A week after I had my fortune read to me, I was surprised to find myself able to continue writing and choosing some of my older poems for the new collection. And I was happy at how it looked thus far. It was a relief to feel any sort of satisfaction after that night, and I felt as if I was recovering more and more each day. What helped me out most were how Marilyn visited more often to share a meal, some stories and more wine (they must think I have a drinking problem, but maybe I do. Whatever.) and how Adam stayed in touch with me, sending me poems at least once a day together with one or two personal messages. Apparently all he ever did was go to the office and head back home to sleep, then go to the office again in the morning and it just went on and on and sometimes he grew sick of it while other times he'd be totally fine. I told him how maybe he should take a few days' break and that it was the same with me. Just one cycle every day with no end in sight – I wake up, shower and have breakfast, check messages, go over my work, have lunch, go over my work, have dinner, go over my work one last time and go to bed. Any deviation from that was a welcome treat so sometimes I listened to music, went for walks (avoiding the old lady and her cottage at all costs), thought about getting a new cat (or maybe a dog), and bought take-out instead of cooking my own food. During one of these small deviations I found a tiny art store in the corner of the market and bought some watercolors, brushes and watercolor paper. I checked online for paintings that might inspire me – Van Gogh, Monet, Vermeer, Van Eyck, Ingres, Kandinsky, Yerka and Magritte. I thought about translating my poetry into images, hoping it would help, but most of the time I just stared at another kind of blank page.
It was one of those blank page Saturday mornings when I scrolled over the manuscript and realized I was almost done. This is it. Maybe a few more days. And then, I'll be sending it. Then what? Agony all over again. I struggled to be more optimistic but no words of comfort came to mind. I should be ready. Win or lose, I should be ready. I clicked on PRINT and the machine started humming. I needed to feel the document in my hands, flip over the pages like a possible reader would, linger over the edges like a lover on his lover's curves. As I waited for the machine to vomit my bottled up emotions, I sat on the edge of the bed and looked out the bedroom window. I watched the dust particles dance along the beams of light and I moved my hand against them, and I watched my skin turn to gold and my long fingers creating shadows.
Tap.
I stopped, listening for the sound I wasn't sure I just heard. Did I hear something drop? I waited a few more moments. Maybe it's the printer. Hmm, oh well. This time I lifted my left hand and tried to catch the dust between my fingers.
Tap.
There it is again! The printer had just stopped whirring when I got up to turn it off. I took the thick bundle of pages in my hands, pressed them against my nose and inhaled the scent of freshly printed ink and paper. Ah, wonderful. I need coffee. I placed the manuscript on the bed, remembering to get a sliding folder from the cabinet to hold the pages together.
Tap.
From the corner of my eye I saw something hit the window pane. Was that a goddamn rock!? Who the fuck does that anymore, seriously? I rushed to open the window and look outside. Adam was there.
"Sylvia, oh Sylvia. You snobbish princess. Let down your hair!"
"What the fuck, Adam!? Stop screaming! The neighbors... neighbor... will hear you!"
"Your doorbell isn't working and your phone isn't answering! Whatever happened to voicemail, huh?"
"Um... maybe you can knock? Like a normal person!? Jesus!"
He grinned a wide grin and said nothing. "I'll come down. Wait there!" I closed the window and briskly walked downstairs. As soon as I opened the door, I saw Adam standing on the "welcome" mat, wearing a black long-sleeved shirt tucked in under black slacks with a black leather belt and black leather shoes. "Well, look at this..." I looked at him from head to foot, one hand on my hips. "Mister Fancy Funeral. I'm not sure if I should let you come in, all this negative space you got going. Rapping, rapping at my chamber door." The last poem I sent him was The Raven. He glared at me. "Shut up, Cinderella. You do realize you're implying your own slow descent into madness, right?" What? I laughed. "It's Rapunzel, idiot. And yes, I do. So what? What's with the clothes?" I opened the door wide and Adam entered. "I just came from the office and I forgot to do laundry so this is all I had left. Luckily I don't go to funerals every day." From the office? "What do you mean from the office? Did you work late?" I left him standing at the foyer while I entered the kitchen to make coffee. "Yes, I did. There was a rush project and they needed the plans sooner than expected." Yikes. "Ugh. Overtime is awful. Overtime is sugarcoated slavery, Adam. Don't do that again." His laugh echoed through the stairwell. Why is he still in there? I peeked from the kitchen into the foyer. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, head bowed and looking down at his shoes. What the hell? "Hey, Adam." He looked up at me. "You can come into the kitchen if you like. I'm making coffee." I shrugged. "That would be great, thank you," he said, walking towards me. He stopped. "Oh, um. Would you mind if we stayed at your living room for a little bit? I think it's warmer there." I nodded. "Sure, wait there. Coffee's almost ready." Normally I wouldn't have coffee in the living room because I'd hate to have food and beverage stains on the couch. But Adam looked so tired I felt bad forcing him to sit on a cold hard chair. He probably did that all night already. I carefully carried the two coffee mugs, one in each hand, towards the living room. Adam was lying on the couch adjacent to the large window, so I settled for one of the chairs near his feet and put the mugs down on the coffee table. As I was sitting I said, "Coffee's still hot so you can wait a little bit more but I'm telling you, it'll get lukewarm in no time at all." He said nothing so I looked at him. He was sound asleep but I stayed anyway. Sipping slowly, watching Adam as I drowned in thought. Why are you here, Adam? On my couch instead of your probably spacious bed. My house is farther away from your office. So... why? I felt a familiar sensation in my stomach, a cold wave rising up warmer to my chest. There it is, again! Should I see a doctor? What is this? I remembered watching an educational show about parasites moving inside the human body creating unusual sensations and decided not to drink my coffee anymore, setting my mug down. Could be the caffeine though. I stared back at Adam, peaceful, unmoving except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest, his skin and face brightened by the sunlight, his clothes seeming darker in contrast. Maybe he's lonely. I looked at his shoes. Oh, Lord. I hope those don't leave stains. Heading for the bedroom I stood up and sighed, smiling involuntarily, for reasons still unknown to me.
Adam had been sleeping for four hours when I had started making lunch. I'd finished reviewing my manuscript upstairs then decided to make spicy shrimp pasta. I hope you're not allergic to seafood, Adam. I figured if he didn't like it we could easily go for take-out, and I could tone down on the chili just this one time, just to be safe. I heard heavy footsteps from behind. "Sylvia, I'm so sorry!" I looked back and saw Adam standing on the kitchen entryway with both hands on his head and I opened my mouth to speak, but he interjected. "I..." He placed one hand in his pocket and the other on his forehead. "I should go, I don't want to bother you any longer. I'm sorry." He turned to leave when I interrupted. "Wait!" He stopped and turned back to face me. "No, please. Stay for lunch. It's okay. I made enough for two." I smiled and shrugged. Adam ran his fingers through his hair and chuckled. "Alright. Thank you." I stirred the sauce and covered the pot. "This is almost ready. I hope you like spicy shrimp." I looked at him, hoping for a positive reaction. "Yes, I do. That smells good." Thank God. "Great! Sit down first. I'll serve it there." I gestured towards the dining room table. He sat down, looking out into the garden. I heard him yawn and he said sleepily, "Are these your goats?" I took two large plates from the china cabinet and replied, "Yes. But stop staring like that. They're pets." He chuckled. "You have goats. Cool."
When we finished having lunch, we got to talking about his work and my writing and everything else in between. A few hours into sitting in the dining room, I noticed the sky grow darker. I sat up, alarmed. "Is it gonna rain?" Adam looked out the window into the sky. "No, I don't think so. It's that time of the year again. You'll see more bleak days now." I relaxed back down on my seat. "Oh, okay. That's fine, I guess." Then his eyes lit up as he turned to face me. "Let's go to the beach. Now." What? "Really? Now?" He chuckled. "Yes. I never have extra time to go but I've always wanted to. And it's not far from here, right?" Fine, fine. If you put it that way... "Okay then. But... your clothes..." He looked down on his shirt and smiled at me. "I don't mind. We're not gonna swim or anything like that, are we?" Nope. "Right. It's gonna be cold out so I'll just put on something warmer." I stood up. "Okay, I'll wait for you outside." Adam said, standing up as well.
When we reached the shoreline the sky above us was a plain, smooth dreary white gradually darkening further into the ocean's horizon. Everything was tinted grey. The wind from the east blew my hair onto my face so I tied it back into a ponytail. Adam walked at my left side and that was when I remembered he had leather shoes when he arrived. I looked down at his feet. "Oh my god, Adam, your shoes!" I laughed. He smiled. "I can leave it where the tide won't reach." And he gestured towards the farther side of the beach near the road. "Hold on," he said, and he took his shoes off, both of them hanging from one hand, hooked on his index and middle fingers and still wearing his grey socks, jogged away from the waves. When he thought he ran far enough he dropped his shoes on the sand and removed his sand-covered socks. I was laughing at his childish carelessness, amused. "You should leave your slippers here, too!" He shouted from afar. "What? No!" I yelled back as he came running towards me. "Come on, let me," he said, kneeling down to help take my slippers off. What the...? He was getting sand all over his pants now and I found his devil-may-care brashness hilarious. "Stop! I'll take them off!" He managed to take one slipper before I raced to grab the other one from my foot and handed it to him. He ran back towards the edge of the upward sand slope and left my slippers beside his shoes, and then sprinted back towards me smiling and panting. "Adam Blake," I said, "You. Are weird. You're almost a stranger to me and yet you tried to grab my foot. What is wrong with you?" He chuckled, still catching his breath. "Sylvia... I tell you everything about me. But you. You haven't told me your last name, have you?" I laughed. "No. I haven't." He looked at me. "Then, who's the stranger?" He asked.
We walked right at the water's edge very casually, sometimes stopping to pick up a peculiar rock or a small seashell jutting out from the sand and throwing it out to sea as far as we can, especially those that poked our bare feet unforgivingly. Eventually I got tired and suggested we should sit on the dry area of sand. I sat down with crossed legs, pulling my black leggings further down to cover my cold ankles. Adam followed from behind, sitting down beside me. I looked at him, finding humor in the contrast between his covered up body and formal clothes against his pale, bare feet. I must have been smiling, because he turned to me with a questioning look on his face. "What?" He asked. "You're funny," I said, "So formal on the beach." He smiled and turned towards the ocean. I turned to gaze ahead as well. We were quiet for a few moments, and then I remembered something I've been meaning to ask him. "By the way," I said, "What's up with all that security information thing you tried to get from me before? Remember, when we first talked on the phone? I've always wondered." We kept looking ahead into the horizon as we talked. "I had a different phone number before, and a guy from that phone company used my number to get my information, buying all kinds of stuff. It was a nightmare. So I got more careful since then." I chuckled. "You do realize that I could have sent you fake information, right? Like with a two-by-two photo of some Versace model?" I dug my right hand into the sand and let the grains fall through my fingers. "Of course, but it didn't matter." Really now? "All I needed was your IP address. I know some guys who can check everything about you just by getting that information. And once you send me anything, they'll see it." That's a little creepy. "O-kay. Creepy, but... I don't have anything to hide." Hold on. I sent him e-mails. I got a little scared. "I sent you e-mails every day," I began, "So did you check on me? And be honest." I turned to face him. He smiled and looked at me. "No. I think there's another way to get to know someone." What? "Which is...?" I asked. He chuckled. "Actually getting to know someone." I laughed. Of course, idiot. But... I wondered what we were doing here. What all this was for. I was deep in thought, listening to the waves and the seagulls, watching the boats further up ahead. Adam broke the silence. "What's wrong?" He asked. I inhaled deeply before speaking. "It's just. What is this, then? Are you still trying to decide whether you can trust me? Are you still trying to read me? I think I'd feel offended if I knew you were spending time with me just to make sure your information is safe. I think it's sad." He fell silent for a few moments, just staring at me, so I looked away in embarrassment. Then he burst out laughing. What the hell does that mean!? "I can't believe you just said that!" Adam almost yelled at me. "I'm here because... well... because... I like, I like your e-mails with poems in them. I don't know. But it's definitely not for investigation. Seriously, Sylvia. I thought you'd know that by now." I sensed a bit of disappointment in his voice. Really? "For real, Adam? If it's for your security, that would suck, but I'd have to know. And I'll do whatever you like. Erase our messages, delete you from my phone contacts, everything. I'll respect that as long as you don't keep fooling me." He chuckled. I'm serious. He spoke slowly. "I slept on your couch today, Sylvia." And I remembered him lying there, completely vulnerable and cut off from the world. I tried to suppress a smile but I chuckled anyway, and Adam laughed with me. At that exact moment, with no warning at all, it rained. Hard and relentless, the raindrops fell heavy on my head, my skin. The horizon became a two-toned gray Van Gogh painting with nothing but downward strokes. We laughed even harder, never leaving each other's gaze, sitting there like the sun was still shining. The rain crashed into the sea so loud that I almost screamed at him so he could hear me. "You said it wouldn't rain, Adam!" I was still grinning, waiting for his reaction. He just stared at me. I looked away. And then I remembered. "Adam! Your shoes!" I turned towards him, almost getting up to run and rescue them. "Never mind, Sylvia! They'll be okay!" He laughed and I joined him. We stood up and ran like madmen towards the sea until our feet left the ground and we swam back at once to shore to lay on the sand, our faces smoothed by rain.