The Writer

by Rebekah Dodson

  I ran my hands through my hair and sighed again. Yesterday had just been pure hell, and I didn't know how I could do it again today. I might as well just try to go home early, and avoid the whole thing. I was such a coward, and it made me feel like a fool.

  Could I really throw away an eight year friendship with Rochelle, just to keep Alicia? It didn't seem fair.

  "Hey," Marion said, drawing me out of my thoughts.

  I pushed back from the computer. "What's up?"

  She blinked at me. "Really?"

  I grabbed a pen from the desk and chewed on it absently. "Really, what?"

  "Really, no 'Go away, M' or 'you smell funny, M' or 'how's the brats, M'... you feelin' okay, Elijah?"

  "Sure," I said. "Why wouldn't I?"

  "Oh, I don't know, maybe because today was the second day in a row that you and Rochelle didn't come in at the same time."

  "So? We don't live together, M."

  "Yeah, but you and Alicia do, and you have never come in together."

  "She has a weird schedule..."

  "Well, I'm just sayin'... it's weird, Elijah. When you guys aren't in sync, none of us are."

  I really didn't have an answer for her.

  "Alex and Tim have been raving about the party on Saturday night; they say it was really a good time. No one got too drunk, and everyone got home safe."

  I nodded; she didn't need to know I didn't really remember. "It was a good night."

  "So what happened?"

  "Nothing, that I know of." It was the truth.

  "Elijah, come on, something happened, else you'd still be talking to each other!"

  "Look," I said, leaning forward and lowering my voice. "Alicia asked me to focus more time on her, since we're getting married in a week. Is that really so bad?"

  "No, but..."

  "And I do spend a lot of time with Rochelle, right?"

  "Well, outside the office I don't..."

  "Marion, the face is, Alicia is my fiancée, and Rochelle is a good friend. I have to get my priorities straight."

  She shrugged, and her eyes darted about the room. "Okay, well, I hope whatever is going on doesn't last long, because I just don't like my friends not talking to each other – for whatever reason, okay?" She turned to go.

  "Marion," I stopped her. "I need you to do something for me."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rochelle

  Elijah left around 9am, after tossing his completed articles unceremoniously on my desk without a word.

  I braved the work day, hidden in my office. Tears threatened, and sobs thickened my throat more than once.

  I cried that night, and wondered how I could fix this. I wanted everything back to the way it was, but it never would be. I knew then that he had remembered, and hated me for it. My dreams were nightmares of our time spent together gone horribly wrong.

  The pastor stood stoic and silent behind his podium, his hands clasped on the Bible in front of him. He was decked in black, from shiny shoes to the dull black tie tight around his neck. His eyes avoided the crowd as they wheeled the casket to the platform. It seemed ironic that it was covered in shades of yellow, orange and pinks. Pastels had a difficult assignment: to ring in both new life and death. They struggled to be bringer of both good news and bad. Washed-out colors were appropriate for the fragility of life.

  Matt would have hated them all and would have preferred camouflage or sports jerseys. The oak casket was closed. The mine hadn't let much to bury, but far too much to mourn.

  Elijah stood next to me, gripping the seat in front of him so hard his knuckles were white. Tears splashed to the faded red cushions, and his body shook with the effort of his control.

  It was the first time I'd ever seen him cry so hard. And I prayed it would be the last.

  I slipped my arm around his waist and leaned my head into his shoulder. The black veil that covered my face was no match for the tears I shed. I'd always believed Matt was in a better place, but my heart broke for Elijah.

  Even then, I longed to heal it.

  I spent the night with him after the funeral, because he didn't want to be alone and his mother was grieving in her own way. In real life, we had curled up on his futon, trying to watch comedic movies to forget our sorrow, though it took us years to really heal.

  But this was a dream, a nightmare from the recesses of my brain. As we looked into each other's eyes, he would lean in to kiss me, and the room would fade away. His kiss would be painful, like many of the men I had dated, and I would push away, my lip wet with the blood of a bite. Much to my horror, I realized we floated on a couch in a sea of lava that carried us to our doom. My skin burned, and he threw his head back and laughed at my agony.

  I woke with the smell of singed flesh still in my nose and the touch of his kiss on my lips. Shuddering, sleep was impossible to find again that night.

  I lay away until the sun crept over the mountains, the purple and blue hues matching the bags under my eyes. The mirror told me what toll the dreams had taken on me – from black circles under my eyes to abnormally paler skin. My eyes were dull; my hair was flat, and refused to cooperate. I pulled a navy blue beret over my short locks, and forced a smile onto my face.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When I got to the office, I was running a bit late. An extra shot of espresso and some additional make up had done wonders, but made me a few minutes late. Marion informed as soon as the door shut behind me that Elijah had called in sick, and that he'd said he would email assignment updates later in the day.

  I was okay with that, because I wasn't sure how I felt about seeing Elijah that day.

  At noon that day, I received a blow that escalated the situation. An e-mail from Alicia that told me, in not so many words, that I was no longer welcome to be part of the wedding, but she gave no explanation.

  Well, it was clear to me that Elijah had come clean with her and told her what had happened. I was a little surprised to find the wedding was still going on, but Elijah was the king of charm, and in the end, I could see him apologizing to her and making it all okay.

  In fact, if I knew anything about Alicia, I would say that she had probably just forgiven him with conditions, and one of them being that he wouldn't talk to me at work.

  It explained his behavior, but my wound was still there.

  I let the email go unanswered, for now. I was a little relieved. I wanted Elijah to be happy, not have to deal with my jealousy at this point. Besides, I had no right to feel this way... I delved into work that day, again spending as much time as I could in my office.

  I closed the email, so tired of dealing with this. If Elijah wanted to end an 8-year friendship, then so be it. There would be...

  Oh, who was I kidding. There would never be anyone else but him. I sunk in my desk chair, with my head in my hands. I hadn't a tear to shed, but my heart hurt and I'd give anything to heal it.

  A pop-up dinged on my screen alerted me to a new email. Exasperated, and praying it wasn't from Alicia again, I opened it. Rochelle, your frequent flyer miles are waiting for you. What's keeping you! Said the subject line.

  Absently, I clicked on it.

  I had been so careful with my savings and loans. It had taken me nearly 3 years to pay off the business loans I had taken out to get the magazine off the ground, and it was always nice to see my statements had such a low balance. I rarely went out, and when I did, it was almost always on Elijah's tab, who insisted it was his gentlemanly duty. We took turns buying coffee every day, and once a month I set aside a small portion of our profits for our lunch meeting at a local restaurant.

  I really never paid attention to flyer miles. Where would I go? Everything I ever wanted was here. My job, my life, my...

  Maybe it was time I stepped out of my fragile bubble.

  Clicking through the email, I realized I had accumulated an astonishing 10,000 frequent flyer miles on my business loan, which was only a few hundred dol
lars from being paid off. It was a special "thank you" for being such a consistent customer.

  Without giving it any thought, I started looking at airline tickets.

  At first I thought of Florida. The sunny weather and a visit to some friends from high school would be rejuvenating. But I hated humidity. I looked at Nebraska, and contemplated seeing my retired school teacher father - that would be a welcome change of pace, to spend a few weeks on the farm with him.

  But then I figured, why would I stop there, with a ticket virtually paid for anywhere in the world?

  London, Madrid, Dubai. I could go anywhere.

  Why should I spend another Christmas around my tree, sipping apple cider and contemplating my loneliness, when I could be snapping pictures of Stonehenge, or climbing the rock of Gibraltar?

  Writing about all my adventures, maybe getting a gig as a travel journalist.

  The problem with journalists – we always, always want to see the world.

  My gaze floated to my tall bookcase, tucked in the corner behind the door. Journalism and psychology text books, references books, three different dictionaries, hard copies of Time magazine, Martha Stewart, and an encyclopedia crowded the shelves. My French dictionaries, from a long year I spent abroad. A framed copy of my first published story in Writer's Review sat next to copies of my degrees, including my journalism degree from the University of Paris years ago, a few honor societies, and certificates of works I had published over the years.

  But next to that bookcase in the middle of the wall under the clock, sat my postcard, hanging in a carefully construction oak frame. The one I had sent home from France when I had studied my last year in graduate school. My father had given it to me on my graduation day, to remind me of how far I had come.

  My life was told in a serious of framed plaques.

  The flight was booked quicker than I could have thought, with surprisingly no blackout dates the week after Christmas.

  No sooner had I hit print, then a knock on my door, startling me. With a quick click of the mouse, I closed the windows on my computer, and hit the "sleep" button on the keyboard, just to be safe.

  Chapter Sixteen

  No sense in stressing people out about this so soon.

  Alex opened the door slowly. "You got minute, Ro?"

  "Yeah, I guess." I felt guilty, as if he knew was I was doing, as if he knew I was going to run away. "What's up?"

  "I'm just checkin' in on you," he said, crossing his legs in the armchair and wrapping his laced fingers around his knees. "Things were a little... weird today."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, you know. You and Elijah always come in at the same time, you're both here when we all leave, you guys always joke around. Today was just... quiet."

  "Hmm. Guess we were busy."

  "Rochelle, really, honey, what is wrong?"

  I shook my head. We were not talking about this.

  He gasped, putting a shocked fist to his lips. "Oh my god, did you guys sleep together?"

  "No!" I said, adding: "Gross!"

  "Something happened, what was it?" He rolled his eyes. "You know you'll feel better if you told me."

  "Alex, I know we've been friends for a while, but this is not something we are discussing. I hate gossip, and I hate drama. I'm not doing it."

  "Oh, you're doing it, alright," he said, smiling and winking all at the same time. "I don't know who the lucky guy is, but it's someone. You breezed into this office on Monday, flushed and excited. But by Tuesday, you fizzled out fast. Girl, I wish I knew what was wrong."

  "I had an extra shot of espresso that morning, that's all," I looked down at my folded hands in my lap, "must've been a sugar crash."

  "Well, if espresso does that, I want to know where you're getting your coffee."

  I chuckled, briefly, wanting this conversation to be over. "I think it's time to lock up shop."

  "You're right. I'll walk you out," he said.

  "Okay, give me a minute."

  As he left to get his coat, I grabbed my face down flight reservations from the printer, folded it twice, and tucked it into my pocket.

  It burned there, my own little secret. It was very rare that I had one all to myself.

  Alex offered me his arm as we braved the ice in the parking lot at the back of the office.

  "Elijah's been strange this week," he said, his voice quiet but earnest.

  "Strange? How do you mean?" I figured ignorance was always bliss, right?

  "Rochelle, he's hardly talked to anyone this week." He tiptoed around a large puddle that had frozen over since the sun disappeared.

  "Hmm."

  "Including you."

  "Why do you care, Alex?"

  "Because, honey, you are both miserable, you're both my friends, and I don't know what's going on. What happened?"

  We reached my car, and I took back my arm to unlock it. I turned to him with my hands shoved in my pockets. Our breaths came out like smoking dragon's fire.

  "Alicia may have caught us together the morning after the bachelor party."

  His eyes flew wide at my statement. "Was ya'll wearing clothes, by any chance?"

  "I was, he wasn't."

  "Oh, my." He smirked behind a gloved hands held to his mouth.

  "It's not like that," I protested. "Nothing. Happened."

  "Something happened after I dropped the truck off, because you went back into their house."

  "To take a shower!" I blurted, and my hand flew to my mouth. That was more than I wanted anyone to know.

  "Why? Feeling dirty for sleepin' with a taken man?"

  "No!" I knew my voice was rising, and I could feel the heat in my cheeks. "No," I repeated. "He threw up on me at the club. I had a 5-block walk home and I didn't want to do that with puke in my hair, okay? Alicia got home early..."

  Alex put his hands up defensively. "Okay, so nothing happened – so you say – but you have to admit, it looks bad."

  "I know, I know." I took my hands out of my pockets and studied them for a while.

  "I mean, if I had a nickel for every time I'd been alone with a naked guy in my bedroom..."

  "Alex, stop..."

  "I'd be broke, of course."

  That was more than I ever needed to know.

  "I'm never wearing clothes when there's a sexy man piece in my bedroom."

  "Alex! Oh my god, seriously?" I couldn't help but smile. "I love you man, but sometimes - I just would rather not picture that!"

  He struck a dramatic pose, with a hand behind his head and one knee bent. "You're just jealous because I have all the tools and I know how to use them."

  I really had nothing to say, so I opened my car door. "On that note, I'm really just going home now."

  He gave me a peck on the cheek. "G'night, boss lady." As I slid into the driver's seat and cranked the engine, he added: "Don't be too hard on Elijah, remember we're all just guys, and we often think with our little head before our big one."

  I laughed. "Okay, um, thanks?"

  "All I mean is, when it comes to matters of the heart, logic rarely has much to do with it – so go easy on him."

  A truer statement had never been spoken. I blinked back some tears. "G'night, Alex," I said, and he nodded, shutting my door.

  I went home that night and sent one of the hardest text messages of my life – mostly because my throat hurt too much to say it to him. I held my flight reservations in my hand, and convinced myself that if he responded and we could make amends, I wouldn't go. But if our friendship was over, I'd leave. I could face my world here without him.

  Technology can be both a blessing a curse sometimes. As soon as my message was sent, my phone told me he'd seen it. Then it told me he was typing a response.

  And then, nothing.

  I waited, worried my message had somehow bounced back, so I sent it again.

  Message not received.

  I stared at my phone i
n disbelief. I dialed his number without thinking. "The caller you are trying to reach is out of service."

  Oh my god. He blocked me from talking to him.

  I couldn't even make it right, whatever I had done. On a whim I called Alicia's number, and got the same message. They had both cut me out of their lives.

  I packed, then. I needed something to occupy my thoughts. Rage, anxiety, stress, it was all flooding in at once. My hands shook as I tuck light, but functional, with slacks, sweaters, and blouses into my large rolling suitcase. My mind still raced, and I spent the wee hours of the morning researching different places to visit and stay, and worked through a few language tutorials on YouTube to brush up on my rusty skills.

  The next morning, Thursday, Elijah beat me to the office. I waved hi, and he turned back to his computer, without a motion or a word.

  My heart burned so badly. As the day wore on, I realized: he probably remembers, and hates me for lying. Considering that he'd removed me from being able to call or message him, well, I think that was a definite goodbye. He'd turned in his formal resignation last week, and his final day would be December 30th. That was fine with me. If he wasn't talking to me, then so be it.

  Our friendship was crumbling, and all I could do was watch.

  It's amazing how one interaction can change that entire mood of the workplace.

  Our weekly meeting that afternoon, accentuated the somber tone of the week. It was dour and drab, with awkward lapses between discussions, and silences that made my eye twitch.

  "Just a brief reminder, we're down to the wire, but I'm pushing article deadlines until next week. We're hoping to publish mid week, so we can hold the... party... next Friday."

  Friday of course, was going away party/engagement party for Elijah and Alicia.

  I'd be on a plane headed east before the party ever began.

  All around the circular table, blank stares greeted me, Elijah's was the only one I could see. As soon as I looked at him, he looked away.

  A few collective groans greeted me as well.

  "Okay who died and made you Ebeneezer?" Alex spoke up.