The Persistence of Memory

Chapter Two

She's wearing a white woollen jumper that's too big for her, black leggings, and brown riding boots.  She has her knees pulled up under her chin and her back pressed into the frame of the window seat where she's sitting.  She brings the large white mug to her mouth and sips before lowering it and turning over the page. I could stare at this girl for hours. I did stare at this girl for hours. A weird fluttering sensation moves through me, like adrenalin, like the moments before the drop of a rollercoaster, and before I know what I'm doing I'm standing and moving toward her. The courage almost leaves me at the last moment but something stops me right at her.

"Eloise, isn't it?" I say, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. I know full well how a scrawny Northern Irish guy in a hoodie and baggy jeans may appear threatening to some people.

She glances up at me from under very long light coloured lashes, over the rim of her glasses. Her eyes are a cold ice blue and I realise then its the first time she's ever looked directly at me with them.  She looks vaguely annoyed at being interrupted. It's at this point I see the book she's reading: Enduring Love by Ian McEwan.

"Sorry do I know you?" She says, eyeing me suspiciously. She probably gets interrupted by stammering guys a lot as they try and chat her up. Is that what I'm doing? I lick my lips which have gone completely dry.

"I draw you.  I mean, you model in my life-art class — I draw you there." I say.  Did I actually just say that? I draw you? Considering I actually fail badly at drawing her I definitely should have opened with something else... fucking idiot.

"Oh," She says, looking faintly uncomfortable. "Well, in that case, I should apologise, I'm a terrible model.'

"Nah, no way, you're amazing," I reply.  Her eyes widen with surprise and she shifts a little in her seat, looking uncomfortable. I slide my hands into my pockets feeling like an utter tool. Great, now I've embarrassed her. "I just mean, it must be really hard to sit there for hours and have people just stare at you."

She laughs then, a soft light musical sound. "Yes, it's soooo bloody hard!" I feel my cheeks start to burn but I'm so overcome by how beautiful she looks when she's laughing that I don't even care. "Actually, I tend to forget you guys are there. I write in my head a lot, it passes the time."

"You write in your head?"

She nods and reaches forward to pick off another bit of muffin. "Yeah. I get it all down in my head when I'm sat there," she says as she chews,  "and then I write it all down when I get home. I write in my spare time.  When I'm not reading that is. Or studying. I write." She says it like it's the most uninteresting thing in the world.

"What kind of stuff do you write? You mean like stories?" I'm actually conversing with her. My heart rate has slowed a little and I'm no longer stammering. My cheeks still feel hot though.

"Stories mainly, yes. Essays. Thoughts and feelings, you know?"

"Sounds interesting." Her thoughts and feelings certainly interest me anyway.

"It keeps my mind occupied. Out of mischief." She smiles. Actually smiles.  At me. I want to ask her out. I should just ask her, she may want to have a drink sometime. I'm about to speak when I see a guy charging toward us carrying a leather man bag. He looks me over suspiciously as he approaches and then turns to Eloise. He's wearing glasses like hers except not as pointed at the corners, and a blazer. He looks older. He looks smart. So she liked older smart guys. Good to know.

"Sorry I'm late, babe," he tells her. I step back out of the way as he crowds her body with his to kiss her quickly on the lips before dropping into the window seat next to her.

"Oh, it's cool. Brought my book," she chirps brightly. The two of them turn to me then, and she gives me a slightly awkward smile.

"Um... So I guess I'll see you in class," I say as I start moving away from the table.

"Sure," she says, smiling politely before turning to The Blazer. I look back once but her attention is on him. It occurs to me then that I never even told her my name.

She'd never come back to the class after that day. No explanation, we were just told that we had a new model and we'd have to adapt our sketches. I'd always assumed it had been my fault for making her feel weird, for creeping her out that day.

It hadn't stopped me walking past the cafe a few times after that mind you, but she'd never been there again. It obviously wasn't her regular place. The day in the cafe was the last time I'd ever seen her.

At that moment, she lifts her head from her husband's shoulder and looks straight at me. Something happens in that moment.  Something I'd longed for and hoped for years. We connect. At first, I think it's because she remembers me. But it's not. Of course, it's not. I don't know why she'd remember a guy she'd been aware of for about three minutes twelve years ago. But the connection is tangible, a solid thing that I feel pulling at me, pulling at all the dark parts of me. Warming them, stirring them from a deep dark sleep. This time she won't forget me. Husband or not, I'd make sure of it. She was here. She's appeared back in my life for a reason.

I'd be fucked if I was letting her go this time.