Lucid Waking

Archive for February, 2007

The Valentine’s Day Interviews: Sarah’s Tale

            I didn’t think he knew, so when I got the call that Valentine’s Day, I was pleasantly surprised. Come to dinner, he had said, just the two of us. If that’s not a date invitation, I don’t know what is. Besides, I really loved him. We hadn’t talked much, but the little bits we did throughout the years was enough for me to get to know him quite well. Know him so well, in fact, that I should have seen him gone from me years before.
            Still, it came as quite a shock, to say the least, when he told me he was married. When he told me her name, I recognized her as the girl who was a better friend to him than I was. We didn’t really know each other very well, his wife and I, but I knew enough to say we were polar opposites. Surprisingly, he and I were not that different.
            It was strange; my feet moved long before my brain had comprehended and I ended up soaked at Maggie’s door long before I had even realized what I really felt. I had lost him and I needed to find someone else. Maggie helped me like the friend she was, but there was only so much she could do. I needed to start over. So, I went to France and immersed myself in the language. I became a businesswoman for the largest perfume company in Nice. And as strong as I became, I still can’t pick up the phone to talk to him again. If forgave him even before I left since it wasn’t his fault for the turn of events. He didn’t know I loved him and besides, she was a better match for him anyway.
            This isn’t my satisfaction talking, I’m still single without a boyfriend, but I can’t stand leaving John in the states without so much a clue as to how I really feel. In fact, I think I’ll call him right now. After all, it’s been three years.

The Valentine’s Day Interviews: John’s Story

            I suppose you could say Sarah and I were dating each other, but it was more of a friendship than anything. I never really knew she was so infatuated with me until that week. I should have seen the clues, like how she would ask me to Homecoming and the Valentine’s Day dance and how she would often show up at various soccer games to watch me play. I just passed it off as being a good friend.
            We were both adults, so I thought our high school dramas were over and had no idea the next few events were coming. It started when I decided to ask Sarah if she would like to join me for dinner on Valentine’s Day. As soon as I picked her up I knew she had the impression that this was going to be more of a date than a get-together. It seems stupid to say that, but sometimes the way someone gives you a look or just the way they’re dressed you can tell that they aren’t just teasing you. It was somewhat difficult drive because I wasn’t really expecting her to be so giddy and… beautiful. She just glowed and it was hard not to love her.
            I want to make it clear that I didn’t know she was in love with me. And yet, something about it made it quite obvious that I had just been ignoring it all the years I had known her. I remember her starting to get tense after several starts of conversations that I didn’t continue. I was too embarrassed to talk to her much and whenever I tried thinking of something to say, my words turned to oatmeal. When this had happened at previous occasions, she didn’t mind-she just thought it was cute-but I decided I wasn’t going to lead her on a deception path. At the same time, I knew I already had.
            It wasn’t raining until after we got into the restaurant. At this point, I was getting incredibly nervous because I knew Sarah well enough to know that she wouldn’t take kindly to my surprise. It was just the two of us in a room full of other doe-eyed couples. Sarah noticed my nervousness and asked me what was wrong. I had debated to just let it go, but for some reason something inside made me tell her. I didn’t know what to expect but her standing up and walking out of the restaurant wasn’t it. She disappeared around the corner by the time I had gone down the block to chase after her.
            New York is a labyrinth of buildings and even if I wanted to look for her in the pouring rain, it would have been futile. I knew I had no hope of finding her and an even lesser chance of talking to her ever again. It was a stupid point to make, really, and why I told her on Valentine’s Day is still a mystery to me. I wish I could take that entire night back-hell, my whole life to start over and get things right. I’m still not in love with her, per se, but I would give anything to talk to her again.

The Valentine’s Day Interviews: Maggie’s Tale

            I was never one to bother with love. I had small infatuations, but never something so deep as to give myself up to someone. True, people have told me I was stuck up about it, but those same people have previously told me that it was the hard-to-get nature I sustained that made me irresistible. I don’t really like hypocrisy either.
            What happened that Valentine’s Day was nobody’s business. Sure, Sarah told me the next day, but that was after she walked to my apartment in heels, in the pouring rain. The girl wanted to tell me and I was in no state to object after hearing what she went through. I wish she hadn’t gotten me involved, if I were in her shoes, I would have probably done a similar thing.
            The restaurant was five miles away from my apartment and it was practically hailing that night. Even if it was part of my personality, I was in no state of mind to prowl for a date. Besides, watching sappy movies and eating popcorn was quickly becoming a tradition. That night was no different; I kept to my bitter traditions and kept the microwave popcorn constantly cooking as I ran through at least four different films.
            I remember I was watching Meet Me in Saint Louis when there was a knock on my door. It was well past midnight and I was cautious about opening it. Sarah’s voice called frantically to me, she was crying I could tell, and shivering. I knew she had a date tonight and was quite surprised that she would be crying at my door. I was even more surprised to find her soaking wet, though I should have figured with the rain pelting at my windows.
            Obviously I let her in, gave her some of my clothes and let her sit down by the heating vent. From then on it was like I had opened up Pandora’s box: she poured out her story like water from a pitcher and went through a box of Kleenex and just about half of a second.
            There is no way you are getting the details of what she said from me. I promised her I wouldn’t tell a soul and even though you know I’m involved, I stick by my word. I won’t confirm anything against her…or for her, if you wish to put me up to it that way.
            I haven’t seen her since the March following that disaster when she packed up her stuff and moved to France. We talked a little bit, but I was never good at speaking French and it didn’t help that I hadn’t spoken the language since high school. We never said anything about that Valentine’s Day ever again. There was no reason to bring it up, we were both reasonably happy and nothing right now could change that. That’s all I have to say.

Rejection and Acceptance (Part II)

           Wednesday dragged forward torturously like a student being brought to detention. His mother had heard of his calling himself in sick and had decided to monitor his attendance by allowing him no phone privileges unless someone called him and dropping him off and picking him up from school. By the time three-thirty rolled around, Philip had almost lost his patience.
           “Mom,” he said throwing his backpack to the backseat and getting in. “Can you drive me to the train station? Tom said that he was performing at the Metro downtown and I promised him I would be there.”
           “Well it depends how much homework you have,” she said glancing at him from the rear-view mirror.  “Once you’re done with your homework you can go, but I’m not driving you now.”
           He sighed. “I can finish it really quickly when I get home.”
           “There is no way that I’m staying up with you past midnight again.”
           “You don’t have to stay up, I can finish it on my own.”
           “Philip, you’re not going and that’s final. We’ll talk about this again when you’re done with your homework.”
           Philip looked at his watch nervously. Now that he was stuck at home, the time seemed to fly by too fast for him to comprehend. He looked at his watch again: four o’clock. His mother was going through the mail and he heard the ripping of paper and crinkle of envelopes as she flipped through the bills. He snuck past into the living room where he grabbed his coat and went to her office. At the side of the room was a door and he exited the house and snuck to his bike. Gently unlocking it, he carried it out of the service door in the garage and quietly locked everything back up again. As quietly as possible he snuck past the kitchen window and sped his bike down the driveway towards the train station.

           Daphne was just about locked up for the day when a rosy-cheeked, blue-haired boy ran into her office.
           “Sorry,” he said and promptly sat down at the chair across from her desk.
           She smiled. “Well, I see you have a new technique for squeezing into my schedule. I’ve also noticed,” she said handing back his transcript, “that you have gone to just about every editor on this floor for opinions.”
           “Did you read it?” he stuttered despite the growing pit in his stomach.
           She paused. “I haven’t heard great things about your writing. Perhaps it would be best if you take a class at school or take lessons from someone I know.” She pulled out a small contact card from a Rolodex on her desk and handed it to him. “I’ve known him for a long time and he’s been very successful in the writing industry. Call him and tell him I recommended you.”
           Philip stared at the card, conflicted. “Thank you,” he said standing up and extending his hand to shake hers.
           She took it and gave it a hearty shake. “Don’t be nervous. You have a lot of determination and potential, just keep at it.”
           He nodded and left the building hoping that his mother wouldn’t be too upset when he got home.

Rejection and Acceptance (Part I)

            “Creativity only works when you’re truly inspired,” Cathleen said peering over her glasses and handing him back his transcript. “Unfortunately, this was clearly forced. If you want to get it published, you’re going to have to do better.”
            The seventeen-year-old boy looked at her. “This is my livelihood,” he said. “I live to write, I breath words, I don’t know what more you’re looking for.”
            “Perhaps you would do better focusing on your grades,” she said brushing her bright red hair annoyed out of her eyes. “Education is crucial to writing. Besides, school is an excellent point for observation.”
            He bit his lip and stood up. “Thank you for your time,” he said and left the office. He glanced at the other people dressed in business suits and nicely cleaned before embarrassingly remembering his own grubby appearance in baggy clothes and his, now, dark blue hair that was tousled from the wind when he rode his bike. He walked back down the lobby and stared at the clock in the main marble hall: one o’clock. It was too early to go home, and much too late to go back to school. He had feigned being pulled out sick for the first half of the day, but his editor had been later to work than usual and had messed up his excuse. He paused before turning around and going back into the elevator. Surged with a little more energy, he tried hard to ignore the people staring at him. Finally, suffocated by the tension of judgment, when the elevator door opened, he practically ran down the hall and skidded to a halt at the end.
            The door he had wanted read: Daphne McAllen, editor in chief, and was open just slightly. A man shook Daphne’s hand and ran out of the door completely passing the boy. He took a deep breath and walked into her office.
            “Excuse me,” he said, “could I have a moment of your time?”
            Daphne looked up from her desk where she was rearranging papers and glanced at him. “Sure,” she said. Her hair was obviously died blond and she wore a business suit, but she was the first person in the office complex who had not only not immediately kicked him out, but didn’t seem to judge him upon first appearance.
            “I’m Philip Lacrosse and I have this draft of a novel I’ve written. If you would be so kind as to look it over—“
            “Pleased to meet you, Philip,” she said extending her hand out to him, “but I’m on a tight schedule and I need you to make an appointment with my secretary.” There was a knock on the door as she said this and Philip’s heart sank.
            “You can keep that copy. I’ll be back on Wednesday to see what you thought,” he said running out the door before she could refuse. His head was spinning, but he was clear on the fact that he was glad he had typed up his novel and therefore had a copy kept on his hard drive to use again if she never returned that copy.