An Imaginary Story: still continued

     So a few extra people were hired at the place where I work.  This means I get one day off a week.  The day is subject to change, of course, but still--one day is good.  This day--whichever day of the week it happens to be--has become my "open door" day.  Well, "open door" morning, rather.  I don't spend my only free day walled up in my apartment.  At least not every free day--I do love to take rambles about town or go to the markets.

     I've become braver as I grow accustomed to the openness and vulnerability that follows from such open doored living.  My wardrobe has become more varied and interesting, depending on my moods.  My cooking more enticing and delectable.  I mean, after all--I don't want my neighbour smelling eggs week after week....  It's led me to discover new musical tastes.  It has been a very interesting experience.

     And he and I have become better acquainted.  We have grown from friendly nods and waves to short hellos and small bits of conversation.  Last week I asked him what he was reading.  I thought about the idea of asking him a question for a while.  Mulled the idea over in my head.  Decided no.  Maybe sometime.  Not now.  Later.  (It's always later with me.)  But the words sprang out anyway.  They felt awkward in my throat.  Bubbling up.  Uncontrolled.  Some deep seated, subconscious something had flung the words from my stomach.  And as the words tumbled from my mouth, I thought to myself how very brave I'd grown.  But at the same time, I panicked.  Why!  Why am I set on mortifying myself like this!  However, to my surprise, the question didn't sound awkward.  It was friendly.  Not at all how I had expected myself to sound saying anything more than polite niceties.  I thought I would sound big and all full of corners.  The voice unwelcome in the sound of the music entwined between our two hovels.  But it didn't.  It sounded pleasant.  My voice wasn't square, but more like a wave.  And as I sounded forth my question, which had fought its way out of me so valiantly, I was pleased.  And he has such a pleasant voice.  Not  soft or anything.  But pleasant. Warm.  Kind of raspy, but not gravely.  Undeniable a man's voice--but not pretentious.  I like it.  He's a very appealing man.  I don't really remember what he answered.  I was too caught up in my small accomplishment.  So I smiled at his voice as he answered.  And as I grew red, realizing I had no idea what he said, just turned around, hoping I didn't seem too ditzy or rude.