by Stacey Quinn
His efforts in the attic paid off, and Sam happily climbed back down the ladder out of the dusty, dingy hole in the ceiling with a good few albums worth of images clutched in his hands and tucked carefully into his pockets. Plunking himself back in front of his computer with a huff, Sam shook the cobwebs from his mind, his thick, chocolate brown hair (which was seriously in need of a trim) bouncing around his face as he did so, fairly pleased with his haul from the attic.
He’d managed to scavenge a fair few, captivating landscapes of misty mountains and valleys, rocky sea cliffs and majestic sun sets, as well as a handful of artsy, time lapsed photographs, and some melancholy, well framed, black and white shots of seemingly endless trees and woodland. Sam grinned as he clicked his computers scanner to life, certain that the attention to detail and the sheer beauty that emanated from each and every one of his carefully chosen pictures would surely impress Sienna. That wasn’t to mention the prosperous career (another little detail inspired by his father), or the impressive PHD.
During his weeks' worth of effort, Sam had been forced to take a couple of days off College, otherwise he simply wouldn’t have finished the profile in time, and he’d already pushed his patience to its limits. His mum had been a slight annoyance at first - while she had been particularly taken by his small gesture of breakfast the other day, it hadn’t resounded with her quite enough for her to slow or falter in her drinking habits, like Sam had initially hoped. As a result, on the first day he had chosen to stay home, for the best part of the morning, his malodorous, slurring, stumbling mother would clatter noisily into Sam's bedroom, attempting to make conversation through her incoherent mumbles, clearly trying to replicate that sweet, tender, mother and son moment that they had shared over a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs. But there was only so much that Sam could concentrate on at once, and for the time being his alcoholic, over emotional mother was not one of them. He promised himself he would pick up where he had left off with his mother, once his Lewis Stowell plan had fully played out and Sienna finally understood that they should be together. After all, once Sam’s life was back on track, he would be much more capable of helping his mother sort her life out, and so he figured that in the long run it was best for all of them if he focused his entire energies on his project. And so he threw himself into his work, barking at his mother every time she disturbed him and reassuring himself that he was just being cruel to be kind.
He felt he was slipping slightly with his friends as well. He’d been trying his very best to keep up as always, flashing his well practiced smile, shouting boisterously when prompted and generally dressing and acting as he usually did. But his mind refused to sit still, and time and time again his focus and his thoughts drifted back to the glowing screen of his PC, pouring over every tiny detail that he had created so far and travelling down every possible tangent, ensuring he hadn’t missed a single thing - his work had to be flawless. And besides, since Sienna had mentioned it, he had begun to realize and agree that his friends and their noisy, in your face habits were actually rather pathetic, childish and, quite frankly, beneath his intellectual level. So far, none of the boys, not even mouthy Lee, had commented on Sam’s distracted state, hadn’t even questioned the days he’d been absent, but he was sure they could all see it in his eyes and it was just a matter of time before he was either forced to ditch them entirely, or they would discover his secret second life and turn on him. But he found that, now Sienna was within his sights, he no longer really felt any connection to these adolescent monkeys that he had once so clung to and relied on, and so the thought of losing them came as no great loss to Sam. He had experienced true loss, and in the grand scheme of his plan he would be gaining the greatest gift life could offer, so a few simple, ignorant lads did not amount to much at all.
“It we all be worth it in the end.” He kept repeating what was rapidly turning into something of a catchphrase for him. A catchphrase he was now living by.
But as he gazed, once again, at his girls eloquent and enticing reply, his heart soaring with wings of its very own, his face sliced in two by his gleaming grin, he already felt as if it had all been worth it. The ball was barely rolling, and Sam was already reaping the rewards.
He thrilled over one particular line she had written to him –
“...please do fret over being a little bold - for what is the written word but love? And what is love but boldness?”
Was it just Sam or was there underlying tones of flirtation to those confidently written words? She was encouraging him to be bold, as if she were subliminally goading and enticing him into making the next move. She wanted boldness? Well then boldness is what his lady would get! The index finger of his right hand was mere millimeters away tapping down onto the mouse button and sending a friend request to Sienna, when the newly taught patience that he had painstakingly developed over the past week spoke up in the back of his head, once again reminding him of the almost fatal results of his previous impulsive actions. No, this plan was too good to ruin - he would wait until she, inevitably drawn to him, chose to add him as a friend. His mind was made up, yet Sam's index finger still trembled with the effort of restraint as it hovered above the mouse. Sam had to practically grit his teeth in the battle against his impatience, his joy and pride and his initial success going to his head and egging him on, but before his will gave out, and unexpected thing happened.
The ‘friend’ icon that his cursor was hovering dangerously over suddenly turned from its usual blue color, to red, with a little number ‘1’ hovering above the icon to indicate that he (or rather Lewis Stowell) had just received a new friend request.
Sam's whole body twitched in surprise, sending his cursor flying to the other side of his computer screen and causing his heart to skip a shocked beat. A moment later he was scrabbling his mouse back over to the ‘friends’ icon, hoping, praying that Sienna’s name would appear when he clicked on the little red symbol.
And sure enough, one click later, his hopes were realized. The little, pixilated message stating that ‘Sienna Selway has sent you a friend request’ was perhaps the most beautiful sentence that Sam had ever read, and he gladly tapped on the ‘Accept’ option without a seconds hesitation. And then, as instantly and as unexpectedly as the friend request, a little red speech bubble popped into existence next to the ‘friend’ link - Sienna, in a fortuitous and pleasing display of eagerness, had sent Lewis another message -
“ Dear Mr. Stowell,
In the spirit of boldness I hope you do not mind or find it inappropriate if I add you as a friend. I enjoyed your message, and would very much like to remain in contact with you, if that is something you would be open to?
I hope to hear from you soon, and apologize if I have caused any offence.
Best Wishes
S.”
Sam leapt up, whooping and pumping his fists into the air. He had expected to have to endure weeks of patient waiting and sporadic, tentative messages - not to have a multitude of victories dropped into his lap all at once, as he just had. In one fell swoop he had lured Sienna in, if only slightly for now, and she had invited him to be a part of her world. He was well on his way to achieving everything his heart had longed for since the moment he had set eyes on the beautiful, blonde, back of Sienna’s head on that fateful first day back at College - everything he had lost on the dark, surreal night that his father had left.
No longer worried about boldness, in fact embracing it wholeheartedly, Sam stopped for a moment, waiting for his mind to provide the suitable words to begin his reply before he started tapping and typing away with boyish, smug excitement, his eyes wide and sparkling as he thrilled at the rush of feeling alive once more. He backspaced and hesitated and swapped his typed up words around until they formed a structure that Sam was pleased with - a structure that Sienna’s intellect and love of the well spun English language would be sure to appreciate.
“Sienna,
In a world that somewhat lacks boldness, I find yours re
freshing and most certainly well received. And please, call me Lewis - ‘Mr. Stowell’ is what my students call me!
I am more than happy to accept your friend request, and feel privileged that you wish to stay in contact. I too would like to get to know you better Sienna, you are clearly a highly intelligent woman and it will be a sweet relief to finally be able to converse with a mature, intellectual, adult human being. Tell me - what genres or eras of poetry and literature (or any other form of art and creativity for that matter) interest you most? Who are your favorite and most highly ranked literary artists?
I look forward to your reply, and to all our future correspondence. Until then...
Goodnight,
Lewis.”
Sam toyed with the idea of placing a kiss or two at the end of his message, but quickly decided otherwise. Despite Sienna’s obvious initial attraction to the persona of Lewis Stowell, he did not want to push his luck too far. After all, Sam knew firsthand how suddenly Sienna's mood could be turned and how quickly the situation could could explode and crumble around him. No, he’d rather be safe than miserably sorry, and so the flirtatious undertones of their back and forth messaging would do for now - there would be plenty of time to take it further and progress to the next level.
He confidently tapped send and leaned back on his bed, stretching his arms out above his head and sighing contentedly. Rolling his eyes up and towards the left, in the direction of his bedside table, Sam could just about make out the digits on his alarm clock, telling him it was 2:45 am. No wonder his eyelids were beginning to involuntarily droop. Stretching his foot out, Sam used his extended toe to expertly switch his computer off. The machines low, droning, hum slowed and clicked to a stop as the fluorescent light that had been the only illumination in the room also faded to black. In the sudden, dense darkness and utter, still silence, Sam’s triumphant thoughts sung loudly in his head. From somewhere outside his thoughts and beyond the confines of his bedroom, Sam just about heard the muffled clatter of his mother dropping yet more bottles downstairs, followed by her usual self-pitying whine. Sam rolled over and ignored the noise, not ready to emerge from his cocoon of light headed happiness.
Fairly sure he was unlikely to get any sleep that night, Sam settled down for a night of reliving his glorious plan and Sienna's amaros, coquettish messages, over and over until the sun rose and the day started anew.
His face-splitting grin of success and triumph still firmly in place, Sam gazed longingly out towards the small slice of star speckled sky that he could see through the gap in his bedroom curtains, whispering to himself as he did so -
“And so it begins...”
CHAPTER 8 - ONE MONTH LATER
Sam's life had quickly been entirely absorbed into this plan of his. From that fateful night that Sienna had sent ‘Lewis Stowell’ that friend request, it had overwhelmed everything else and occupied every thought that went through his head. His vow to be kinder to his mother and to take better care of her had quickly been forgotten, cast aside in the light of more pressing matters, and his College life and friends had been quick to follow suit. It hadn’t been a difficult decision - everything else in his life could wait, Sienna could not, and so very quickly his computer had become his solitary companion and only source of company.
After three days, Sam had stopped checking his phone every time it bleeped, indicating yet another text or missed call from one of his friends, hollering and wondering where he was. After a week, the texts began to slow, and after two weeks they stopped completely. He’d even figured out a way to dupe his mother into believing that he was still attending College and was out of the house every day - as long as he kept his bedroom door locked and stayed quiet enough whenever he heard her approaching, she never even guessed that he was there (though Sam was sure he partly had the alcohol to thank for that, for a more sober parent wouldn’t have fallen for such an obvious and, quite frankly, unbelievable lie). After a while, her drunken shouts, stumbles and bouts of uncontrollable weeping simply became background noise, as if it were the muffled soundtrack to Sam’s life, and he quickly learned to block it out and stop being distracted by it.
Sienna hadn’t been wrong that day she’d angrily and brazenly stated that she was more mature and advanced intellectually than ‘the rest of them’. Sam was by no means your average College student - he was highly educated thanks to his father, and his circumstances over the past year or so had certainly forced him to mature much more quickly than the rest of his peers, and yet he still sometimes struggled to keep up with Sienna. She’d actually taken his (or rather, Lewis Stowell's) advice, and had almost immediately taken Rainer Maria Rilke's ‘Letters to a Young Poet’ out of the library and had devoured its pages eagerly, messaging Lewis as she went and initiating various, in depth online conversations about various aspects of the novel. Sam, who was barely aware of Rilke’s works, let alone his obscure books, had simply initially suggested the read in order to appear cultured and educated, and to get a foot in the door with his enigma girl. As a result, he had been forced to frantically search Google for answers and witty anecdotes to her questions and observations, praying that she wouldn’t notice that his replies were simply slightly doctored versions of reviews and articles that other notable professors or high brow intellectuals had kindly posted to the internet. Thankfully, she’d been completely taken with Lewis’s words, lapping them up like a cat at a bowl full of cream, and their relationship had soon deepened and had begun to turn slightly away from the educated dissection of various cultured and urbane literary works, and towards a more personal and private relationship. Finally, Sam seemed to be getting somewhere.
Sienna had quickly forgotten her devious plan, her anger at her mother overshadowed by her growing interest and increasing communication with the intriguing and enigmatic Lewis Stowell. Her art tutor and fellow classmates had seen hide nor hair of her since the day she had received that first, tantalizing message from him, and weren’t likely to see her again anytime soon. The library on the other hand had become Sienna’s sanctuary, and her laptop screen filled the role of ‘best friend’ better than any meager human could. She’d begun to loathe the journey to and from College, the presence of people around her irritating her far more than usual due to her impatience to get to the library and get back online - to get back to Lewis. She wasn’t quite ready to admit it to herself, but in the back of her mind she knew she was hooked and had no intention of resisting Lewis as he reeled her in slowly. After all, he seemed just as eager as Sienna.
She had at first thought that she might have ruined it all on that first night, that she had been too impulsive and forward and had gotten ahead of herself by sending him a friend request. The moment her finger had touched the button she had been certain she’d made a terrible mistake - that Lewis Stowell would see her as an over eager, foolish child, and would instantly withdraw from their interaction. And so, during those few painfully long moments before he had accepted her request, Sienna’s stomach had been a writhing, knotted mass of self hatred, embarrassment and worry.
The relief when the message ‘Lewis Stowell has accepted your friend request’ popped up on her facebook page was like an injection of euphoria coursing through her veins and spreading out through her body, tingling pleasantly as it reached the tips of her fingers and toes. She’d read the seven simple words on her screen over and over, licking her lips in triumph and enjoying the slightly increased, rushing beat of her heart. Her buzz of elation was increased and intensified when yet another notification popped up, indicating that Lewis had replied to the impulsive, hastily written message she had sent along with the friend request. His words, so eloquent and well written, were like music to Sienna’s ears as she read them - as if there were a miniature string quartet in her head and each of Lewis’s words were a carefully chosen chord, all of which combined into a masterful symphony, composed just for her. She’d restrained herself from cheering and dancing loudly around her room in the clumpy Doc Martens that we
re almost permanently attached to her feet - she could hear her mother pottering around downstairs having just returned from her night shift, and had no desire to alert her to the fact that Sienna was still awake, preferring not to ruin her good mood with the conflict that would inevitably ensue.
She hadn’t wasted any time, and had decided to enquire about Rilke’s ‘Letters to a Young Poet’ in the College library the very next day. Not that the old, confused librarian had been much help other than to provide some comic relief - Sienna had had to slowly spell out Rainer Maria Rilke’s name for her, syllable by syllable, to which the librarian had replied -
“Is that a Welsh name?”
This usually would have provoked an exasperated, infuriated response from Sienna, but her good mood had carried on while she had slept and had still been in full force when she had woken up that morning. And so, with her newly found patience, Sienna had simply smiled at the librarian and had politely thanked her for her help, before leaving the front desk (the librarian standing behind it looking, as usual, like a confused and perplexed owl), and searching for the novel on her own.
It had taken her about twenty minutes to find the humble, unassuming book amongst all the other titles in the ‘R’ section. It was smaller and narrower than she had expected, it’s spine so faded from the sunlight and so covered in dust that her gaze passed over it several times before she even noticed it was there. It was a hardback copy, and the spine had creaked, cracked and popped from years of neglect as she had slowly opened the tome.