We Are The Jetsons

I sat with my finger nails pressed firmly between my teeth as I read through the current chapter of the book in hand. It was intense and I couldn’t figure out what the author was going to do next, both a wonderful yet annoying feature of this particular writer. While I loved the joy of being surprised, I squirmed in anticipation to know what would happen next.

I silently bit down on my nails and thumbed to the next page with my free hand, my eyes scanning to the top and finding my place with ease. Reading was a pastime I enjoyed thoroughly and books to me were collectors pieces. My bookshelves were packed with the books I’d read, standing like figurines in a shrine to all things literary. A shrine I revised often, adding new pieces and reverently returning to those I’ve finished only to read again.

I kept on, my right leg dangling from the couch with my left foot tucked underneath my thigh. And there, on top of his thigh rested my left knee, the single point of contact between us as we read next to each other.

Plock-plock went his stylus as he flipped through articles on his ereader. He was quiet, his head down and his eye flickering across the illuminated screen in his hands, picking up information about new gadgets or reading his own books there in the black type of the computer aged book.

Without warning, a small snort issued from my nose. It surprised me as much as it did him, causing him to look up at me with a question. I smiled and giggled.

“What?” he asked.

Shaking my head, I chuckled slightly and leaned my head back against the couch.

“Nothing, I just had a funny thought,” I responded.

Shifting beneath my knee, he kicked his legs up onto the couch and turned to face me, curiosity winning him over. His dark eyes rested on my face as he brought his head to rest upon his fist.

“No seriously, what’s so funny? And you can’t say nothing.”

I smiled back, biting my bottom lip, knowing that what I thought was silly and slightly stupid. Sharing with it him will only be a disappointment when he realizes it was nothing but a passing thought.

Looking down at my book, I placed my finger between the pages. Closing it gently I smiled to myself. Who could resist that look on his face?

“I was just thinking that we are really in the future now.”

A wave of confusion washed over his handsome features and he crinkled his brow at me.

“What do you mean?”

I laughed again.

“Well,” I started. “Here you are with a ereader in your hands and you flick through the pages like it’s a book.”

“And…?” he asked, trying to see my point before I made it.

“Well, we are the future. I mean, hell, you are reading articles and books via a screen with a pen that turns the pages. We’re practically the fucking Jetsons. All we need now is teleportation and a flying car.”

Me smiled at me the way my parents did when I told them a monster was under the bed and I loved him for it. I loved him for his ability to accept me, my weirdness and my weirdness’ weirdness.

He patted my leg and turned back to his reading, shaking his head and sighing.

Opening my book again, I turned to the sentence I’d left off on and started to read again, smiling at the thought of us reading next to each other on that couch, knees touching, for years to come.

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