The Sara Pattern
I'm tracing a pattern in my notebook that looks something like this:
She looks over my shoulder and sees the pattern. Whispering so as to not disturb the professor, she asks, "What is that?"
"Oh, it's just this old habit I have."
She looks extremely puzzled. "Habits are tapping your fingers on the table or biting your nails. Tracing a pattern over and over is just bordering on obsessive compulsive."
I'd forgotten she mentioned she loves psychology.
"Well," I'm stumbling into this awkward conversation. "It's something I started with one of my ex girlfriends. It's like... well give me your hand."
She sticks her left hand tentatively toward me. I chuckle.
"No, your right hand."
She has to turn her seat to face me and places her hand in mine.
"You see, the shape is this:" I curl her fingertips, palm down against mine. With my thumb, I start at her index fingernail, trace up to the first knuckle, then over to the first knuckle of her middle finger, down to the nail, over to the ring finger, up to the knuckle, over to the little finger, then up and across all of the second knuckles back to the index finger.
"That's the pattern," I reveal.
She asks, "Where in the world did you come up with that?"
"One time we were watching a movie and she fell asleep. While she was sleeping in my arms, the only real comforting thing I could do was that pattern on her hand."
"Hmm."
She turns and starts to stare at a point on the blackboard. I worry that she's slowly painting me as more and more of a creepy stalker psycho. She doesn't stop staring at the wall, but leans close to me.
"What was your girlfriend's name?"
The question stuns me for a second. I finally reply, "Sara."
She sits straight back up in her chair.
"The Sara Pattern," she whispers confidently.