Preservation

by Rachael Wade

“This piece you’re working on. It’s good.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Very good. But I’m noticing you’re having some problems with the end. It seems to be lagging, and I think it has to do with the pacing. Up until page fifteen, it’s smooth, tight, moves right along. And then all of a sudden it becomes choppy. I think you need to cut anything from page fifteen on that doesn’t advance the plot in some way.” He shuffled through the file in his briefcase and handed me back my draft. “I won’t pass this on to Mrs. Meyer. I think you should revisit it when your mind feels fresh and tweak it a bit more before you get her feedback.”

  “Okay, I can do that. Thanks, that’s really helpful.”

  “Sure thing.” He smiled at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Good luck with it.”

  “I appreciate it.” Taking that as my cue, I started for the door.

  “Ms. Parker,” he called after me.

  “Yeah?”

  “You don’t have that awful duffle bag with you.”

  “Gym locker,” I shrugged matter-of-factly. “I don’t have time to stuff it in there before your class in the morning. I’m usually rushing from the Light Rail. I have to take the 10:40 because I’m coming from my job downtown.”

  “Ah,” he placed his hands on his hips. “Good thing. I’m surprised you haven’t thrown out a shoulder carrying that thing around.”

  “Not yet,” I smirked at him, turning for the door again.

  “Have a good night,” he slipped his hands into his pockets, watching me intently as I made my way out. “And be on time to my next class, please.”

  Making my way outside the building, I ran over the suggestions he’d made about my work in my head, thankful he wasn’t nearly as touchy tonight as he’d been earlier that day. Maybe we just got off on the wrong foot. I walked to the campus pool for my Monday night ritual swim, making a mental note to myself to try extra hard to be on time to his class next week.

  ***

  The music blared throughout the club, the vibrations shaking my bones as I leaned up against the cold concrete wall in the back of the room. The coolness felt good against my skin after dancing with Carter and Dean. Their band’s set was over and the main act was playing now, really kicking up the place’s energy. It was like an entirely different show by the end of the night, moving from mellow to rowdy in a few short hours. It was Friday night and my feet were killing me after working all day.

  “Please, just one more beer, Kate,” Dean begged, grabbing my arm and pulling me over to the bar with him. He raised his hand to flag the bartender and ordered before I could object.

  “Fine, but then I’m done,” I yelled over the noise. “Seriously, tomorrow is my one day off and I want to roll out of bed at a decent time so I can take advantage of it.”

  “Tomorrow is your only day off, which is why you need to stay here and keep dancing with us.” Dean leaned in closer, slipping his fingers underneath my hair and around the back of my neck. His charm was wearing at me, but I quickly dismissed it and pulled away from him.

  “Dean,” I shifted my elbows on the bar, tilting my head.

  “Kate, I don’t get you. You’re incredibly sexy, smart, and hands down the coolest girl I’ve ever met. And me, well...”

  “Yes. You’re a living, breathing Ken doll. I know, I get it. But I’m not that shallow, and you clearly know that about me by now, Dean.”

  “That’s not what I mean, Kate. Come on, you know that’s not what I mean.” His brow furrowed, looking hurt.

  “Well, what is it, then? You know I’m not up for a relationship. We’ve been over all of this. You’re one of my closest friends, I don’t want to mess that up. You can have any girl you want. They’re all lining up for you.”

  “You’re authentic. Something all of those other girls that follow me around are certainly not. You can’t blame me for wanting you. Even Carter wants you.”

  “The difference is Carter knows there isn’t a chance in hell. He knows how I am and he accepts it, Dean. You could learn a thing or two from him.”

  Looking even more hurt now, he turned from me and looked down at his beer. I bit my lip and shut my eyes. Damn, Kate. Easy. Go easy.

  “I can assure you this whole ‘wanting me’ thing you speak of has to do with me being unavailable. You guys always want what you can’t have. And I promise you,” I sought out his eyes, squeezing his shoulder, “it’s absolutely nothing personal. I love you guys to death—both of you, you know that.”

  Taking a swig of his beer, he cracked a small smile and peered over at me. “Yeah, I know. I just hope you’ll let someone in someday, because warding us all off has to be exhausting.” He leaned over and kissed the top of my head. “I don’t mean to be a pain in the ass, Kate. You just don’t make it easy on us poor chumps over here, ya know.”

  In all fairness, he was right. I knew I hung all over him, Carter, and the rest of the band. Hung over them like all of their groupies did, only without the slutty advances and come-hither eyes. Still, there wasn’t much I could do about it. I was so comfortable around them and I never felt like they were taking advantage of me. They treated me like one of the guys, like an equal. And that was something I wasn’t used to. Guys hit on me and girls ran their mouths behind my back. Things rarely ever deviated from that norm. Friends like Carter and his band mates didn’t come along very often, and I was very aware of the fact. Still, that didn’t change things. I didn’t want to be involved with anyone. Not any time soon, anyway.

  We finished our beers and said goodbye to Melissa, Carter and Dean patiently waiting while I gushed to her about how much I loved her new album. They finally pried me away from her and we made our way to my apartment, enjoying the crisp Pacific Northwestern air as we strolled into the night. They walked me to my building and burst out into song, belting out “Maria” from Westside Story at the top of their lungs. Dean dropped down on one knee with his arms open wide while Carter twirled around the stairway railing.

  “Oh guys, please, don’t—”

  “Mariaaa! I just met a girl named Mariaaa!” Dean swayed his hands from side to side as he serenaded me in the street.

  “You guys are out of control. That’s it. I’m leaving. Good night!” I shook my head laughing, fumbling for my key as I slipped in through the building’s front door. Their echoes carried on from the street for a few more minutes until they finally retreated, knocking over some empty trash cans and startling a few passersby during their dramatic exit.

  I rubbed my eyes and yawned, ready to bury myself under the covers and pass out. Reaching to unlock my door, I stopped short when I saw the notice. Not again. No, no, no. Please not again. I pulled at the white paper and unfolded it, cringing when I saw the title: Eviction Notice. I had three days to pay up, and this time, I knew I wouldn’t be able to talk my way out of it by offering to tutor the landlord’s daughter. I stuffed the notice in my purse and slammed the door behind me, resigned to handle it in the morning.

  3. CURIOSITY

  Over the weekend I picked up last-minute shifts at the literacy tutoring center and bartered with my neighbor Mrs. Morris, selling her my favorite antique necklace, the one with the vintage rabbit pendant. I couldn’t bring myself to take it to a pawn shop. It was too impersonal. At least this way I’d know the owner of my cherished jewelry.

  As she handed me the money, I instantly felt that I’d lost a piece of me. It was my mentor’s necklace, the woman who practically raised me. Rabbits were her favorite, precious and innocent, just like her. She was like a second mom to me, and was also my best friend; a hippie wonder woman who was about thirty-five years my senior and yet knew me better than anyone I’ve ever known. She’d passed away last summer and I’d sworn to myself I’d never part with that necklace. Unfortunately, my mom’s health required every ounce of my income, to the point where dodging eviction notices was becoming a full-time job.

  I knew what I had to do. I had to give up school. But I was past the refund deadline and ev
erything was paid for. It was a miracle I’d managed to even start school after putting it on hold for the last five years. Financial aid and a few grants had managed to help a little, but it was still a struggle to pay the leftover and hold my own. I was determined to finally get a degree and do something for my own future, but it was dipping into my time and now my bank account, just as I’d feared. Something had to go: school or my mom’s expenses. And I already knew the answer to that one.

  Carter came over Sunday night to go over the draft that Mr. Campbell suggested I change, peering up at me through his chunky glasses when he finished reading.

  “Kate, this is good. I mean, scary good. Why don’t you submit to some of the literary journals we read? They’d eat this stuff up.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek and played with my fingers, thinking it over. “Maybe,” I decided. “I’ll see what Mrs. Meyer has to say. Getting a few more opinions on it will give me the extra confidence boost, I think. That means a lot, Carter. Thanks,” I nudged his shoulder and smiled. I plopped down on the sofa next to him, relieved I’d managed to swing the rent money I owed over the weekend. Homework was done and now it was back to the weekday grind, and I was looking forward to getting back to class and making the most of it before I had to say goodbye to my academic dreams. Again.

  “I think I’m going to turn in. I have a long week ahead of me and I need to visit my mom tomorrow night.” I took a sip of my tea and kicked my shoes off, then curled back up on the couch.

  “All right. But listen, Kate.” Carter locked me in a bear hug on the sofa. “You know you don’t have to keep doing this. With your mom. It’s not your job anymore. Hasn’t been for a while. Please tell me you’ll think about it?”

  “I will,” I hugged him back, breathing in his warmth. “I just can’t let her lose everything. Can’t have that burden on my shoulders.”

  “But look at what you’re replacing it with. You’re on the verge of losing a roof over your head because of choices she’s made over the years. You didn’t put her in this position, Kate. She did. You’ve been cleaning up her mess long enough.”

  My arms still wrapped around his torso, I nodded, emphatic. “You couldn’t be more right. I agree with you wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, that doesn’t change the fact that she’s my mom and she really is sick. How she became sick just isn’t relevant anymore. I can’t do that to her. No matter how much I resent her, I still love her...”

  “I better go,” Carter squeezed me once more and stood, grabbing his wallet from the coffee table. “I need to hit up the lottery tonight if I want to get you out of this mess. Will you let me buy a monkey if we win, though?”

  “Only if you buy me an island off the coast of Fiji.”

  “You crazy-ass woman. A monkey is so much cooler than an island.”

  “How about a monkey in Fiji.”

  “Now there’s a woman after my own heart,” Carter slapped his hand to his chest, sighing dramatically. “I’ll let you know if we win.” He started for the door.

  “Uh huh.”

  “You’ll know if we do. I’ll be the one streaking on Pike Street.”

  “Goodbye, Carter.” I chuckled and shooed him out the door from the sofa, drifting to sleep as soon as he was gone.

  ***

  The alarm clock startled me from the bedroom and I sat up, confused when I realized I’d spent the entire night on the sofa. I dashed to my bedroom to shower and change before heading to work. My short morning shift passed quickly and I caught the Rail to school, thrilled when I stepped foot into Mr. Campbell’s class ten minutes early. He looked just as surprised as I did when I wandered to my seat, smirking slightly at the sight of my unhurried stroll.

  “I’m impressed, Ms. Parker.”

  “As am I,” I let out a breath and sat down, taking my time with my laptop and textbook.

  “How did the paper go? Did you get to work on it at all? No doubt your life revolves around it...”

  I stopped plugging in my charger when I realized he was making conversation and being a smartass, staring at me, waiting for me to respond. I looked around the room, just to make sure it was in fact me he was talking to. His familiar haughty tone and body language were present, but his hazel eyes were softened, an engaged flicker present in them.

  “Yeah, actually I did. I think it’s better, but I’m going to see what Mrs. Meyer has to say about it tonight.”

  “Mind if I take a look at it again?”

  “Um...” I froze, unsure if I wanted him to read what I’d revised. The piece was already very personal and this would be off the record, outside of class...

  I bit my lip and nodded, leaning into my book bag to retrieve it. Can’t hurt, I guess. I met him at the front of the classroom and tried not to ogle him as he scanned the page, twisting my fingers together as I watched his brow furrow as he made his way down each page. Whatever cologne he was wearing wasn’t helping the annoying reality that he was definitely attractive. Hhhmm, that scent. Twenty-seven or twenty-eight? Nah, can’t be older than twenty-eight. He pushed his golden brown hair back, running his fingers through it.

  Scratching my chin, I cleared my throat and leaned in closer to see the line he was reading. He didn’t stop me, just slowly held up one finger to signal me to wait, intent on maintaining focus. Students began trickling into the classroom and I became antsier, tugging at the corners of my jacket.

  “I’ll have to finish it after class,” he finally spoke, scanning the page from top to bottom. “You put yourself in this, didn’t you?” He turned to look at me, his eyes still soft, sincere. Whoa. Those eyes are...whoa.

  “Don’t we always put ourselves in our work?”

  “Well, to an extent I believe we do, yes. But this is so raw. Someone can’t write a protagonist like this unless she is familiar with some of these situations, these emotions. It’s really honest.” He licked his lips and handed me the paper, nodding to students as they greeted him, but kept his gaze on me.

  “Wow. I don’t know what to say to that. I guess I just gave myself away.” The red on my cheeks deepened and I looked down.

  “There’s no shame in honesty, Kate—Ms. Parker.”

  “You can call me Kate,” I lifted my chin to meet his eyes again. “Thank you.”

  “I’d love to finish it after class, will you have a few minutes?”

  “Sure. My next class isn’t until two thirty.”

  “Good.”

  When class ended, I squirmed in my seat, watching him read as he sat on the edge of the desk, the same intent expression on his face as before. He ran his fingers over his chin and I found myself distracted by the stubble there, wondering what it’d be like to run my fingers over it too. I stood up and stretched, shaking the thoughts. Swooning over the sexy professor would only lead to a dead end. A bad one. Thank God he was an ass. Sort of.

  “It’s solid. Completely solid. Have you considered seeking publication?” Mr. Campbell handed me the papers and then relaxed in his seat, gesturing for me to pull a chair up to the desk.

  “Just recently. A friend of mine suggested it, but I’m not sure...”

  “You’re ready. You’re a writer, plain and simple. You’re young; the world is at your feet.”

  Tucking loose strands of hair behind my ear, I narrowed my eyes and pressed my lips together. “You think? It’s so personal, you know? I’m not sure I could share that with the world. It’s hard enough to have my teachers read it.”

  “What are you in school for?”

  I blinked, confused. He knew what I was studying, knew my major because I was taking his class. “English Literature with a Creative Writing specialization...”

  “Okay, and what do you think about? Every morning when you wake up. When you walk around campus through the halls. When you take a walk or listen to music. What do you think about?” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. My eyes darted from side to side and landed on his collar, which was slightly opened, his signature tweed jac
ket casting a shadow across the small part of his exposed chest. I forced my focus upward.

  “Stories. Untold stories that need closure.”

  “You’re a natural-born storyteller, Kate. And this,” he pointed to the papers in my hand, “is great writing. I have a lot of students, and I don’t say that often.”

  “Th-thank you,” I sat there, frozen, unsure as to why I couldn’t think of a thing to say to him other than ‘thanks.’ I was about to flush twenty more shades of crimson when something struck me. “Have you been published, Mr. Campbell?”

  “You can call me Ryan outside of class.”

  “Ryan.” Much better than the Mr. Campbell nonsense. “Are you one of those who can’t do, so you teach?”

  He let out a low huff and pursed his lips, looking down.

  Shit. Really, Kate? Realizing that sounded more like an insult than intended, I tried to redeem myself. “I only meant—”

  “No, I know what you meant,” he deadpanned me, his face suddenly glacial. “I do write, and yes, I’ve been published. Two years ago I had an impressive publishing deal at my feet and personal matters got in the way. Unfortunately the bridge was burned and there was no salvaging the opportunity.” He picked up a pencil and began playing with it, watching it roll over his fingers. “Anyway, I teach because it’s what I know. But I haven’t given up on writing myself.”

  My fingers twitched, draped over my knees. “I didn’t mean to offend you, I’m sorry. I was curious, that’s all. And I’m sorry to hear you lost that publishing deal, but you’re fantastic. You have a wonderful eye,” I shrugged, recalling his earlier encouragement. “You’re young...you have the world at your feet. I’m sure you’ll be accepted elsewhere.”

  He stopped playing with the pencil and raised his gaze to meet mine, his lips parting slightly. “Thank you, Ms. Par—Kate.” We sat there for a moment, staring at one another. Did I cross the line? Is he still offended? It seemed we both needed help in the self-esteem department when it came to writing. I tried smiling to assure him, relieved when his expression softened and he cracked a grin. Then I realized my hand was on the desk, meeting his.