43

 “What did you think of him?”

The question cuts through the fog of my daydream, jarring me back to reality. “Think of him?” I asked clearing my brain of the haze. 

She scoffs, rolling her eyes at me and spelling it out, “YES, What. Did. You. Think. Of. Him?” 

My mind pulls toward the far more delightful corners of my imagination which had set me on a beautiful day dream far away from here. I want to tell her that I was too busy thinking about what it would be like to wake up with the ability to fly and venture across the globe at a moments notice. I was thinking about my dream bookstore-coffee shop, complete with a spiral staircase, sliding latter, large comfy sofas, and more outlets than you could ever need. Actually, in that moment, my brain was on a beautiful adventure through the streets of Cusco, on a quest to find a mystery weaver that had created a magical yarn. Not just any yarn, but one that would allow any wearer of the sweaters it knitted to transport into other realms… 

But, I don’t tell her any of that. Instead I say, “what did I think of him..? I didn’t.”