I had come over with the intent to help her. Comfort, relate, commiserate…but things took a turn. She told me to let myself in, I poked around her apartment living room and kitchen, but soon realized she could only be in her room. I turned back to leave my shoes at the door, then walked into her room.
There she was sitting up at the head of the bed, comfily propped by some pillows, her red hair draped around her pale shoulders, her legs spread, bent under her blanket.
We talked for a while, about the hardships of life, difficulty of friends and family, and how to pick ourselves up when we were down.
Our talk was winding down, we were both getting very comfortable with one another, I was at the foot of her bed at first, but had worked my way up to sitting right by where her feet were under the covers.
As our conversation inched towards goodbyes, each phrase she let her comforter slip, just a little. First off of one knee, then she slyly pulled it across her body and let it fall off of her other knee. I could see now why she was perched that way at the head of the bed.