Convincing October

Break Up In A Small Town

Ian

To say I was grateful that Christmas break was over would be a mild understatement. I'd spent every day of the long vacation thinking on one person; October Dixon. The way her eyes lit up as she laughed, how her hair looked after a long night in bed, the way her lips tasted when I kissed her, the noises she made when I touched her. My body hardened as I thought too long about it but I made no rush to cover it up. I was ready to have her in my arms again. I wondered again for the millionth time if what we had was love, but I came up with the same answer -- I didn't love her, simply the feeling she gave me. Meeting her at Jo's that fateful day was what I considered luck. Yes, I was young and fairly decent looking, but until then my attentions has never strayed from my wife. Did we have the most secure marriage? No. Liza was beautiful, sure, strawberry blonde locks that were always cut short, dancing green eyes, Cupid's bow mouth that left an open invitation. Her body was long, legs going on for miles. She wasn't well endowed in her chest or butt, but it had never bothered me. Oh, she had a wonderful personality and was great to talk to, but we had nothing in common. We lived this endless cycle, I would work while she stayed home, on the occasional Wednesday she would pop by and we would have lunch together, Friday's were reserved for a quick round of lovemaking - the same position, same time, same lingerie. I suppose I should've been grateful for the way things were. There were no surprises, no arguments, there was never anything that knocked me on my ass. But maybe that's what I wanted, needed.

Then I met October.

I remember her sitting alone in one of the recliners at Josie's, hunched over her iPad with her brow furrowed in concentration mumbling to herself. The small table beside her was littered with papers and pens, a large list smack dab on top; every so often she'd mark out something in red on that list and if I were truly lucky, she'd toss her head back in a full belly laugh, her mane of golden hair glinting sweetly under the rays of sun dancing through the windows. How long I sat there watching her, I wasn't sure; it was long enough that the coffee grew cold and the heat evaporated from my soup.

"Ian Lakeland, British Lit." Somehow my name passing through her lips was all I caught, attention steeling on her once more. I knew what she was doing suddenly and it was my way to speak to her.

"Mr. Lakeland is new but fairly well liked." I offered up, causally taking a sip from my cold coffee. Her blue eyes darted to meet mine shining with surprise, lips set in a slight pout.

From then it had been hard to resist her. There was this magnetic draw to October and I gave in to my desire to have her, no matter the cost.

*

"Welcome back, everyone. I hope your holidays were as excellent as mine." I stated, eyes scanning the crowd for the familiar halo of golden hair. I saw plenty of familiar faces but not that I had ached to see once again. We needed to talk, I needed to know what that night a few days ago had been all about. Unfortunately, I couldn't dwell for long since I did have a lecture to give. I was sure she'd show up during attendance call. I made my way through the list slowly, watching the students trickle in slowly, all wearing the same holiday hangover I had seen on other professor's faces this morning. Many students didn't speak, instead opted for raising their hands or nodding their head slightly.

"Dixon, October." The class stayed quite, eyes darting around looking for the missing classmate. I waited a few seconds before calling her name again, looking down at the attendees roster only to see that her name wasn't on it where it should've been. My concern spiked.

Where was she?

It wasn't until after lunch that I was able to wander toward the office where I could catch Candice, the head counselor to ask her the question that had been bothering me all day. It was no secret that Candice Jenkins was a friend of August's, the eldest of the Dixon sisters. Her bright blue eyes had widened only marginally in surprise from my demand, smile wan when she motioned for me to join her in her office.

"You aren't the first staff member to come in here about Miss Dixon today. It is always unfortunate to lose a bright student." She sighed before running a hand through her pixie cut hair, gesturing to the folder on her desk in front of me. "I'm not allowed to say why she's left, that part I learned in confidence -- I can only tell you that Miss Dixon won't be back." Even thought I knew my eyes were pleading with her, I didn't ask. The rest of my day was a bit of a haze after that, going through the motions. Twice during my lecture one of my students had to correct the information I was giving, eyebrows going up at my lack of enthusiasm. My sheer excitement and passion for my class had been why so many students had requested me. I hoped they chalked it up to post holiday haze. I dismissed class forty minutes early, not even bothering to give them information on their newest assignment.

The news hit me hard as I checked my phone for the nth time as the last student rushed out, hoping to see an unread message from that same unknown number I'd memorized for months before. My screen was blank, a picture of my wife staring back at me instead.

My heart sank. Where had she gone, and why did I feel like that last night had meant goodbye?

*

Liza was scurrying around the kitchen in her usual fashion, babbling pointlessly about something she'd heard in book club today from the other women -- all rumors and gossip that should've burned their wagging tongues as they passed it on. I sat rumpled in a chair at the dining room table, sipping on the glass of water she'd placed in front of me the moment I had taken a seat. The scent of something burning drew my attention and served to pull my head out of my ass long enough for me to dart toward the smoke filled stove. Liza had burned our dinner once again it seemed, but it was no surprise to me -- she liked to think that broil was a better way to speed cook items. Most nights I was the one to cook for this very reason.

I tried to quell my overwhelming disappointment as I yanked the pyrex pan out of the billowing oven and set it on the counter grimacing at the blackened chicken in disgust. Definitely not my day, I thought.

"... youngest Dixon girl was sent off was 'cause she got knocked up like some common floozy."

My heart stopped and I turned, facing Liza who now wore a heartbroken expression on her lovely face.

"What?" I asked, praying I'd misheard her entirely.