Elisa drove home in silence, hardly making any noise as she got out of her car and climbed the flight of stairs to her apartment, and unlocked the door quietly. Setting her teal tote bag with her books inside it down on the counter, she looked around her modest living room and sighed. Her cell phone rang suddenly, and she jumped at the unexpected noise of her standard ringtone. She was even more surprised when she saw the name on the caller ID: Bryce Colwen, the one who had hurt her so badly only three months earlier.
She hesitated, unsure of what to do. She told herself to ignore him and keep moving on with her life, but her heart felt ready to burst with a million emotions and made her want to hear him again, so she flipped open her phone. It took her so long to decide, though, that it had stopped ringing by the time she was ready to answer it. Her heart sank while her mind breathed a sigh of relief. She went to the pantry and pulled out a can of soup when she heard her phone again; he had left a message. Torn between logic and emotion, Elisa stood in the middle of the tiny kitchen, glancing from the can of soup at her right to the phone at her left. Finally, she grabbed her phone and dialed her voicemail, feeling her stomach twist tighter and tighter every second. She typed in her passkey and waited anxiously.
"Hi, E...um, I don't really know why I'm calling you. I just wanted to hear your voice...I miss you, and I was hoping maybe you'd want to go see a movie or something later this week. Like Thursday night? So yeah...um...give me a call sometime. I'll be waiting...oh, and this is Bryce, just in case you couldn't tell or something. Yeah...okay...bye."
No apology for what he did to her, but a date offer. She hated herself for even listening to that message, but it was so good to hear that voice from the past - a little raspy, deep, and sweet, but at the same time cunning and deceptive.
Hello, complication.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Hello, Novel. It's me, Ali G. Remember me?
So...it's kinda been 5 weeks since I've written anything on here. I apologize heartily. As I explained in my other blog, I:
1) haven't had any inspiration
2) have had sooooo much homework
3) worry that no one wants to read it.
But I'm actually a little bit inspired now...I haven't written anything yet, but it will come soon. I have to actually write it before it gets on here. I write on Word first - that way you get the version that I've fixed, not the raw original. I promise, it makes it better. To tide you over for a little while, though, here is a small tidbit.
After church, Elisa decided to stop at her favorite café a few blocks down the street, Romeo's, for a sandwich, and then headed to Pageturners. She took her time looking for the biography and browsing the fiction shelves for any new finds, but she didn't discover anything worth her time that she hadn't already read. Then she bought another latte at the coffee shop inside the store and sat to wait. She mused over a Cosmopolitan magazine for two hours, reading every article in the February edition, including the horoscopes. It was just before four in the afternoon when she finally gave up hope that Wesley would show up.
Even as she stood at the counter to pay for her dad's new book, as she went out the door, as she climbed into her car, she was still searching for him. What was it about this guy that made her keep thinking about him? She had only met him the day before. Was she really that desperate?
1) haven't had any inspiration
2) have had sooooo much homework
3) worry that no one wants to read it.
But I'm actually a little bit inspired now...I haven't written anything yet, but it will come soon. I have to actually write it before it gets on here. I write on Word first - that way you get the version that I've fixed, not the raw original. I promise, it makes it better. To tide you over for a little while, though, here is a small tidbit.
After church, Elisa decided to stop at her favorite café a few blocks down the street, Romeo's, for a sandwich, and then headed to Pageturners. She took her time looking for the biography and browsing the fiction shelves for any new finds, but she didn't discover anything worth her time that she hadn't already read. Then she bought another latte at the coffee shop inside the store and sat to wait. She mused over a Cosmopolitan magazine for two hours, reading every article in the February edition, including the horoscopes. It was just before four in the afternoon when she finally gave up hope that Wesley would show up.
Even as she stood at the counter to pay for her dad's new book, as she went out the door, as she climbed into her car, she was still searching for him. What was it about this guy that made her keep thinking about him? She had only met him the day before. Was she really that desperate?
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Again...sorry...
Once again, I am sorry...but this time it's to my roommate, who probably realizes now that she lives with a total bitch. It's okay...I just can't see anything when I walk in and there's absolutely no light. I'm paranoid that I'm going to fall over that footstool or something. I didn't mean to sound like a bitch yesterday...I probably should have just asked you to leave the closet light on for me or something, but because I'm a very non-verbal communicator, I never have...besides, I honestly didn't really think you would have read my blog...I had no idea you did...forgive me?
Okay, so now that I've addressed that issue, I have a little bit more for you guys.
Waking promptly at 9:30 on Sunday morning, Elisa sat up in her bed and opened the blinds of the window to her right. She stood to look outside and was blinded by snow. Eight inches had fallen while she had been asleep. She had slept for over thirteen hours, and still she felt drained. Maybe it's not that I'm tired, it occurred to her. Maybe I'm just empty. That had to be it. She felt numb, unsure of what she was supposed to feel.
She got up, deciding to go to church in an hour, and put on some casual brown slacks, a plain half-sleeve white top with a flattering scoop neck, and a simple silver necklace and earrings, and ran brush through her hair. Then she tied a sky blue ribbon around her head as a headband, noticing that it was the same color as Wesley's eyes.
Wesley. She had almost forgotten. What was she going to do about Wesley? She wanted to see him again, talk to him again, apologize for turning away from him the day before. Would she look desperate if she went back to Pageturners that day? Because she was not desperate. What if she did and he wasn't even there? But if he was, that would mean he wanted to see her, too. Maybe after lunch she'd go look for a new book. It was about time to get a new one. And she had forgotten to look for the Warren Buffett biography, anyway.
Okay, so now that I've addressed that issue, I have a little bit more for you guys.
Waking promptly at 9:30 on Sunday morning, Elisa sat up in her bed and opened the blinds of the window to her right. She stood to look outside and was blinded by snow. Eight inches had fallen while she had been asleep. She had slept for over thirteen hours, and still she felt drained. Maybe it's not that I'm tired, it occurred to her. Maybe I'm just empty. That had to be it. She felt numb, unsure of what she was supposed to feel.
She got up, deciding to go to church in an hour, and put on some casual brown slacks, a plain half-sleeve white top with a flattering scoop neck, and a simple silver necklace and earrings, and ran brush through her hair. Then she tied a sky blue ribbon around her head as a headband, noticing that it was the same color as Wesley's eyes.
Wesley. She had almost forgotten. What was she going to do about Wesley? She wanted to see him again, talk to him again, apologize for turning away from him the day before. Would she look desperate if she went back to Pageturners that day? Because she was not desperate. What if she did and he wasn't even there? But if he was, that would mean he wanted to see her, too. Maybe after lunch she'd go look for a new book. It was about time to get a new one. And she had forgotten to look for the Warren Buffett biography, anyway.
Sorry...
Sorry guys, I know it's been a while since I've posted. You know school. Yuck. But right now I can't sleep, so I'm typing very quietly so as not to disturb my roommate, who once again turned all the lights off in our room before I came in tonight, even though she has an unused sleeping mask lying on the floor. Whatever.
Anyways...I'm sorry I've been so busy, but I figured I should actually DO my homework this week. But I'm back, for at least a little bit...haven't had much time to write at all, so it doesn't go much further than this. Oh and by the way...if you ever have a suggestion or anything, I'd love to hear it. I want this to appeal to readers as much as possible!
Elisa didn't know what to do next. She leaned back on her pillows, but there was no way she was going to fall asleep. She didn't feel like reading again -- she wasn't about to switch books, since she had already set her mind on Pride and Prejudice. But she didn't want to read that, either. She didn't want to think about romance, she didn't want to think about strong, witty, intelligent women and how she wasn't one. She didn't want to think about possibly losing the perfect Mr. Darcy.
She stood and walked across the hallway, deciding to take a bath. After turning on the water as hot as it could go and plugging the drain, she went back out to the kitchen and poured another glass of wine, which she took back to the bathroom. She shut off the water, stripped down quickly, and stepped into the tub, feeling the scalding water on her ankles and calves. Lying back so that her head was resting on the edge of the tub, she took a sip of wine and let all her muscles relax. She felt the silence around her, calming and pure.
She stayed there until the water was lukewarm and the skin on her fingers wrinkled. Then she got out and wrapped up in a soft teal towel, drained the tub, and gave back to her skin the moisture the water had taken from it with her favorite lotion: Victoria's Secret Pure Seduction. She went into her closet and put on her favorite pajamas, satin short shorts and a tank that were lime green with multi-colored polka dots, with a bit of lime green lace along the cleavage and around the bottom hem of the tank. With that, she went back into the bathroom, brushed her shoulder-length straight auburn hair back into a high ponytail, scrubbed the makeup off her face, brushed her teeth quickly, and went to bed at eight in the evening, fully relaxed and de-stressed.
Anyways...I'm sorry I've been so busy, but I figured I should actually DO my homework this week. But I'm back, for at least a little bit...haven't had much time to write at all, so it doesn't go much further than this. Oh and by the way...if you ever have a suggestion or anything, I'd love to hear it. I want this to appeal to readers as much as possible!
Elisa didn't know what to do next. She leaned back on her pillows, but there was no way she was going to fall asleep. She didn't feel like reading again -- she wasn't about to switch books, since she had already set her mind on Pride and Prejudice. But she didn't want to read that, either. She didn't want to think about romance, she didn't want to think about strong, witty, intelligent women and how she wasn't one. She didn't want to think about possibly losing the perfect Mr. Darcy.
She stood and walked across the hallway, deciding to take a bath. After turning on the water as hot as it could go and plugging the drain, she went back out to the kitchen and poured another glass of wine, which she took back to the bathroom. She shut off the water, stripped down quickly, and stepped into the tub, feeling the scalding water on her ankles and calves. Lying back so that her head was resting on the edge of the tub, she took a sip of wine and let all her muscles relax. She felt the silence around her, calming and pure.
She stayed there until the water was lukewarm and the skin on her fingers wrinkled. Then she got out and wrapped up in a soft teal towel, drained the tub, and gave back to her skin the moisture the water had taken from it with her favorite lotion: Victoria's Secret Pure Seduction. She went into her closet and put on her favorite pajamas, satin short shorts and a tank that were lime green with multi-colored polka dots, with a bit of lime green lace along the cleavage and around the bottom hem of the tank. With that, she went back into the bathroom, brushed her shoulder-length straight auburn hair back into a high ponytail, scrubbed the makeup off her face, brushed her teeth quickly, and went to bed at eight in the evening, fully relaxed and de-stressed.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Writing a lot...again...
With a heavy sigh, Elisa started reading again. After half an hour of being unable to keep her mind on the story, she gave up, put on her coat and scarf, threw away her now-cold latte, and left the store. She went back to her apartment in automatic mode, not remembering the drive by the time she unlocked the door. Even though it was still before five, Elisa just wanted to go to bed. She looked in the refrigerator and found some pasta left over from girls' night a week earlier, and she popped it into the oven and poured a small glass of wine. She ate half of the pasta and realized that she had no appetite whatsoever. After putting the bowl back into the refrigerator, she finished her wine and put her dishes in the sink to wash them later.
She went to her bedroom, the door on the right side at the end of the short hallway, and turned on her bedside lamp. Kicking off her boots, she sat down on the edge of her queen-sized bed, not caring that she was wrinkling the teal and orange striped comforter. She looked around the small bedroom, saw the dresser she'd had since middle school against the wall next to the door at the far right side of the wall, the bookshelf (filled with her favorite novels, scrapbooks, and photographs of friends and family) shoved into the left corner as much as possible, the empty nightstand on the empty left side of the bed, the lamp on top that hadn't been turned on in three months, and her nightstand next to the side of the bed that she slept on. She saw two windows, one above each nightstand, and their simple soft white curtains and reflective blinds to keep the sun out. As she sat in the darkening bedroom, she thought about how she had gotten there.
She went to her bedroom, the door on the right side at the end of the short hallway, and turned on her bedside lamp. Kicking off her boots, she sat down on the edge of her queen-sized bed, not caring that she was wrinkling the teal and orange striped comforter. She looked around the small bedroom, saw the dresser she'd had since middle school against the wall next to the door at the far right side of the wall, the bookshelf (filled with her favorite novels, scrapbooks, and photographs of friends and family) shoved into the left corner as much as possible, the empty nightstand on the empty left side of the bed, the lamp on top that hadn't been turned on in three months, and her nightstand next to the side of the bed that she slept on. She saw two windows, one above each nightstand, and their simple soft white curtains and reflective blinds to keep the sun out. As she sat in the darkening bedroom, she thought about how she had gotten there.
* * *
She had chosen Loyola University of Baltimore because it was so far away from the "big small town" of Fremont, Nebraska, where she had lived her entire life up until college. It bored her, knowing all the people she saw around town and everything about them, and having them know everything about her in return. She never really felt like she fit there -- she belonged in the city. So she escaped. She accepted a full scholarship from Loyola and moved thousands of miles away from her hometown. The campus was perfect for her: on the small side, but big enough to help her adjust to life in the city. She studied English with a focus in creative writing and graduated near the top of her class. After graduation, she and seven of her best friends started a literary magazine called Tales Above. The critic of the crew, Elisa was the editor-in-chief of the bimonthly-issued magazine. Though Tales' audience was still small, it had doubled in just one year, and it paid relatively well. Elisa loved her job; she worked with some of her favorite people and got to read great stories and poems and look at original art and insightful photographs all day. She was able to review whichever books or movies she wanted, even classics (which were her favorites). Spending Saturday afternoons at Pageturners was necessary, at least to her.
* * *
The thought of spending the afternoon at Pageturners suddenly brought Elisa back to that afternoon, as well as Wesley, and she began to feel depressed again. He was such a nice guy, she thought. And unbelievably hot, too. She felt terrible for blowing him off. She hadn't meant to -- she just didn't know what to say. He left so quickly...I didn't even get a chance to ask him why he said he was forced to live wherever he had. He fascinated her, even though he had hardly said anything. She couldn't get him out of her mind.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Okay, so I'm super-writer today. I can't stop.
While she was lost in her thoughts of Nebraska and her parents, Elisa didn't notice that someone else had taken the chair next to her. When she finally returned to the present, she could feel eyes on her. She turned to the chair where the gentleman had been sitting and saw intense sky blue irises peering into her own hazel ones.
"Oh, God. Umm...wow. Sorry, I was just spacing out. Sorry, I'm sorry," she stammered, removing her eyes from the gaze of the aqua ones a few feet from her, and she stared blankly at the cover of Pride and Prejudice. As she turned away, she noted his strong forearms and veins as large as garden hoses that looked about ready to burst out of them: an athlete.
"Quite alright," he responded softly with a very subtle British accent, like he had only been in the United States for a couple of years at most. "I was just beginning to wonder if I had mustard on my cheek."
"What? Oh...no, I'm sorry. No, no, I didn't mean to stare. To tell you the truth, I didn't even see you," she said, still not looking up from the book in her hands. "Lost in nostalgia." Why am I telling you this? she thought. You're probably not even remotely interested.
"Really?" he asked, sounding genuinely interested. "Long way from home?"
He must be a pretty good actor, she said to herself. Don't tell him anything; he's probably a stalker, or at least a major creeper. She finally looked back up again. He was breathtaking. He wore jeans and a dark gray long-sleeved shirt, but he had pushed the sleeves up to just below his elbows. His short, curly dark hair and caramel skin told her that he was black, but his blue eyes demanded otherwise. When she glimpsed those eyes again, she forgot about not telling him anything. "Yeah, well...kind of. Not as far as you, I'm guessing. I mean, from your accent and everything." He just had a different aura about him, a more refined one than all the American guys she'd ever known.
"And everything?"
"Well, I mean...umm..."
He laughed softly, and his gleaming white teeth and gorgeous dimples made their appearance. Elisa could have swooned at that very moment. No, she thought again, reminding herself that she was in the city and didn't know this guy. Besides, you're living the free life now. Don't get caught up in this again. She looked away once more.
"I'm just joshing. You're right, I am quite far from the place where I had to live for twenty-one years," he told her. Had to live? "By the way, the name's Adams. Wesley Adams," he said dramatically, extending his hand to her.
She felt the strong urge to giggle like a preteen girl, but instead smiled, reached out to shake his hand, and said, "Well it's nice to meet you, Mr. Bond. I'm Elisa Sellen."
"Elisa...beautiful name. Do you ever go by Ellie?" How could he have known that?
"Actually, my dad still calls me Ellie. He couldn't break the habit from when I was young. He's the only person who's ever called me that, though." She found herself turning her torso more towards Wesley, trusting him more and more. Who was this charmer?
Wesley smiled again and said, "Well then, I shall refrain from using your childhood name, Elisa. I don't wish to demean you."
"Oh, that's okay. You didn't know...or did you?" She cocked an eyebrow at him and smiled.
"No, I can assure you I did not. I don't believe I've ever met you...I think I would have remembered that." Elisa felt her pale freckled cheeks flush as he smiled so sweetly that she couldn't doubt his sincerity.
She didn't know how to respond to that. What was she supposed to do? She felt like she was back in high school, talking to the gorgeous quarterback alone for the first time. In order to avoid any more embarrassment, she turned back to Pride and Prejudice and began reading. After attempting to read the first sentence six times and failing to comprehend a word six times, she began to worry. What if that was the one-hundred-percent wrong move? What if he felt completely shot down now? What if she had just blown off the guy who could have been the love of her life?
Panicking, Elisa turned back toward Wesley's chair...which was empty. She scanned the store for him, and as she looked toward the entrance, she saw his 6'5 frame walking out the door. She felt her heart drop, and she thought she could've cried.
"Oh, God. Umm...wow. Sorry, I was just spacing out. Sorry, I'm sorry," she stammered, removing her eyes from the gaze of the aqua ones a few feet from her, and she stared blankly at the cover of Pride and Prejudice. As she turned away, she noted his strong forearms and veins as large as garden hoses that looked about ready to burst out of them: an athlete.
"Quite alright," he responded softly with a very subtle British accent, like he had only been in the United States for a couple of years at most. "I was just beginning to wonder if I had mustard on my cheek."
"What? Oh...no, I'm sorry. No, no, I didn't mean to stare. To tell you the truth, I didn't even see you," she said, still not looking up from the book in her hands. "Lost in nostalgia." Why am I telling you this? she thought. You're probably not even remotely interested.
"Really?" he asked, sounding genuinely interested. "Long way from home?"
He must be a pretty good actor, she said to herself. Don't tell him anything; he's probably a stalker, or at least a major creeper. She finally looked back up again. He was breathtaking. He wore jeans and a dark gray long-sleeved shirt, but he had pushed the sleeves up to just below his elbows. His short, curly dark hair and caramel skin told her that he was black, but his blue eyes demanded otherwise. When she glimpsed those eyes again, she forgot about not telling him anything. "Yeah, well...kind of. Not as far as you, I'm guessing. I mean, from your accent and everything." He just had a different aura about him, a more refined one than all the American guys she'd ever known.
"And everything?"
"Well, I mean...umm..."
He laughed softly, and his gleaming white teeth and gorgeous dimples made their appearance. Elisa could have swooned at that very moment. No, she thought again, reminding herself that she was in the city and didn't know this guy. Besides, you're living the free life now. Don't get caught up in this again. She looked away once more.
"I'm just joshing. You're right, I am quite far from the place where I had to live for twenty-one years," he told her. Had to live? "By the way, the name's Adams. Wesley Adams," he said dramatically, extending his hand to her.
She felt the strong urge to giggle like a preteen girl, but instead smiled, reached out to shake his hand, and said, "Well it's nice to meet you, Mr. Bond. I'm Elisa Sellen."
"Elisa...beautiful name. Do you ever go by Ellie?" How could he have known that?
"Actually, my dad still calls me Ellie. He couldn't break the habit from when I was young. He's the only person who's ever called me that, though." She found herself turning her torso more towards Wesley, trusting him more and more. Who was this charmer?
Wesley smiled again and said, "Well then, I shall refrain from using your childhood name, Elisa. I don't wish to demean you."
"Oh, that's okay. You didn't know...or did you?" She cocked an eyebrow at him and smiled.
"No, I can assure you I did not. I don't believe I've ever met you...I think I would have remembered that." Elisa felt her pale freckled cheeks flush as he smiled so sweetly that she couldn't doubt his sincerity.
She didn't know how to respond to that. What was she supposed to do? She felt like she was back in high school, talking to the gorgeous quarterback alone for the first time. In order to avoid any more embarrassment, she turned back to Pride and Prejudice and began reading. After attempting to read the first sentence six times and failing to comprehend a word six times, she began to worry. What if that was the one-hundred-percent wrong move? What if he felt completely shot down now? What if she had just blown off the guy who could have been the love of her life?
Panicking, Elisa turned back toward Wesley's chair...which was empty. She scanned the store for him, and as she looked toward the entrance, she saw his 6'5 frame walking out the door. She felt her heart drop, and she thought she could've cried.
As Elisa took her first sip of the deliciously warm and creamy latte she was holding, the middle-aged gentleman in the chair next to hers stood to leave. He reminded her of her dad, way back in small-town Nebraska.His graying temples, receding hair line, and a bit of a belly sticking out of the tucked-in sweater he wore. Elisa noticed he was reading the new Warren Buffett biography, and she made a mental note to go look for it when she was getting ready to leave. She decided that it would be a great birthday gift for her dad in February. Books were always his favorite gifts -- memoirs and biographies especially. He would go through them in hours, sitting in his favorite recliner in the living room all weekend. Elisa missed those lazy afternoons when Mom was out of town at a conference for the her job with the state teachers' association; she and Dad would just sit and read or watch documentaries all day, just enjoying the pleasant company.
She didn't flash back often to those pre-college days, but when she did, it hit her hard just how much she missed them. Her father's dragging philosophical discussions that she occasionally didn't enjoy, her mother's usual orderliness that drove her crazy, her parents' strained marriage that got better when she left for school. Her dad was her guide, her lighthouse in the storm of teenage angst. Her mom was her best friend, her psychiatrist with outstretched arms. They were older than her friends' parents by a few years. Elisa was born a decade after they were married, partly because her mom wanted to finish her Master's degree first, but mostly because of all the trouble they had in conceiving. They told her she was a blessing, a miracle, that they were so lucky to have her in their lives.
It had been far too long since she'd called them.
She didn't flash back often to those pre-college days, but when she did, it hit her hard just how much she missed them. Her father's dragging philosophical discussions that she occasionally didn't enjoy, her mother's usual orderliness that drove her crazy, her parents' strained marriage that got better when she left for school. Her dad was her guide, her lighthouse in the storm of teenage angst. Her mom was her best friend, her psychiatrist with outstretched arms. They were older than her friends' parents by a few years. Elisa was born a decade after they were married, partly because her mom wanted to finish her Master's degree first, but mostly because of all the trouble they had in conceiving. They told her she was a blessing, a miracle, that they were so lucky to have her in their lives.
It had been far too long since she'd called them.
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