"Synapse" - 3

“Fidelio,” said the metallic female voice from the small, plastic machine.

I pushed NEXT. “Fidelio.” NEXT again. “Fidelio.” Again. “Fidelio.” Fidelio. Fidelio. Fidelio….

“Fidelio.” That one came from behind me, and the female voice was anything but metallic.

I turned towards the kitchen. My blonde friend was leaning against the door frame, my bathrobe barely closing about her shoulders.

“Who’s Fidelio?”

I grabbed the tumbler and headed back to the kitchen. “It’s an opera by Beethoven,” I answered.

She glanced at the empty tumbler. “Are you going to make me breakfast, too?”

Some in my profession have a fancy bar with lots of bottles. I have a shelf in a kitchen cabinet. I opened it and glanced back at her.

“Eggs or pancakes?” I asked. She came up behind me and hugged my waist.

“Waffles.”

I grabbed a bottle of Barclay’s, poured her three fingers, myself five. We downed our morning meal in one breath.

“Get dressed,” I told her. “You need to leave.”

I headed to the shower to establish a more elevated sense of consciousness. When I had finished she was gone.