“Maybe some people don’t want to be come closer to,” she says.
They’re on site at dusk. Christelle is perched on a low stone wall—again, legs crossed—reviewing structural notes. Samir sits beside her. Not too close. He uncrosses his own legs (he rarely crosses them at all) and stretches them out. Then he says nothing for a long time.
“I’m doing it,” she agrees.
“What if you uncross them?” he asks. “Just once. Not for me. For you.” -NEW- Christelle Picot Sexy Crossed Legs 190509
“Maybe,” Samir agrees. “And maybe some people are just waiting for someone to sit down beside them anyway.”
She crosses her left leg over her right. A habit so ingrained it feels like posture. Her mother used to say, “Une femme sérieuse garde ses jambes croisées.” A serious woman keeps her legs crossed. Christelle had translated that early on: A safe woman keeps the world at a knee’s length away.
She doesn’t run. She doesn’t close up again. “Maybe some people don’t want to be come
She knows what he means. She pretends not to. “Like what?”
They call it The Uncrossing.
“Tell me.”
She deliberately uncrosses her legs. One knee touches his as he sits beside her. She doesn’t flinch.
One evening, reviewing plans alone in the studio, he asks: “Why do you always sit like that?”