Blurred Lines

by M. Lynne Cunning

  “Well, I figure if I start getting Ellis used to me leaving the ranch a bit earlier each night, then maybe things will be more routine once you get back.”

  Lauren’s heart beat harder in her chest. Michael was trying, really trying, to make things better for them in the long run. The amount of time he spent away from their home and from her had been one of their biggest issues lately, and fixing that problem would go a long way in making them stronger in the end.

  “That sounds so good, Mike.”

  “I really have to go for now, though, okay?”

  Lauren was caught off guard. “Oh, yeah, of course. I’ll talk to you later then, all right?”

  “Sure. Love you, Lauren.”

  She said she loved him, too, but he had already disconnected the call.

  She set the phone down and sat in silence. The face-off between her imagination and the computer screen continued. Sadly, it seemed the computer screen was going to win this round. She admitted defeat and shut down the computer. Then, after clicking the switch to turn the desk lamp off, Lauren sat in the silence and stared out at the ocean of city lights that winked back at her, wondering what her husband was doing right now and if he missed her the way she was missing him.

  Chapter Six

  Early the next morning, one day before the creative writing course was to begin, Lauren opted to leave the dormitory early to avoid the hustle, bustle, and noise associated with other students moving in. She packed up her laptop and headed over to the campus cafe. While the cafe was about a ten minute walk from the dormitory, it was much closer to the building her classes were being held in.

  She wondered if she would become an all-day coffee drinker by the end of her four month stint in New York. Didn’t city slickers drink overpriced coffees day in and day out in order to keep up with the fast-paced lives they’d created for themselves in this concrete jungle they called home?

  Within a few minutes of entering the cafe, Lauren was able to confirm two things about life in New York. The first was that the distinctive aroma of coffee beans and hot chocolate was definitely a scent she wanted to be greeted with every day for the rest of her life. It was divine. The second was that she was right, coffee here was expensive. Perhaps customers were also paying for the privilege to inhale such a sweet, inviting scent while they sat at the small tables with their friends and their laptops. If that were the case, Lauren didn’t blame them for charging for it. She’d pay for the opportunity, too.

  She found a table in the middle of the cafe and lowered her bags onto the floor. No one seemed to pay her any mind. It would take a bit of time to get used to the constant hum of chattering voices around her, the consistent movement of bodies on either side of her. There was never a moment where there was no sound or no movement, it seemed.

  She unzipped her bag and pulled her laptop from it, setting it up on the small circular table in front of her. Unfortunately, there was no electrical outlet in close proximity so she would have to either move to a different table or leave the cafe if the laptop’s battery became low. She’d charged it before departing, so she had at least four hours of time to work.

  She pressed the power button on the laptop and it whirred to life. Knowing the computer would need at least a few minutes to load up, Lauren pulled a ten dollar bill from her pocket and went to the order desk. She ordered a medium caramel macchiato, mainly because it was fun to say, and let her jaw hang open slightly when the barista only gave her back four dollars and some change. She made her way back to her little table and set her drink down beside the laptop. She vowed then and there not to become an all-day coffee drinker, if only for the fact that she’d be broke by the time she made it back to Texas.

  As she took her first few sips of the drink, she sighed out loud. It was definitely worth the money. If she didn’t drink every last drop of it, she would never forgive herself. As she read through the first few chapters of her book, she was interrupted by the muffled ringing of her cell phone, still shoved deep in the folds of her bag. She didn’t even look at the call display, worried it would go to voice mail.

  “Hello?”

  “Lauren, what are you up to, darling? Miss me yet?”

  A wave of reprieve washed over her at the sound of Nadine’s voice. She wasn’t sour over not being told about her travel plans, after all. “You know I do. And I’m still doing the exact same thing I was doing in Texas. You know, trying to write a book from the perspective of a character that obviously does not want to be written.”

  “Oh, Lauren, tell me you’re not still stuck in the same spot you were in a few weeks ago? Good lord, someone needs to show that Sarah who’s boss.”

  Lauren chuckled. Nadine knew all about the trials of trying to write Sarah’s romance.

  “Well, evidently, Sarah is the boss right now, Nadine. And she obviously does not want to be written about.” She tried to make light of it, but they both knew this story had been weighing heavily on Lauren’s mind. Many other writers would have walked away from the story with the hopes of picking it back up later, content to work on other pieces instead. Lauren had tried that. No matter what, it seemed like Sarah’s character was etched in her mind, showing up in other works purely to prove that she could. Lauren couldn’t leave her alone, mostly because Sarah wouldn’t allow it.

  Nadine made a sound on the other end of the phone that sounded like a scoff. “Maybe it’s time to start looking at things from Sarah’s perspective instead of trying to get Sarah to tell you what her perspective is, darling. Take a glance at the world through her eyes, and maybe you’ll see the story in a clearer way. Know what I mean?”

  “You want me to try to think like Sarah? I created the character, Nadine, that’s what I thought I was doing.”

  Nadine’s sigh was audible. “I’m telling you to be her. Come on, what harm could it do? Steal her identity if you have to, but think about it. If you really want to know who this Sarah is, what kind of person she is, and who she would want as a star-crossed lover, you have to ask yourself, what would Sarah do?”

  “It’s that simple, huh?”

  “I think it is. Like I said, what harm could it do?”

  “Maybe Sarah is more fun than I am,” Lauren teased, sipping her macchiato.

  “Maybe Lauren’s mocking me right now.”

  “Perhaps.” Both women laughed this time.

  “Just think about it, okay?” Nadine asked. “I’m serious, it may be just what you need to get that story written so you can do your course and get your butt back here to Texas.”

  “Point made. I have to come back anyway, I can’t afford the coffee shops here.”

  Nadine laughed. “Darling, we have high-end coffee shops here in the south.”

  “Not that I’ve been to.”

  “That’s because you live in the sticks.”

  The conversation ended with a few bouts of laughter and the promise of another phone call tomorrow night after Lauren’s first day of class. As she set her phone back down on the table beside the computer, she thought of Nadine’s proposal.

  What would Sarah do? And, like she said, what harm could it do?

  Chapter Seven

  Nothing Lauren could have done would have prepared her for the number of students in her class the next morning. Surely this couldn’t be right? Colleges were known for their smaller class sizes and individual attention, weren’t they? There was no way that the number of people in the lecture theater she was standing in could possibly equal anything that resembled a small class size. She did a quick count of heads around the room. There had to be about sixty or seventy people there. Another thing she noticed was that most of the students in the room were significantly younger than she was. Great, in this room, being twenty-nine years old was over the hill. On top of that, most everyone seemed to know each other.

  She chose a seat three rows from the back at the end of the row. A set of stairs trailed down the middle of the theater to the front of the class, and Lauren found it fascin
ating that a room could be set up to seat so many, yet no matter where you sat or how far back in the rows you were, you had a full view of the front podium. She wondered if the professor would need a microphone. The laughter and voices from the rows closer to the front seemed to carry all the way to the back of the room where she was without much effort.

  It was precisely eight-thirty when a tall, lanky man with a striking resemblance to Albert Einstein shuffled into the room from the entrance on the left side. Lauren watched him as he looked about. It was obvious he was unprepared for the number of students sitting before him as well. He set the stack of papers and books down on the table near the raised platform he stood on and turned to face the crowd.

  “Well, well, well. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a full house this semester!” His voice boomed across the openness of the theater. He most definitely was not going to need a microphone. It was evident how pleased he was with the turnout. His tone conveyed a sense of confidence that caused the last few students still talking or turned around in their seats to take notice of him. If Lauren had been unable to seen him, she would never have pictured a man who looked the way he did to have his voice.

  “I’m Professor Erickson. However, that’s far too formal and I would welcome and appreciate it if you would call me by my first name, Anthony.” With this, he gave his students a warm smile and then launched into an introduction that wouldn’t soon be forgotten.

  “With that out of the way, I can now tell you these next four months will not only be informative and curriculum based, but…oh hell, who am I kidding? I’m not one to follow the rules and I certainly am not going to keep track of attendance like you’re all a bunch of adolescents!” He proceeded to hold up a piece of paper, which must have been the attendance list, and then ripped it in half twice, tossing the resulting pieces into the air so that they scattered like giant confetti onto the floor. Laughter broke out among the students, making Anthony shrug, a small smile crossing his face.

  “The curriculum states that I will teach you the following.” He held his hand up to count off each point. “Proper grammar, punctuation, and structure of different types of works.” Anthony wrinkled his forehead in disgust at such an idea, making him look like a Mr. Potato Head toy trying to imitate Einstein. Snickering could be heard throughout the rows of students.

  “The way I see it is this,” Anthony continued. “If, by now, you do not know how to use punctuation, grammar, or what the basics are of creative writing, you probably wouldn’t have enrolled in a post secondary level creative writing course. Perhaps I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt and I do suppose that time will tell how correct I am, but if you do not know those three things already, feel free to learn them on your own time.” He grew silent to let this sink in for a moment. From the back of the room, Lauren could see heads turning from side to side, searching their fellow students’ faces for confirmation that they were, in fact, in the right class.

  “Now,” Anthony spoke more dramatically this time, “Let’s jump into this head first and see what we’re really made of, shall we?” He held his hands up as if preparing to announce the race of a lifetime and then winked at the entire class. “I need everyone sitting on the right side of the room to look to their left and shakes hands with the person sitting beside them or closest to them. Then, what I need you to do is introduce yourself because you and that person are about to be paired up together for the first assignment.”

  Lauren turned to her left. She had the aisle seat, so she had to look to the other side of the room. There, a lone man sat, notebook in hand, and his eyes were fixed on Lauren as well. He smiled when he realized she was looking back at him, and she was struck by how his smile brightened the darkened features of his face. He was definitely older than the seventeen and eighteen-year-old students who giggled and laughed in the front rows, but Lauren wouldn’t peg him for being past thirty either. Nervousness set in and she turned away from him, focusing her attention once again on the front of the room where Anthony stood with his arms crossed, watching with amusement as the introductions occurred around him. All of a sudden, the man who’d smiled at her showed up beside Lauren and offered his hand. His other arm was cradling a jacket and notebook.

  “Hey, partner.”

  Lauren looked up and smiled uneasily at him. She had nothing against him, she was just uncertain about having to do something as personal and subjective as writing with a man she’d never met before. If their writing styles, opinions, and ideas didn’t mesh well, Lauren’s grade in the course could be in jeopardy, and she had yet to even start the lessons.

  “Hello,” Lauren said but didn’t meet his eyes. The man seemed to find her shyness amusing as he side-stepped in front of her seat and sat down beside her, tossing his things into the chair on the other side of him.

  “I’m Dean. Looks like we’re stuck together.”

  Lauren was surprised when, once again, he held out his hand. If nothing, he’s adamant, she thought to herself. She didn’t want a partner, someone to have to answer to when it came to what and how she wrote. She didn’t want to have to suffer through her writer’s block and perhaps even fail at this course because of it, especially with an audience, and she surely didn’t want to be paired up with an attractive man. She had enough on her plate to keep her distracted without that.

  What would Sarah do? She couldn’t help but realize Sarah wouldn’t be nearly as against such an arrangement. She was more of a roll-with-the-punches kind of girl, more comfortable in her own skin, more outgoing. She would be able to handle this situation like it was no big deal.

  Lauren squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment, then looked up and met Dean’s gaze. Portraying all the confidence she could muster, she slid her hand into his and shook it gently. “I’m Sarah, good to meet you.”

  Not only did her words surprise her, but Lauren was taken aback by the voice that emanated from her own throat. It was almost unrecognizable, coated with authority and confidence that Lauren had never been able to convey before.

  “Nice to meet you, too, Sarah. What do you think he’s got up his sleeve for a first assignment? This guy seems a little unconventional, to say the least,” Dean said as he leaned sideways to be closer to her.

  Lauren was repeating Sarah’s name in her head over and over again, intent on channeling her character to take full control of the situation.

  “Unconventional, yes, but perhaps he’s got a point. Since when does writing have to include specific rules and a certain order of things? As with most things, it’s better left to chance. Some of the most interesting things to happen to us are usually the most unexpected as well.” Lauren gave Dean a smug grin and then turned her attention back to Anthony, who had just found a piece of paper in his pile and was taking his place again in the center of the stage. Lauren wasn’t sure if she was more excited about the words that were coming to her so easily as she played Sarah or the surge of adrenaline and rush of freedom that was washing over her. Maybe Nadine was right.

  “All right.” Anthony’s voice reverberated throughout the auditorium. “Now that you’ve met your unsuspecting partners, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. It won’t be difficult unless you make it so. You may or may not know the lucky soul that you’ve been placed with, but you will know a lot more about their inner desires and the depths of their passion after this little exercise.” Anthony cleared his throat, thoroughly enjoying the dramatic deliverance of his assignment idea. “Together, the two of you will write a work of art, may it be a poem, short story, or excerpt from a longer novel or novella. The genre shall be romance or, for you not so modest ladies and gents out there, even erotica is acceptable.” The room erupted into tittering and fits of giggles as people contemplated the idea. Lauren stole a glance in Dean’s direction and saw that he was still leaning on the armrest, using his hand to cover the grin that was slowly spreading across his face. Any confidence Lauren had been exuding instantaneously dissipated.

  “I can’t
write romance or erotica with you,” she stated emphatically, but her voice quivered, giving away her discomfort.

  Dean turned his head slightly, not moving his hand away from the amused expression now plastered on his face.

  “Oh, come on, Sarah. You don’t want to talk dirty to me?”

  Lauren turned to look at Dean directly, not caring that her face was turning an obvious shade of red from embarrassment. How in the world was she supposed to rationally discuss and collaborate on a romantic story with a man like this? He was attractive, yes, but he also portrayed a level of cockiness and juvenile humor she couldn’t imagine having to deal with. The genre of romance would be difficult enough, let alone writing a full-fledged erotic piece with him. She couldn’t even imagine having to collaborate with her own husband on something like that.

  At the front of the room, Anthony was attempting to calm his audience down. “I know, I know, you didn’t see that one coming.” He laughed. Lauren figured he probably only thought up such an assignment because of the shock value. Anthony was definitely a professor who taught outside the lines. “Really, when you think about it,” he was explaining, “There is no better icebreaker. Think of how much you’ll learn about your partner’s writing style! Think of how much you’ll learn about yourself, especially if you’ve never written with the aid of a partner before. It’s quite an enlightening situation to be in, really.”

  Lauren doubted it, and a quick glance in Dean’s direction confirmed it. He was watching her, and evidently from his amused expression, her turmoil over this was written blatantly on her face. The fact that he was enjoying it was what really bothered Lauren.

  She knew she couldn’t get around it. She had moved all the way from Texas for this, uprooting her life with her husband. This was supposed to be what she wanted, to have the opportunity to think outside the box and break down the walls that blocked her literary abilities from coming back up to the surface. Instead, she was over-thinking it, quickly coming up with a multitude of reasons why she couldn’t possibly go along with such an outlandish assignment. She needed this, and she needed to remember that. Lauren could practically hear Nadine saying the words again in her ear.