"Godfrey, isn't it?" Dolorous delivers a straight smile as her hands plunge away from the cookie jar and onto the tea cups to organize them in the just order.

I can't tell if she has blindingly white teeth or if the overhead lamp has created that sort of impression even though her premolars look on place.

"Are you still waiting for Jackie? Then you shouldn't because my mom is interrogating him right now and it might take all night . . well, I say might. But it will take all night."

She chortles again to display her ravished dentures as I throw in the lie in the midst.

"I'm waiting for Mr. Hemphrey. He has an edition of Geography I might need."
 Oh. Then, hand me the tea pot, will you?" Her request comes off more like an order which is seen between two people who are very close and personal with each other.

I carefully acquire the pot with excess caution as I carry it across the room.

This teapot will witness the most exciting series of conversation it has seen this night and I am not preparing to disappoint the promise I stamped on my expectation in the last minute.

'The calm before the storm' is often used by writers and now generally observed in dramatic films and action sequences to suddenly increase the level of excitement in the viewers. I have learnt this from my mother some years ago when she was called for editing a section of "News House" drama.

"You should not raise his expectation like this. And then dump them." I start off with the bounds of cryptic lines in place.

The pen is drafting this scene in my memory right now.

The action button is pressed.

"What?" Her smile fails to flourish this time as it seems fake. "Who are you talking about?"
"Jackie. You should not disappoint him." I pause as I hand her the pot with unbroken gaze exactly at her pupils. They are colored to a symmetrical brown that transforms into a chocolate layer if you stand too closely.

"He is very fragile."

She tempts the moment to answer in the same confused steam but she doesn't because she is sly enough to match up the equation to understand in what sense I am talking about.

"And what makes you think I will?" Her face departs from my direction to the cupboard as I step back in slow paces.

Dolorous might be approximately an inch or two taller than me. I am at a disadvantage.

Posture is a powerful weapon when the result of a successful intimidation hangs in the balance.

"I don't know. He has poor judgement in people."
"So . . . you are trying to say I am the wrong kind of person?"

I fall silent but not on purpose since my brain is being desperately racked to find a proper remark to sound witty enough to push my point across.

"He never talked about you before. That makes me think who you might be."
"And you assumed the worst, straightaway and without knowledge?"

"It's the right thing to do. If you are what I think you are then it's not much of a surprise."

Another abrupt pause rebels its way to produce a hindering number of lumps in my throat.

I am failing to shoot my punchline from my trembling lips.

"And if I do a little of what I said, then it's development, isn't it?"
"Yes."

She has finished putting every bit of glassware back to its original place which is a bad news for me. Her attention is not divided anymore.

"Wow. Jackie was right." The comical simper on her lips has changed its color to a sarcastic tone. "You are the interesting one."
"He tries to be the understanding one but he isn't strong enough to be. You should not believe everything he tells you about everyone. Definitely about some people."
"Like you? Or his parents?"
"Wha . . . well, both."
"I want to ask you how you know about that, Frey . . but the way we are talking, I don't think I want to hear how you know."

I spend a second to examine how brilliantly I have failed to establish my dominance over her through the Universally proven 'Calm before the storm' but now we both are playing the part of surrogate caretakers of Jackie.

"It doesn't matter how we know. I'm guessing your knowledge is from your family rumors since Jackie would never spell it out to anyone."
"He did. To me."
"I don't believe that. But that's not the point. The point is . . things are better off the way they are now with him. You don't have to say things like that out loud."
"So . . what are you trying to say? I should put off his parents topic completely out?"

"And never to speak about it."
"I don't know if you know, but that's not how maturity works."

I am momentarily stumped from realizing the fact that she might not be as simple and filled with the pure love of life as I suspected.

"He doesn't need to be matured . . . I mean he is--"
"I am not going to let him go through it alone. He needs to understand the possibility that his parents might get divorced. Then move on from it. Not live in constant discomfort."
"And you think your 3 day visit will be enough to establish this . . monol . . monoliti . . this big change in his life?"
"So, do tell me what kind of friend you are being. Trying to keep him in the dark. He wrote me about that you guys talk, sometimes with Clay too. I am . . a bit disappointed to be honest."

She jaunts away to the end of the counter and onto the mouth of the doorway since the quivering voice of the parents society is drawing closer.

"I think my expectation for you . . was a bit too high. You might not be as interesting as he says."

There's an inexplicable stab of cramp that corrupts the peace of my mind with no announcement beforehand. The possible explanation might be from her disapproval of my views with the hasty debate I had not planned out to prepare myself.

"And by the way, the words is Monolith."

She exits the kitchen as Mr. Hemphrey enters with his loud, echoing voice and with no guide of basic Geography knowledge in his hand.

The scene is offered to an end as the curtain is slowly drooping down on the sides with a simmering sadness and twinging feeling from what she has said.

Cut!

I withdraw from the kitchen, using the handy backdoor of my shameful escape before Dolorous strikes one last apathetic look at my defeated posture.

The teapot is not the only witness of my failed incursion since Clay is standing near the thin walled window of the kitchen as the white light shoots off on his face.

Where a disapproving look rests easily.