais vous n’avez pas parlé. J’ai expliqué que pour moi aussi le paquet s’était coincé dans l’appareil et vous avez regardé le kitkat immobile dans la machine. Moi j’ai regardé vos cheveux courts et marrons en me disant qu’ils étaient pleins de poussières et ça m’a fait pensé aux pissenlits gris qui s’envolent lorsque l’on souffle dedans.

Depuis la mort de ma femme il y a un an, je parle beaucoup aux inconnus, alors je vous ai parlé, même si vos yeux restaient bloqués sur ce kitkat inerte.

J’ai expliqué que je venais ici pour chercher des papiers appartenant à ma belle-mère car elle avait fait une visite de contrôle dans cet hôpital. J’ai dit que depuis la mort de Julia elle perdait peu à peu la tête mais qu’elle restait quelqu’un d’important pour moi. J’ai même ri en imaginant la tête de Margot, ma belle-mère, si elle me voyait parler à quelqu’un comme vous. Margot et Phil sont très fortunés et ils ont leurs petites manières, surtout Margot, alors si elle m’avait vu parler à une personne couverte de sang qui fixait un point imaginaire, elle aurait certainement poussé un de ses minis cris qui font mal aux oreilles. Mais moi je ne suis pas comme ça, enfin je ne le suis plus, et le sang sur vos joues ne m’a pas déranger.

Mais lorsque la porte d’accueil s’est ouverte et que l’air frais est rentré, vous vous êtes comme réveillé. Vos yeux noisettes m’ont regardé pendant trois secondes, j’ai compté, et vous êtes parti.

Je n’ai jamais été attiré par les hommes mais j’y ai pensé après la mort de Julia. Lorsque je vous parlais, j’essayais de dessiner vos traits dans mon esprit et c’était une tâche compliquée car je ne sais pas dessiner. Mais je sais que votre visage est petit, tout comme vous, que vos joues semblent être agréables à mordiller et que vos cils sont aussi noirs que longs. Aussi, quelque chose m’a interpelé en regardant votre profil, vous avez deux fossettes vers les pommettes, comme deux petites ombres posées dans votre peau ou le début de pommettes saillantes. Je n’avais jamais vu ce genre de caractéristiques chez une femme auparavant et c’est pour cela que je vous ai mieux regardé. Pardonnez-moi, mais j’ai commencé par analyser votre buste et il était semblable au mien. Au vu de votre pantalon large je n’aurais pas pu deviner si plus bas le constat était le même alors je n’ai pas essayé. J’ai observé votre cou et aucune pomme d’Adam n’était spécialement visible. Alors j’ai encore une fois regardé ces petites fossettes et j’ai souris car elles vous vont merveilleusement bien.

Je ne savais pas votre nom, il aurait pu m’être utile pour comprendre, et vous ne m’avez pas non plus parlé avec des mots que les tympans peuvent comprendre.

Au moment où j’écris ces mots je suis maintenant dans ma voiture et je suis passé par l’accueil pour savoir votre nom. Ils me l’ont donné mais je ne l’écrirais pas ici car vous et moi le savons déjà, et si un jour quelqu’un d’autre venait à lire mes lettres, j’aimerais que cette personne imagine un prénom pour la description que j’aurais fait de vous.

J’espère vous revoir et obtenir votre accord pour que l’on se tutoie.

Oh et ils se trouvent que les employés à l’accueil devraient être licenciés car ils m’ont aussi donné votre adresse.

- En espérant que ma lettre dérangera votre vie

Davis C. Mitchell ”

image by me