In Between the Earth and Sky
Page 1
In Between the
Earth and Sky
© 2017 Heidi Hutchinson
Smashwords Edition
In Between the Earth and Sky
© 2017 Heidi Hutchinson
All Rights Reserved
Book Design: Heid Hutchinson
Cover Design: Heidi Hutchinson
Front Cover Photography: Wander Aguiar
Front Cover Model: Zack Salaun
Back Cover: Stock photo purchased from Adobe Stock
Editor: Jo Evans
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
To Zack
Traveling with you made me feel really special.
I love you an appropriate amount.
Foreword
Have you ever met someone and stayed completely in the moment? Both of you spending time together, not prying into each other’s pasts, just being present and genuine?
It’s a curious thing to grow to know someone entirely on how they behave and interact with others. In a way, you know nothing about them, but at the same time you comprehend absolutely everything necessary to understand their character and predict their choices as if they were a life-long friend, because they are; you can see all of them. Their history doesn’t matter, it would only bring into play your prejudices and taint your relationships with someone you have grown to know as your friend, or lover. Over a long enough time, if both parties are open to letting the other in behind their walls, this beautiful thing can happen. We can see someone as they are, not as we perceive them to be.
Of course there are risks in allowing this to happen, but you have known someone like this; we all have. Maybe a friend, possibly a lover, who you knew for a short amount of time, but bonded with so completely that you felt as though you could give all of yourself, knowing they would do the same.
This book is something like one of those relationships. Although it is not a biography, the story and the character are born from me and my history. You will not know everything I have been through, but the pain of my past, coupled with the understanding that came with overcoming it is present in this story. So, you may not truly know everything about me, but in a deeper way, you will know me.
If you are reading this, it means you decided to read the introduction instead of skipping it, which is something I used to do when I was younger. I was always in a hurry, but didn’t have much of a destination in mind as much as I was frantically putting distance behind me. As I grew up and began to have an appreciation for the written word and the effort put into a work of art like this, non-fiction, or even a textbook, the foreword started to hold much more weight. The task of writing an entire book has always seemed daunting, and the people who create the good ones are like super humans. Then, these super humans turn around and ask another whom they must respect or revere in some way, to give their story an introduction. What an honor!
So, to be sitting here speaking to you through this medium I’ve grown to love is nothing less than surreal. I don’t mention that to make myself sound important or special; I am neither. There is simply no better word to sum up this experience. No matter how well this book does, no matter if you are moved by its words, or if its pages leave you indifferent, this will always be one of the most profound experiences of my life. For that, for Heidi, for you, I will always be grateful.
Three years ago, I received a message from a stranger telling me that she had been inspired by things I had written and that she wanted to use me for inspiration in a story. At the time, I almost laughed. Shit, I still think it’s ridiculous, but I was open to the possibility. I was a mess and had been most of my life (still am in many ways.) At the very least, I thought, there would be some good content and interesting stories. Of course, I wanted to get to know this stranger before committing to anything, and so I asked for some of her work and we began chatting on a semi regular basis.
Heidi has an incredible talent for conveying the subtleties of the human condition. In some books it revolved around addiction and salvation. In others, the connection and torment that love plays on our hearts. In any case, it’s always the small things that matter and that is what stood out to me about her writing. Her passages would take me back to differing memories, often painful and sometimes joyous, but always so tangible that it was as though I was experiencing them again.
As if that wasn’t enough, her dedication to her craft inspires me. Her passion is first and foremost to the story flowing through her. The integrity of her art holds a value far higher than any lucrative contract bought with creative compromise. She will either sail into the sunset or sink with the ship, but either way, the story is the captain and she is first mate. I knew with complete confidence that if anyone was to write my story, it should be her.
At the time, I wasn’t sure how much of my experiences would be included, or how close to my actual life it would really be. She chose to place it five years ahead of where I am now, allowing for a clean slate and possibly an inspiring direction for her younger friend (me).
In this story, Heidi captures those subtleties of love and what I am constantly chasing and brings them to life. I have always been a man trapped between light and dark, wanting love but being terrified to try for fear of fallout. I have known pain plenty of times and caused it many more. This “cage” that is companionship and compromise, giving yourself to another; it’s when everything else makes sense, in my opinion. I have always wanted the cage, but I’m terrified of committing to the wrong one. Gracefully, Heidi allows us to witness this conflict.
Over the last three years, Heidi has become a best friend, a therapist of sorts, and even a mentor. We have grown close through our Skype chats and sometimes it seems as though she knows me better than I know myself. Take this ride and explore a love bound by nothing but truth.
This story is more than an exploration of me finding the right one. It’s a glimpse into the soul of anyone with a wild heart longing to be loved completely, instead of simply kept.
Chapter 1
Hello, Earth
Lydia
“Answering the phone is against my personal belief system. Stop trying to control me.”
BEEEEP!
It was the beep that cut through the ringing pipes of the shower and Lydia's best rendition of Sir Elton's “Sad Songs (Say So Much).”
She scrambled from the cold water of her shower to lunge at the nearby phone. While she thought her answering machine message was hilarious, her mom didn't. And there was only one person in the world who would be calling her so early in the morning.
Her fingers stretched out, her body a perfect display of athletic ability—at least, that's how she pictured it.
It was really a waste of time.
She knew it.
The neighbor downstairs knew it.
Her eyes darted to the open windows.
Hell, the neighbor across the street knew it.
Lydia's body finished its perilous dive through the air and landed with a squeaky slide, boobs down, on the cold tiled floor.
She pressed the button on the phone. “Hello? Mom?” She called into the dead air of a phone call already over.
“Shit,” she hissed, tossing the phone away from the water that had begun to pool around her. She rolled upright and squ
inted at the open shower door.
Maybe it was time to think about getting corrective eye surgery.
Right, because she had all the money in the world for that.
You know what else she didn't have? Time to flood her downstairs neighbor's apartment.
She scrambled to her feet, wet body parts jiggling unattractively all over the place. One hand reached into the shower to shut off the water while her other one pulled towels off the shelf and onto the floor.
“This is perfect. Absolutely wonderful,” she grumbled as the thin towels became saturated in seconds.
“4B!” 3B shouted through the floor at her.
“I'm sorry!” Lydia called frantically. “I'm cleaning it up right now!” She gathered the soaked towels in her arms and dropped them inside the shower. She started for the bedroom to get a blanket, snatching her glasses off the vanity and shoved them on her face.
“How?” she asked, incredulous, as she finally saw the mess clearly. “You'd think a walrus fell out of my shower.”
A closed fist pounded on her door and she knew 3B wasn't satisfied with yelling through the ceiling anymore.
Lovely.
“In a minute!” she yelled, throwing a mustard yellow colored blanket down on the wet floor. Thank God her mom was afraid Southern California would have a sudden cold snap and Lydia would be left ill-prepared. She had boxes of ugly blankets everywhere. She had more blankets than she did towels. Or dishes.
But don't tell her mom.
Otherwise she'd have a shipment of dishes show up tomorrow.
“4B!”
“Geez. I've pissed him off no less than ten times since I moved in. You'd think he'd remember my name.”
Lydia yanked her bedspread off the bed and wrapped it around her naked body. She struggled to the door and opened it right before Dweedle hit it with his fist again.
Okay, to be fair, his name wasn't really Dweedle. It was Dwight Smith. A super boring name considering how annoying a neighbor he was. He looked and acted so much more like a Dweedle.
“It's raining in my kitchen,” he said by way of greeting, his wide-set eyes narrowed in disappointment.
“I know, Dwight, and I'm so sorry,” Lydia apologized again. “I... fell out of the shower. I'm cleaning it up as fast as I can.”
His thin lips pressed together as he considered her story. It wasn't the first time she'd fallen out of the shower. It was the fourth. The first two were when she had gotten carried away listening to Dead Kennedys. Which was the entire reason she’d switched over to Sir Elton for her morning routine. He had a far less... aggressive sound.
“Some of us have real jobs, you know,” he grumbled. “I have to be to work in an hour.”
And here was the real issue. Dweedle saw her as too young and too incompetent to be his neighbor. He liked his neighbors to be contributing members of society. Their building didn't have any kind of tenants’ association, but she was betting that if they did, Dweedle would be the president. And not on merit, but simply because he would just wear everyone in the building down until they elected him.
Like every other politician in the world.
“I have a real job, too,” she reminded sweetly. “It's how I pay my rent in this luxurious condo—” She swept one arm out dramatically as if her bed spread were a glamorous gown instead of being a third-generation hand-me-down with frayed ends to prove it. “—with the super friendly tenants.”
Dwight's small mouth tightened further as his already narrow eyes squinted.
He didn't like it when she was sarcastic.
Lydia took a deep breath and let go of her irritation. It wasn't worth it to have an issue with her neighbors. She was a nicer person than that.
“Listen, leave your door unlocked. I'll come down and clean up your kitchen before I leave for work.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “Do you have time for that?”
No.
She glanced at the clock on the wall to her right.
Really no.
Sunrise was in forty-five minutes. The drive was twenty and the walk to the ridge was another fifteen. She was going to be late.
“Yes.” She withheld the sigh wanting to accompany her answer.
It would be fine. Hopefully.
If she had done her calculations correctly, tomorrow was the day anyway. But she liked to play it safe so she always took readings the day before and after.
In order to be on time tomorrow, she would just have to sleep out there tonight.
“And you'll lock up after you leave?” he asked warily.
Two things about this surprised her. One, he actually trusted her not to rob him. Maybe he didn't hate her as much as she had thought. Two, he really needed to get to work on time.
But then again, this would be the third time she’d had to clean water out of his kitchen. He was probably tired of supervising a task she had mastered when she was a child. Cleaning a kitchen floor was second nature for her.
Ugh, she needed to call her mom back before the FBI showed up at the door.
“Absolutely. I'll text you when I leave.”
Uncertainty flitted across his face before he gave her a single nod. “Fine. I'm leaving in five minutes. I'll leave the door open for you.”
Lydia waited to roll her eyes until the door was closed. Why did she even bother showering this morning?
“Shower at night! Did college teach you nothing!” she hissed under breath as she gathered her bedspread up to walk to her closet.
She stopped short when she spotted Mrs. Anastassakis, the Greek grandma who occupied the apartment directly opposite to hers across the forecourt.
Forecourt, ha!
It was eight feet.
“Good morning, Lydia!” the older woman called through the open window.
“Good morning, Mrs. Anastassakis.”
“Come over before you leave today. I have keftedes for you.” She nodded as if Lydia had already agreed with her demand, and walked away from the window.
“Of course you do.” Lydia did sigh that time.
She should have known she wasn't going to make it to work on time. She should have just planned on camping to begin with.
Oh well. Lesson learned.
It's not like she was going to be fired.
Not yet anyway.
She started to run a hand through her hair but stopped when she realized it was a wet tangled mess.
Whatever.
She gave up on that and headed into her closet.
Her closet was the nicest part of her place. It was a bedroom. Or, it was listed as one. But only a child's bed would fit inside. Which was why her mattress resided on the floor of the main living space. No box-spring.
Someday, when her back finally gave out, she would regret the corners she'd cut to follow her dreams. Or, she'd have discovered a way to regrow back cartilage and she'd be healthy and famous. Her nose scrunched up at the thought.
Not famous.
But healthy she would take.
Okay, so she needed to go down to Dweedle's and clean up whatever mess she'd made. She needed to get dressed for work, pack for an overnight in the park, pick up Greek meatballs.
Actually, this would work out well. She'd have Mrs. Anastassakis' meatballs for dinner and probably breakfast tomorrow. Half her packing was done.
***
“Holy crap, Lydia, did you even try?”
Lydia looked up from the file she had been skimming and met Brenda's wide eyes. Then glanced down at her clothes. Gray dress slacks, a light blue button-up. She didn't see a problem. In fact, this was the nicest she could dress.
“What?” she asked.
“I know we're scientists and we're not supposed to care about superficial things like hair and makeup, but damn girl.” Brenda shook her head. “You know Merrick will have a comment.”
Right. The hair.
Shit.
“Is it bad?” she asked, her hand gingerly touching the top of her dry head.
Lydia caught her tongue in between her teeth and grimaced.
“Can you help me?”
The redheaded biologist and Lydia’s best friend rolled her eyes while fighting a smile. “Okay, but this is the last time.”
“Please don't keep that promise,” Lydia begged as she shoved to her feet and left her desk to follow Brenda.
“Merrick will be here any minute. I'm glad I listened to my gut and came to check on you beforehand.”
“You make it sound like I'm a misguided child,” Lydia snorted.
Brenda glanced over her shoulder. “Do you even own a hairbrush?”
Lydia pursed her lips. She probably deserved that. She also didn’t answer. Because, no, she didn’t own a hairbrush. She used a wide tooth comb. It packed easier.
They made it to the ladies’ restroom and Brenda opened the “Lydia Emergency Kit.” It was a small bag filled with toiletries, combs, brushes, hair ties, headbands, etc. Lydia caught sight of her reflection.
Yikes.
Her thick dark hair had dried pushed back from her broad forehead, accentuating the size even more. Her mom always said she was a girl who needed bangs. Exhibit A.
Lydia hopped onto the vanity as Brenda filled a small spray bottle with tap water. “In my defense, I took a header out of the shower this morning and flooded my neighbor's kitchen.”
Brenda blinked. “God must love you, Lydia,” she said after a beat. “There's no other explanation for your day-to-day survival.”
“Being able to fix hair is not a known attribute of superior intelligence.”
“Incorrect, as always, my young grasshopper.” Brenda sprayed the hair to saturation. “Cleanliness and grooming is, in fact, a prominent feature in all successful organisms.”
“Shut up.”