The two of us are quite the pair. I am always amused at how blushy Rebecca gets when I touch her or do something with her. It makes me smile to know that I have someone around like her. We have our differences, and we don't always agree on everything, but that's minor compared to other things. The fact that there is a woman in my life my own height or not, that I can make blush, simply from a touch, means something to me. We just had a moment, she got her attitude back, yet she can still let her face go deep red, when I touch her and lift her onto this stool.

I do as she asks and get the ingredients and spatula. She quiets down and I think I should, too, as I walk back to the refrigerator, a carton of eggs and a few slices of cheese in one hand, and a small, plastic spatula in the other. Our lives can't be constant emotions. That, and the fact that what we're going to do, soon, is something that's not exactly safe. Rebecca's going to be near a burner that is nearly half her own size. I promised her that I wouldn't do everything for her, but that doesn't mean I can't worry for her.

There is a small, cutting board to the right of the stove, and where she's standing. Carefully setting the supplies down, I set everything up, where she can easily reach it, and turn the stove on for her. As I put a pan down, above the warming burner, I see her fidgeting. Her head shivers, as if she just got a cold chill. My attention turns towards her, as I set the spatula down, by the other materials I just brought over. I ask her, calmly, if something's wrong. I get an answer that is to be expected. She violently shakes her head, telling me that she's fine. It was just a cold chill. “Now just get over there!” she says, pointing towards a wall. “Remember! Your job isn't to help me. You can only watch and observe, got it?”

I slowly back up, reluctantly, moving to the wall she suggested I move to. Her right eye is shut, as she reaches for one of the eggs, presumably to put it into the pan. Who shuts their eye like that? It's pointed towards the stove, so maybe the fumes are starting to affect her? Should I do something? No...I shouldn't. If she needs my help, she will ask for it. I'm a very worrisome person. I worry about everything. She's probably just fine. I put both hands behind my back and let them clench onto one another, trying to look as if I'm not worried. I just watch as she puts the egg in both hands and pushes it onto the edge of the pan.

“Unnnf!” she says, assuming I can even call that a word or speech at all. The egg hits the pan, clenched in both of her hands. It looks more like she's trying to break a softball on the pan, rather than an egg. Everything is big to her. Well, I guess I should say it's bigger to her than it would be to me. As the egg hits, nothing seems to happen. I hear the tap as it hits the pan, but it doesn't break anything. I don't see any yolk coming out of it. Her head goes down and looks at it, before she lifts it up again. She doesn't say a word, but it's clear that her first attempt at cracking it failed.

She shoves it down again, making a loud, grunting sound, as if she were trying to push out all of her energy during this action. The egg hits again, but this time she has some success. A clear crack in the egg nearly breaks it in half. One part of the eggshell breaks over the pan, while the other is broken outside of the pan. It moves and she yelps as she tries to hold it up. It's obviously not easy for her. Her arms shift positions, her right arm moving downwards, trying to balance the rest of the egg. She starts to breath more deeply and slowly lifts it up, pouring the rest of the egg into the pan. Then, another problem arises. What will she do with the eggshellr03;?

“T-Trent! The garbage! The garbage, now!” She practically screams at me as she tries to juggle the eggshells in her hands. I can see the yolk seeping down, getting all over her hands. I begin to walk over to her, the door to the waste basket just to the left of her. By the time I get behind the stool, I feel like I'm about to go deaf, her screaming entering my system again. “TRENT! Hurry up! It's getting all over! Just open the door and take this stuff!”

I try to pick up the pace, responding to her rather abrupt and blunt orders. Opening up the door, I pick the eggshells up from her hands and toss them into the waste basket. I smile as I close it back up and look back to her. I kind of expect a thank you, or at least her getting back to work on what she's making. Instead, though, she grabs at my shirt, waving her arms around. “Ew! It's all over me! It's going down my arms! It's going to stain everything! Get it off me! GET IT OFF!” Trying to think quickly, I turn and look for a towel. Unfortunately, I don't see one. This is going to be tricky.

I reach for a nearby drawer and, luckily, find all of my towels. Grabbing one, I put it on her arms and nod to her, telling her to wipe off with it. As she gets it off, she still whines to me, explaining that she can still feel it all over her. What a girl. All of the emotions in the world are right here, in this room. One second, she's loving and affection, then she's bossy, and the next she's freaking out over egg yolk. Who knows what will happen next? I simply pat her shoulder and head back to the wall.

“Don't worry. You're doing just fine. Just finish breakfast and, before we eat, you can get your hands washed or a bath in or something.” As I speak to her, she gives me no response. She just starts going at that egg and pan with the spatula. This is an interesting moment...