"I built a fort."
"Hmmm?"
"A fort. Maybe more of a clubhouse."
"Yeah?"
"Technically it was a clubhouse, but I treated it like a fort. When I was seven I knew I could go there to get away from all the stresses of life."
"Stresses?"
"Doing chores, my younger sisters, eating a bad dinner. The big issues seven year olds tackle."
"..."
"Maybe," I reached over the table and put my hand over her cell phone, "if you gave me a second?"
"We're still talking forts, right?"
"Yes."
"Then I'm going to keep texting so I don't have to waste my brain powers listening to you."
"Instead I bet you're writing the world's next great novel in those messages, right Steph?" I swiped the phone from her grasp in mid-text. "What have we here? Let's see, 'Alex is mentally strangling me with boring stories'"
Stephanie suppressed a snort, "It's no Shakespeare, but I'm getting there."
"Well, you're a fan of the dramatics, I see. Let me add my own flair." I handed her back her phone.
"'Alex is strangling me.' That's terse writing there, Mr. Hemingway," but Stephanie couldn't hide a genuine smile.
"Back to the fort," I say.
"Tell me more!"
"No. I don't think you get it. I'm saying I need the fort back. I need sanctuary."
"From bad dinners?"
"Worse than that," I reclined my head until I was staring at the ceiling. "I need a fort from this," I waved my hands everywhere. "All this."
"The seven year old's plight replaced by the seventeen year old's?"
I rocked my chair forward, "You were listening!"
"It wasn't rocket science. It's a clubhouse."
My eyes connected with hers. I grabbed \her hands and half-holding, half-tugging
"Hmmm?"
"A fort. Maybe more of a clubhouse."
"Yeah?"
"Technically it was a clubhouse, but I treated it like a fort. When I was seven I knew I could go there to get away from all the stresses of life."
"Stresses?"
"Doing chores, my younger sisters, eating a bad dinner. The big issues seven year olds tackle."
"..."
"Maybe," I reached over the table and put my hand over her cell phone, "if you gave me a second?"
"We're still talking forts, right?"
"Yes."
"Then I'm going to keep texting so I don't have to waste my brain powers listening to you."
"Instead I bet you're writing the world's next great novel in those messages, right Steph?" I swiped the phone from her grasp in mid-text. "What have we here? Let's see, 'Alex is mentally strangling me with boring stories'"
Stephanie suppressed a snort, "It's no Shakespeare, but I'm getting there."
"Well, you're a fan of the dramatics, I see. Let me add my own flair." I handed her back her phone.
"'Alex is strangling me.' That's terse writing there, Mr. Hemingway," but Stephanie couldn't hide a genuine smile.
"Back to the fort," I say.
"Tell me more!"
"No. I don't think you get it. I'm saying I need the fort back. I need sanctuary."
"From bad dinners?"
"Worse than that," I reclined my head until I was staring at the ceiling. "I need a fort from this," I waved my hands everywhere. "All this."
"The seven year old's plight replaced by the seventeen year old's?"
I rocked my chair forward, "You were listening!"
"It wasn't rocket science. It's a clubhouse."
My eyes connected with hers. I grabbed \her hands and half-holding, half-tugging
