It's Really You

I could only stare at the woman in front of me as we ate. She had fallen out of my television only three hours before. Her hair was pink and her eyes were an endless pool of kindness. She ate gracefully, taking small bites of the salad I had placed in front of her. Her hands fumbled with the leaves as she brought them to her mouth; her fork sat unused next to the bowl. I swirled my reheated soup absentmindedly.

She caught my eye briefly before looking down. "Um. . .Chris?" she asked through her hair.

"Yes?" Every muscle in my body shot to attention.

"Could you explain what happened again? I-I don't mean to bother you, but I'm still confused." she looked up and made eye contact with me. For the first time, she kept my gaze.

"My TV," I pointed to the thing behind me, "was crackling and changing all sorts of colors. Then it acted up, flashed really bight, and you showed up on my floor. . .I'm just as confused as you, Fluttershy." I sipped at a spoonful of chicken flavored broth.

She nodded, chewing on a carrot. She seemed lost in thought.