Moore to Lose

by Julie A. Richman

  Mia shuffled to the front of the classroom, head down so that she could hide behind her veil of hair. Her eyes met Tom’s as she reached a spot next to his desk. His dark eyes were reassuring and oddly comforting. With an almost imperceptible movement, he gave her a slight nod and her lips curled up in a brief semi-smile. “Showtime,” she said in her head.

  Sky Diving Blues

  Flying high

  a flirtation with the sun

  The slow descent

  to a burned Rome

  The neighborhood hasn’t changed

  She started toward her seat.

  “Mia, stay up here for a second.”

  Inward groan. Great. Tom’s hand was on her shoulder. His touch felt good, oddly comforting.

  “The body of that poem was eighteen words. Twenty-one with the title. Did it rhyme?” The class collectively shook their head no. “Right. It didn’t rhyme. It didn’t go on for pages. Twenty-one words that conveyed very clear emotion and strong imagery. The emotion was honest and raw. That is the level at which I expect everyone in this class to be operating.” He tapped Mia’s shoulder, indicating that she could return to her seat.

  Heading to her seat at the back of the class, Mia longed to be sitting on the floor of her dorm room, her back leaning up against the bed, smoking her bong. Unfortunately, the dorm room she longed for was 3,000 miles away. She felt exiled from what she now understood was her home. Her true home. The place her heart resided. She missed them all so much – Rosie, Henry, Caroline, her dorm mates. She missed him. And she wanted him to miss her – but she knew that was unlikely, since he’d always been CJ’s. Miss me Schooner. Even just a little. Miss me. How could you not?

  Mia wondered when she was going to stop feeling like shit.

  Chapter Six

  When Tom found her in another section of the park the next Saturday, Mia was shooting long exposures of a stream. The photos would have a soft ethereal quality due to the length of the exposures, with soft white water flowing over the shiny rocks. Mia explained it to Tom, who was having a hard time visualizing it. “I’ll bring prints to class, so that you can see what I’m talking about,” she promised.

  Entering the little coffee shop, Mia realized that Tom’s attention made her feel good – feel special. She was also very aware that she was just using his attention as a way to allay some of the pain of losing Schooner. She needed to feel special. And in an odd way she was competing with the Jacqueline’s and Sherri’s of the class – the girls who turned heads and used their sexuality to get exactly what they wanted – all the time. On some level, Mia knew that she was making them her CJ’s. And if Tom liked her because she was smart, funny, a talented writer – then that was her fuck you to all of them – fucking Schooner included. And Mia was itching to give them all the proverbial finger.

  “So, I have something I want to talk to you about.” Tom looked at Mia over his coffee, taking on a very serious, authoritative tone. “You and Rob Ryan are really at a different level than the rest of the class.”

  Mia smiled, she liked where this conversation was going.

  “I’d really like to work with the two of you separately from the class. I’m going to leave the choice up to each of you as to whether you still want to attend the class for the rest of this semester, and next, in addition to working with you two separately or just work totally independently of the class.”

  Mia could feel the excitement welling up inside. “So, Rob and I will just work with you alone? Or individually? What are you thinking?”

  “I’d like to work with the two of you together. We’ll figure out a time that works with everyone’s schedule. This way you two still have the benefit of bouncing off of each other and doing critical reviews of one another’s work. I’m probably also going to have you team up and write together – things like small screenplays.”

  Mia sat back, devil smile slowly commandeering her face. “Seriously?”

  Tom laughed, his eyes coming alive at Mia’s response. “Yeah, seriously. Some of my profs did this with me and some other students. It really accelerates your growth because it becomes an intensive workshop. If I keep the both of you just in the class, you won’t get out of it what you could and I don’t want to see that happen. I have a year to work with the two of you and I want to make the most of that year.”

  Mia ran her hand through her hair. “Wow. Thank you. Does Rob know?”

  Tom shook his head, a shock of unruly black hair cascading down his forehead like some bad boy rocker. Don’t do that, Mia thought to herself. You look like a hot bad boy. A year with this man … holy crap. “He should be here in about twenty minutes. What are you smiling at?”

  Probably would not be appropriate to say “Your bad boy hotness” or “This is the first time I’ve been horny in like five months,” or “I’m just wondering if fucking you would help me forget him and make this pain go away,” so she just shook her head. “This is really cool.”

  Rob joined them and Tom outlined his plans. They would meet Tuesday and Thursday evenings from 7 P.M. – 9 P.M. It was Mia’s first time talking with Rob, a scruffy senior from a small town in upstate New York. Social skills weren’t his forte, and Mia wondered how this was going to work out with her and Rob working together. Knowing one of her strengths was drawing people out, and misfits had always been both her specialty and her comfort zone, Mia knew she’d figure out what made him tick. Maybe he was just shy, an affliction from which she rarely suffered. Relishing anything that would take her mind off of the Schooner hurt and missing California, Rob Ryan was going to become her pet project and maybe even a good buddy.

  By the time they’d finished their meeting, Rob and Mia had their first project from Tom. They had to take any short story and convert it into a screenplay. Their deadline was a week from Tuesday, and Rob and Mia had a date for Sunday afternoon to at least pick the story they would adapt.

  The three left the coffee shop together. Rob heading downtown to his apartment and Mia heading back to campus and to the darkroom to develop the film she’d just shot.

  Tom put a hand on Mia’s shoulder, “You good with this?”

  Good? More like thrilled, she thought. Scared. Scared of so many things – that maybe I’m not as good a writer as you think. That I’m afraid I’m going to develop a crazy-assed crush on you. That I want you to pay more attention to me than those other girls because I feel like such shit about myself after my last boyfriend – was he even a boyfriend? – after the last guy who fucked me over for sport, fucked with my head big time.

  Mia gave Tom a bright smile, “Why wouldn’t I be ok with it? It’s a great opportunity. Working with Rob may take some doing – he’s not exactly, umm, forthcoming.”

  Tom gave Mia’s shoulder a squeeze. “Oh please, with your personality, you’ll draw him out of his shell in no time. I think he’s going to end up being pretty interesting.”

  This semester just got a whole lot more interesting, Mia smiled inwardly. She could smell trouble on the horizon and she was ready to wholeheartedly embrace it, immerse herself in it and just let the shit roll.

  Chapter Seven

  Mia met Rob at the pub on campus Sunday afternoon to discuss their joint writing assignment. Having never written in tandem before, she was not quite sure what to expect, and writing as a team with a total stranger was going to be an entirely new challenge. Rob Ryan had out of control light brown hair and a beard that was way overgrown, he needed to lose about 25 pounds and probably shower more than he typically did. The one feature that stood out was his deep blue eyes. They were the color of unwashed denim and very observant.

  Rob ordered a pitcher of beer and Mia hoped that would loosen him up, she didn’t want to have to work hard at making him talk. Rob poured Mia a glass from the sweaty pitcher.

  Mia held up her glass, “To the writing team of Silver and Ryan.” They clinked glasses.

  “It’s Ryan and Silver.” His smile was kind of cute, what she could see of it under
neath that beard. But, ugh, that beard – all Mia could think was, he is never going to get a girlfriend with that thing all over his face.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Mia retorted, tossing back a healthy swig of her beer, “We’ll see about that.”

  “So, how many of the girls in the class do you think he’s nailing?”

  Mia practically spit out her beer, she certainly did not expect this from Rob. Laughing, she leaned in conspiratorially, “I’d bet Sherri and Jacqueline.”

  “No doubt, those two are like bitches in heat.” Rob concurred, “That man gets a lot of pussy.”

  Rob Ryan just might be fun. “You think he’s a player?”

  “Oh definitely,” Rob shook his head, “the man has great patented moves.”

  Mia leveled a devil smile at Rob, “You know, we should just go to class to see what happens and watch those bitches take each other down trying to get his attention.”

  Rob laughed, “I like you. You’re kind of evil.”

  “Just part of my charm.”

  Rob poured them another round from the perspiring pitcher. Mia could feel the beer coursing through her veins, loosening her tension. “So, what’s your story, Mia? You clearly got the shit slapped out of you, based on your poem.”

  Mia pulled over the empty chair next to her and put her hiking-boot clad feet up. Three beers in her almost empty stomach and she hadn’t talked to anyone about it. Looking deep into Rob’s eyes, Mia nodded. “I did. I got the shit kicked out of me.”

  “Bad break-up?” His gaze was intense.

  Mia laughed, “I guess. We didn’t ever actually break up. I just left.”

  Rob’s brows knit together in confusion, “So, let me get this straight. You didn’t break up with him. He didn’t break up with you. You just left?”

  “Pretty much.” Mia poured herself a fourth beer and signaled to the waitress for another pitcher.

  “Did he know why?”

  “He’s a bright boy. He’ll figure it out.” Mia started to play with her napkin. Talking about herself was uncomfortable.

  “Oh man, that is harsh, girl.” Rob sat back in his chair surveying Mia with an odd look.

  “How so?” She wanted sympathy, not made out to be the evil bitch. CJ was the evil bitch. Not her.

  “The poor bastard doesn’t know why you left him.”

  “He and his girlfriend will figure it out.” Mia stared defiantly into Rob’s eyes, her tone dripping with rancor.

  “I thought you were his girlfriend?” Rob was clearly puzzled and Mia wasn’t doing much to help the pieces fit.

  She looked down, “Yeah, so did I.” Damn, it hurt to talk about this stuff. “So where’s all the angst in your writing coming from?”

  “No. No. No. We’ll get to me later. We’re going to need another whole pitcher for that. Back to you.”

  “Rob, I’m really not that interesting.” Mia was giving him her “Don’t fuck with me” face.

  “Ha!” He laughed, “Au contraire, little girl – you are very interesting.” He shook his head, still laughing, “How many girls would walk into a small writing seminar, sit in the back, wear dark sunglasses and quietly observe everyone.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been observing me.” Mia was shocked and a little excited by his voyeuristic admission.

  He nodded his head.

  Why the hell has Rob Ryan been so interested in me, Mia wondered. Maybe he was like her in that he observed everyone in his classes and probably knew more about them from those observations than all of their other classmates combined. It was a writer thing, this observing.

  “So, you bailed without talking to the guy?” Rob was clearly enjoying keeping Mia on the hot seat.

  “There was nothing to say.” Mia crossed her arms over her chest.

  “How do you know if you didn’t talk to him? You might not have had anything to say – but I’ll bet he did. So how did you two leave it?”

  Mia could feel his hand sliding down hers until it was only their fingertips touching as he descending the dorm’s steps. She could feel the pressure from his touch even after their fingertips had broken contact. Her mind’s eye held the image of Schooner turning around, that beautiful smile gracing his face as he yelled, “Hey, those pizzas and bagels better be as good as you’ve been bragging about” before disappearing into the dusk. How odd that those were his last words to her. And now they were 3,000 miles apart and no longer a part of one another’s lives. The pain was searing.

  Realizing that Rob was staring at her, as she tried to make the tears in her eyes evaporate, Mia grabbed for her beer.

  Neither spoke for a long while and Rob’s voice was very soft when he finally broke the silence. “I’m a few years older than you, so here’s a piece of friendly advice. Call the guy. Get some closure. Because if you don’t – it will fuck with you. It will fuck you up bad. If you really want to move past this, past him, get the closure you need.”

  Mia nodded at Rob as traitorous tears streamed from her eyes. She knew he was right, even if it was just to yell at Schooner and tell him what a dick she thought he was, while secretly praying he would somehow make it right.

  As she wiped her eyes, she forced a smile. “Ok, now it’s my turn to torture you.”

  “Hold that thought,” he raised his hand to flag down the waitress for another pitcher.

  Mia knew she was fucked up because her fingertips were numb. A physiological sign of her drunkenness and kind of an apropos thing she thought … numb fingertips – the last place on her body he had touched. Numb heart – the place in her body from which she wished she could extricate his touch. So, why was he holding on so steadfastly, she wondered. Why was she letting him?

  Mia teetered off to the bathroom thinking about what Rob had said. Call him. Call Schooner. Get closure. As she washed her face and peered into the cracked and crackled mirror above the sink, she wondered if she could do it, if she could make that call now, after everything that had gone down with her leaving and not returning to school. She hadn’t even considered picking up the phone to confront him – not until now.

  Rob had refilled her glass and she sat down and lifted it for a long swig.

  “You have really great eyes.” Mia was more than a little drunk and now feeling confident because she knew she was going to call Schooner. She was going to get answers – get the truth from him – finally. And that truth would set her free to move on with her life.

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Ok, how about some friendly advice from a girl,” she didn’t wait for his response, “the hair has got to go. Seriously, you look like you’ve been living under a bridge. You’re scary. The facial hair is totally out of control. I’m all for beards, I totally think Springsteen’s circa ‘75 Born to Run bearded look was his best look, but no chick is going to kiss you with that thing all over your face. And forget going down on a chick and then trying to kiss her with that. Ugh. No!”

  Rob’s denim blue eyes flashed both shock and amusement at Mia’s drunken diatribe.

  “So, here’s the scoop,” she continued, “I want to cut your hair. Something cute and layered and a little longish. You can keep the beard if you must, but only about ten percent of it.”

  “You going to get on my weight while you’re at it?” He was totally serious and Mia could not tell if he was amused or pissed off.

  “Only if you want to. You’ve got that teddy bear thing going on and with your hair and beard cleaned up, girls won’t mind it.”

  “You’re not cutting my hair.”

  Mia’s devil smile was at full-tilt, “Oh, yes I am.”

  “No fucking way, Mia, am I ever letting you near me with a pair of scissors.”

  “Afraid I’ll carve my initials into your neck?”

  Rob let out a huge belly laugh. “Oh man, you are a totally sick chick – I like it.”

  Later in the conversation, with continued prompting and probing by Mia, Rob finally confided his story. It wasn’t pretty and
the genesis of the angst in his writing immediately became very clear. Mia listened intently as Rob unburdened himself with details of his father’s drunken abusiveness and the betrayal caused by his mother’s departure when he was eleven, leaving Rob as the protector to his nine year old sister as they dealt with and endured the aftermath.

  Mia wanted to hug the scruffy teddy bear sitting across from her. When he was done, she wiped away the tears from her eyes. “Well, if that story doesn’t get you laid … ” and they both sat back and laughed.

  With the cathartic purging behind them and a new trust and respect built, Mia and Rob were now ready to move on with their writing partnership.

  “Here’s what I think,” Mia began, “Tom is totally going to expect the two of us to give him something really heavy based on what we’ve already turned in. Let’s totally fuck with him and write the screenplay for a comedy – adapt a humorous short story.”

  Mia could see Rob’s head already formulating ideas as his brain searched its mental files for a comedy to adapt. He was totally onboard with it.

  When she left the campus pub to return to her dorm that evening, Mia felt happy. She had a new friend and a sneaking suspicion that they would become very good buds.

  Fueled with the drunken confidence of more than a few beers, Mia Silver was going to take matters into her own hands and call Schooner Moore and confront him for telling CJ MacAllister of her attack and then she was going to rip him a new asshole.

  Chapter Eight

  Mia staggered back to her dorm room, totally obliterated and just hoping she’d make it back quickly enough to get to the bathroom to pee. “I’m shitfaced,” she giggled aloud to no one. Although the cool fall air revived her and she breathed in deeply as she walked, there was no way she was going to be sober for hours.

  I’m going to drunk dial Schooner. Find out why the fuck he told her everything. Find out why he felt I was an “obligation he had to fulfill.” He could’ve just helped me out the first night at the hospital and then left me the fuck alone. I didn’t need to be his little charity case (CJ told her those were his exact words). And to break my confidence with her. Fuck you, Schooner. She knew. She fucking knew. You promised me you wouldn’t tell her. But then again you promised me a lot of things. Which mask were you wearing when you pretended to be in love with me? The let’s fuck over Mia for sport mask? Tonight you’re going to answer me so I don’t have to keep carrying around all of this pain. This pain and misery. Because yes, I am fucking miserable, Schooner. I’m heartbroken and I’m miserable. I believed you. I believed every word. I believed every time you stared into my eyes. I believed every time you called me Baby Girl that I was your Baby Girl. I believed I was your Baby Girl, Schooner, not an obligation to fulfill.