three
I poured my second cup of coffee before nine am and settled on the small balcony that overlooked the quaint downtown. I'd rented a tiny, one bedroom along main street in a remodeled Victorian.
Fishing my phone from the pocket of my shorts, I took another sip as I basked in the sparkling summer morning sun and checked my work email. It wasn’t uncommon for students to message me in the wee hours of the morning as they toiled over a paper, all too often looking for extensions, but I was surprised to see an email from Auburn in my inbox. Too curious to even consider waiting, I opened the email with the subject line that read “HELP!”
A long jumble of run-on sentences greeted me. She was on the so-called writer's ledge, I knew that moment – that point in the book where the writer would rather hide under a rock than write another word.
My eyes scanned the text again as I thought of her writing the frantic email at three o'clock in the morning as the timestamp indicated. Smiling, I suddenly found myself thrilled at the thought she was thinking about me in the early morning hours. I wished I could see her in person. I wanted to see the way her dark hair melted to golden brown tips in the sunlight, all wavy and windblown like she spent every day outside. How had I suppressed how much she captured my attention before?
I thought briefly about emailing her back and offering to meet her for coffee to hash things out, but then thought better of it. I had to be cognizant of the position a friendship with her put me in…us in. An ultimately impossible one.
Calm down. Remember what we talked about? Write about LIFE, in particular how life FEELS.
I hit send and before I’d read through the entirety of the next email on my list, my inbox chimed.
I can’t. Please, I need help. I have nothing. Inspire me.
Inspire me. Jesus Christ, what did she mean? My fingers twitched as I wrote back the one question that wouldn’t stop rattling around in my brain.
How can I inspire you?
I rubbed my fingertips together, my breaths shallow and distracted as I waited for her response. I didn’t have to wait long.
Give me anything.
“Anything?” I mumbled aloud, setting my phone on my knee as I considered her words. I sat like that for five minutes, her name staring out at me like a beacon when it dawned on me that she should not be emailing me at my school address. Not that anything incriminating had been said, but the innuendo that bounced between us was nearly impossible to deny.
Before I could think twice, I sent her a quick reply.
Email me here —
[email protected]
And I waited. I distractedly scanned my other emails, checked the morning's headlines, before giving up and stumbling in for my third and final cup of coffee. In my defense, they were small mugs, at least that's what I told my doctor. I settled at the desk tucked into the corner of my small living room, when my phone vibrated with a new email. Curious, I opened the app for my personal email on my phone and found the message I'd been hoping for.
This is me emailing you here.
I grinned as I read her reply. I was becoming addicted to her words, she'd always had a playful sarcasm about her, a smart mouth and even smarter mind behind it. I couldn't wait to see her again.
Perfect. Are you busy tonight?
I typed before I could think and immediately hit send. Then I took a moment to process the possible disastrous implications of those words.
***
“I have to say, I'm a little worried about what it says about my moral compass meeting you out here all alone.” Her amused voice carried on the breeze as she approached. I turned to take her in. Just before sunset on the lake was a sight to behold, but seeing it shine off her rich hair and coppery skin sucked the air from my lungs.
I'd made quick work of securing the old rowboat I rarely used anymore to the top of the Blazer and met her out here at Stony Point. “Smart girl. Safety first.” I lifted my lips in a crooked grin. “Step in.” I stretched a hand out to her. One eyebrow rose for a millisecond when she stepped to me, lifted one foot and then the other foot behind her, and carefully took off each of her beat up Chucks before her long leg stretched past me and into the precariously balanced rowboat.
“Can I trust you?” she whispered breathlessly as she stood beside me, our hands still clasped, the breeze lifting her hair and trailing it across the rough stubble of my jawline. She smelled like cherry blossoms after a soft spring rain laced with notes of honeysuckle and lavender. My eyes drifted closed as I inhaled and relished in a scent so uniquely hers, so tied to my memory of her that it transported me to some safe place under the veil of a star-crossed sky where pain and heartache didn't exist.
“With my life,” I murmured, drunk on her proximity, my heart beating so fucking loudly I swore she could hear it in the inches that separated us. My eyes zeroed in on her slightly parted lips, a strand of errant hair falling across her neck and teasing at her collarbone. She finally smiled and released my hand, her other foot planting itself inside the boat.