by Claire Raye
“Well, she’s a freelance photographer, but she mostly does magazine photo shoots. She’s worked with some of the top magazines in New York and her portfolio is amazing.” She lets out a long deep sigh and turns to face me, her eyes glistening with tears. “It’s not the perfect job and it’ll mostly be assisting her, but eventually it will lead to more.”
Alice is radiating with happiness and she deserves it. It has taken her so long to find something she loves and I think this job is a perfect fit for her.
“No, it’s perfect,” I tell her, meaning every word. She has some serious talent and it’s obvious this photographer recognized that.
I lean over and pull her into a hug and as happy as I am for Alice, my heart still aches. It’s like a fog that never leaves. Some days are better than others, but it’s always there in the back of my mind. All that time I wasted in this job I hate, wasted searching for Elliot, yet every day, I still miss him. I still miss what could have been.
“I have something for you,” Alice whispers and when I move away from her she’s crying.
“What’s wrong, Alice?” I ask and she shakes her head as if she can’t get the words out.
Leaving the room, I’m left sitting on the couch wondering what is going on. Alice returns with a large box wrapped in silver paper and tied with a red ribbon. She hands me the box and sits down next to me.
“Open it,” she says, her voice shaky.
Attached to the red ribbon is a tag that says, “Write what you love.” I look up at Alice giving her a strange glance, but she just nods toward the package, once again indicating I should open it.
I remove the ribbon and wrapping to find the box filled with photographs, papers and Alice’s laptop. Once again I look up at her and she says nothing, so I begin to remove everything from the box.
With each item I remove, I realize what Alice has done and I’m sobbing. There are multiple pictures from each stop we made when I was looking for Elliot this last time and included with it are notes about each stop. Some of the notes include what I said or how I looked or what Alice thought I was feeling. And when I open her laptop, I see she has written down almost everything I told her about Elliot and about our story.
But what gets me is the handwritten letter at the bottom of the box. And it says, “Nora, Write your story. Write what you love. I love you. Alice.”
“Alice,” I choke out, but I can’t say anything more. The tears falling hard and fast until my head throbs and my teeth hurt.
Alice rests her hand on my leg and smiles weakly at me. She swallows hard and I know she’s trying not to cry.
“I don’t have the talent you have, but I tried my best to remember everything about our trip. I hope you can use what I have, but if not, that’s okay.”
“Alice,” I try again and this time I find my voice. “This is the most amazing gift I have ever received and I just hope I can bring to life what you have given me.”
“Of course you can,” she announces, her voice firm. “Just sit down and do it. Tell your story.”
A huge smile spreads across my face and I grab Alice, hugging her tightly and thanking her over and over again.
“I will,” I say, forever grateful that she joined me on the trip, not only because of what she gave me, but because that trip somehow healed a broken relationship between the two of us. “You’ll be the first to read it.”
“Damn right,” Alice says and it makes us both laugh.
I gather the box and all the papers that were strewn around me and retreat to my room to sort through everything.
The fact that Alice took the time to put all of this together makes me feel guilty for thinking she was ever selfish. This is the most selfless act she has ever displayed and I realize throughout all my struggles to move beyond my obsession with finding Elliot, this is her attempt to help me.
While it is a struggle to let go of something you’ve held onto for so long, there comes a time when it becomes too much.
Climbing onto my bed, I begin to look through the pictures and the notes Alice has included, while some things make me smile, others make my chest constrict. I can feel the start of tears and for once it isn’t over missing Elliot or what I think my life would’ve been like had I found him, but about the amount of time I wasted. It’s no longer about finding him. It’s about writing my story, our story and finding a way to start my life again. Leaving the complacency of all of it and starting a new life for myself.
I pull my laptop from the nightstand and for the first time in eight years, I’m not writing a description of an overpriced roasting pan or editing someone else’s work.
I’m writing my story.
Before I know it two hours have passed and I’ve been writing nonstop. While it seems to be flowing easily, it hasn’t been without its obstacles. At times I realize how ridiculous what I’ve done for the last twelve years has been and I begin to hate myself for keeping at it for so long. But the more I write, the more I realize it was a part of my life I can’t change. At that time, I needed Elliot to come into my life. He shook things up and made the normalcy of it seem foreign, like I needed something new.
I clung to that feeling for twelve years. That feeling of falling love where your heart feels like it might burst and you can’t get close enough to the person, that balance of innocence and wanting something that feels real.
It was the first time I remember having that reaction to someone despite dating guys throughout high school. The connection I felt to Elliot was unlike any other and as I write, I can’t help but think I held fast to finding him just to have that feeling again.
As we age, I’ve now come to terms with the fact that at eighteen everything is far more intense, obsessive and desperate, and as I realize all this, I know I will never be able to recreate what I found with Elliot. It ends now.
So I write it. A romanticized version of what really occurred, a true love story that may never come to be.
Part Two: Elliot
Chapter Ten
Twelve Years Ago - San Diego
I see her from across the room and she’s stunning. I watch her look around, chew her bottom lip a few times and roll her eyes, and despite the fact that she looks entirely pissed off, I decide to approach her.
She’s far more beautiful up close, and I can feel my heart begin to race as I try to come up with something to say. I take in her brown eyes and the small smattering of freckles that dot her nose. Her skin is tanned and her dark brown hair is pulled back in a loose messy knot making her face even more strikingly beautiful. But for some reason she’s alone. The most beautiful girl at this party is alone.
It’s a party I wasn’t even supposed to be at, but happened upon as I headed home from work. I stopped, filled a plastic cup from the keg in the backyard and went inside. I know a few of the guys here so it wasn’t like I was crashing the party. But as I stand here looking at her, she’s the reason I’m here. I was meant to meet her.
“That look is killer,” I say as I stop in front of her. “I hope it’s not directed at me.” With just a few simple words I watch her demeanor change. She eases and a soft smile forms on her lips.
“Nah,” she says, shaking her head, and I watch her lips as she speaks, suddenly wanting to kiss her, but she adds, “It’s for someone who isn’t here and even if she were, she wouldn’t notice.”
She’s cute, she doesn’t even realize what she said makes it sound a little dirty and I point it out to her with a devious look and a wink.
“Nothing like that, you pervert. My sister.”
“Oh, that’s good because I’m about to hit on you,” I say and add another wink as I step toward her. She shifts, moving closer to me too and it’s in that moment I notice she smells amazing, like vanilla and salty sea air. I want to take her in my arms, press my face to the curve of her neck. I’m getting far too ahead of myself and she knocks me back just slightly.
“Awfully confident for a guy who smells like he’s wearing more alcoho
l than he’s drunk.”
I chuckle out loud but don’t acknowledge her comment. Thanks to my asshole friend, I was doused in a couple of shots of tequila that he couldn’t quite get into his mouth. It was shortly after that that I saw her and it no longer mattered that my friend was a drunken fool who’d spilled his liquor all over me.
She’s quick and witty making her even more attractive, so I continue this playful banter we have going.
“That stings,” I say, placing my hand over my heart dramatically. “But I’m not sure you should be so particular in your choice of company, seeing as you’ve been standing here alone for the better part of two hours.”
Bold of me to call her out, and in the process, out myself and the fact that I’ve been watching her from across the room. I could scare her off, make her think I’m some strange stalker weirdo rather than just a guy interested in getting to know her.
“Who says I’m looking for company?” she responds back, her tone playful, yet still somewhat hesitant.
“You’re a tough one, but I’m always up for a challenge.”
“I’m not much of a fighter and if you’re looking to get laid, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Oh, again with the witty remark,” I say as I notice a few loose strands of hair and I tuck them behind her ear. My fingers touch her cheek as I do and I feel her body shudder from my touch. It’s almost too much, and it’s then I realize I’m having the same affect on her as she is on me. But a part of me can’t allow myself to be that obvious, so I continue with the flirting. “Of course I’m always looking to get laid, I’m a guy, but with you, I’d rather know what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours.”
She laughs out loud at my comment, and it’s melodic and mesmerizing. Her laugh is like nothing I’ve ever heard before and again I’m drawn to her.
“Does this normally work for you?” she asks, and I hear the sarcasm in her voice.
“Yes,” I respond, with a casual annoyance to my voice, trying to hide the fact that I’ve never so openly hit on a girl.
“Well, you’re gonna have to step up your game if you think I’m even going to consider talking to you.”
“You’re already talking to me.”
“You’re a shithead.”
“But you like me,” I say, smiling widely as she nods her head in agreement. It takes everything in me not to cheer out loud at my victory of winning this girl over.
“Wanna get out of here?” I ask, reaching for her hand and lacing my fingers with hers. Her hand is soft and warm; it feels tiny in mine, but somehow completely perfect.
“I don’t even know you,” she answers, looking away from me, but I know she wants to go. She’d have walked away already if she didn’t want to.
“You know me better than anyone else at this party,” I tell her, giving her hand a little tug and she begins to follow me toward the door.
I stop on the front porch but the music is loud and the conversations of the people are even louder, so I take it as an opportunity to get closer to her. I lean in, my mouth next to her ear, my heart racing as I take a deep breath. She smells amazing and it’s hard to get the words out. She has my thoughts a fucking mess, yet I manage to tell her my name and what comes next is the honest fucking truth. “My name’s Elliot and I can’t believe the most beautiful girl at this party is about to leave with me.”
My pick up line is the fucking worst, but I can see it’s worked despite what she says next.
“You’re full of shit,” she yells, but there’s a smile plastered on her face. A huge grin that makes her eyes practically glow and her nose wrinkle up. I want to kiss her nose, her lips; I want to know everything about her. And she’s completely right about me. I am full of shit, but whatever I’m doing is working and I just want to get her alone.
“Probably, but I promise we’ll have a great time,” I say and we walk away from the party hand in hand.
I’m not even certain where to take her other than the beach. It will be quiet and secluded by now, giving us time to talk. I can’t take her back to my apartment, at this hour, it will be filled with people, especially girls and that’s the last thing I want to deal with. My roommates would definitely not understand my sudden attraction to this girl that has nothing to do with wanting to get laid.
She’s quiet, but it’s a companionable silence and I love it. I love the way her hand feels in mine and the way she walks next to me, how she can say not a damn word, but it speaks volumes about her feelings.
I stop off at a food truck I eat at regularly and order for us. I don’t ask her what she wants because the tacos are the best thing they have on the menu. I grew up on this food truck, eating here with my father when I was younger, spending nights out with my friends and ordering food, and now I’m sharing it with her. She’s the first girl I’ve ever wanted to tell about my life, to share the things I love with, and I’ve only just met her.
I hand her a plastic cup but say nothing, and she takes it with a small smile on her face. Carrying the bag in my other hand, I take her hand and nod my head toward the beach.
This place is home to me and despite the darkness and the silence, I find comfort in all of it. I slip off my shoes when we hit the sand and she does the same. Her hand drops from my grasp for the first time since leaving her to order the food and I immediately miss the contact.
Again in silence, we walk to the south end of the beach, near my tower where I’ve been working for the last year. It should be my career, a beach lifeguard for Orange County, just like my father and sister, but I plan to finish school, leave the beach and find something that belongs to me. Something different and new, something that makes me want to be a better person. Maybe this girl next to me is the only reason I need.
We sit down on the sand and I watch her wiggle her toes into the sand, burying them in its warmth. I look at her and neither of us speaks, there’s so much beauty in everything around us including the silence.
I reach into the bag and pull out the two tacos, I hand one to her and keep one for myself. She eats without ever questioning and we listen to the sound of the waves and the stillness of the beach.
I’m the first to speak and it breaks through the silence with almost too much force, but when I watch her turn to face me, her eyes focused on mine, her face intently listening, I realize she wants me to speak.
“I’ve never found someone who enjoys silence as much as I do,” I say, and she closes her eyes and slips her hand onto my knee. I swallow hard at her touch, which is now fucking with my head and my ability to speak.
“Sometimes there is more said through silence than you can ever say with words,” she says and I nod my head. I couldn’t agree with her more and right now I need the silence to gather myself, the warmth of her hand on my knee is almost too much. “My name is Nora,” she suddenly blurts out and I cough loudly, my taco getting stuck in my throat. She hands me the cup and I take a long drink as I watch her take her hand off my knee and push her fingertips into the sand.
“That was strangely awkward,” I respond, laughing.
“It was,” she says, laughing, the sound once again affecting me. “But I just realized I never told you my name.”
“You intrigue me, Nora. You’re like no one I’ve ever met,” I tell her as I lean back, my hand coming to rest next to hers. The tips of my fingers brush the top of her hand and I leave them there. I could’ve watched her all night. She was just so different from anyone else at the party. “The way you stood at that party, not talking to anyone, yet you looked completely comfortable, totally okay with being alone.”
“Maybe,” she says, but she looks away from me slightly and I reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear again. My touch brings her back to me and I can see her beautiful eyes trail over my face and I wonder what she’s thinking.
“So what are you doing here, Nora?” I ask, looking out onto the vast darkened ocean.
“It’s that obvious?” she asks, as she giggles a li
ttle.
“Only mildly. You just seem like you belong somewhere else. Somewhere bigger than here. Somewhere you can get lost.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she questions with an almost insulted tone, and I worry I’ve upset her.
“You have an aura about you, like one day you’re going to do something great, something far bigger than you’d ever find in this coastal town.”
“Thank you, I think,” she says and I notice her shy away from me. She’s nervous, but in a cute way and I find it adorable and sexy all at the same time. “But I’m just a simple girl from Boston with dreams of being a writer.” She’s anything but a simple girl, I think to myself.
I lay back on the sand, tucking my arms behind my head, almost an invitation for her to join me and she does. She nestles herself against my body, her head fitting perfectly along the crook of my arm. My heart is beating hard against my ribs and she rests her hand right over it.
“A simple girl couldn’t make my heart race like this,” I admit, astounded by my honesty, and I cover her hand with mine. Is it possible to fall in love with someone you’ve just met?
“I never thought I’d be swept away by a boy from California I just met,” she whispers, her voice low and nearly lost among the sounds of the ocean. But I catch it and I hear so much truth in what she says. She feels it too.
I kiss the top of her head, my lips lingering there and she shivers from my touch. I pull her closer, wrapping my free arm around her small frame. There’s an intimacy with Nora I’ve never felt with anyone else. A simple gesture, just the touch of her hand makes me want to be near her…always.
“What will you write about?” I ask, genuinely interested in what she has to say.
“I don’t know, but I feel like it’s what I’m meant to do.”
A few seconds later I ask her for a pen and she sits up, grabbing one from her purse. I want her to remember this moment, I want her to remember what she loves, so taking her hand, I rest her arm across my lap. My fingers are softly holding her wrist in place as I pull the pen cap off with my teeth and spit it off to the side. I look up at her, her eyes intense as she waits, and I begin writing.