happening.”
“What do you mean, strange ?”
The hostess leads us to a table and I begin to tell Chelsea about everything that’s been happening to me. At first I’m hesitant about sharing my crazy story, but I remember that she has shared the most horrible moments of her own life with me. I know she will understand and be able to help. I begin with, “Harley visited me.”
Chelsea nearly chokes on her wine at hearing these words. “He … visited … you? Honey, I don’t mean to sound cruel, but, you know he’s dead, right?”
“But I’ve seen him, talked to him … made love to him.” I lower my voice on the last part.
“Wow, Jules. You are just having a hard time letting go. It’s normal. You guys had such an amazing love. It’s understandable that you still feel connected to him.”
“No, you don’t understand. I know we are connected in a spiritual sense, but one minute we are making love and the next minute he vanishes.”
“You’re just exhausted sweetie. You need to get some rest, and you need to find something to keep your mind busy for a while. How about you come and stay with me for a few weeks?”
“No, you’d just be working all day and I’d be sitting in your apartment, alone. You’re probably right. I just need to get some rest and get back to my writing. I’ll be fine.” She doesn’t understand.
“Well, the offer stands if you change your mind.”
“Congrats on the Nordstrom account, by the way. I know you worked hard to get it,” I say. We finish our lunch, talk about her work success, and then go our separate ways again.
* * * * * * * * *
I stop by the grocery store and pick up a New York Strip steak, salad fixings, and bread on the way home. My appetite is returning and I’m in the mood for a real dinner.
The radio plays soft melodies while I sear the steak and toast the bread. The announcer comes over the airwaves and says, “Now we’re going to take you back a few decades with a special song request from Harley to Jewel. Here’s “ I’ve Got You Babe’’ by Sonny and Cher.”
I jump what feels like three feet off the floor, slicing my finger with the knife I’m using to cut vegetables. In my frantic search for the first-aid kit, I trip over something. It’s the box of Harley’s things! This can’t be. I know I put that in the closet.
I tear a fast path upstairs to check in the closet, my heart pounding with each step. Then, it almost stops beating altogether. The box isn’t there! Blood soaks through the paper towel I have wrapped around my finger, so I finally find a Band-Aid to cover it.
On shaky legs that feel as if they don’t belong to me, I hurry back downstairs. The box is still in the middle of the living room. I approach it at a turtle’s pace, as if something might jump up and bite me. There is a note on top that reads, “Your destiny is waiting.”
I throw the paper down and fall onto the floor behind me, landing on my bottom. “What the hell is going on here?” I question the empty room.
The glass patio doors fly open and I rush over to lock them.
“How much longer are you going to haunt me?” This time, Harley doesn’t appear.
After several minutes of being crumpled up like a ball on the sofa, I walk over to pick up the paper again and my eyes scan the room. Okay, Harley. You are obviously trying to tell me something, so I’m ready to listen .
I remember how he told me that everything I write comes true, in my world, but that it isn’t reality.
I turn off the radio with shaking hands and sit down to finish my dinner, looking around me all the while. Once done, I walk upstairs to grab my laptop and return to the sofa to begin typing. Words are spinning around in my head like a merry-go-round.
Five hours later, my book is finished, or so I hope this time. I lean back in my chair and look up toward the ceiling. I wipe my face with both hands, and get up to stretch my muscles. Then I hit send to email
“What do you mean, strange ?”
The hostess leads us to a table and I begin to tell Chelsea about everything that’s been happening to me. At first I’m hesitant about sharing my crazy story, but I remember that she has shared the most horrible moments of her own life with me. I know she will understand and be able to help. I begin with, “Harley visited me.”
Chelsea nearly chokes on her wine at hearing these words. “He … visited … you? Honey, I don’t mean to sound cruel, but, you know he’s dead, right?”
“But I’ve seen him, talked to him … made love to him.” I lower my voice on the last part.
“Wow, Jules. You are just having a hard time letting go. It’s normal. You guys had such an amazing love. It’s understandable that you still feel connected to him.”
“No, you don’t understand. I know we are connected in a spiritual sense, but one minute we are making love and the next minute he vanishes.”
“You’re just exhausted sweetie. You need to get some rest, and you need to find something to keep your mind busy for a while. How about you come and stay with me for a few weeks?”
“No, you’d just be working all day and I’d be sitting in your apartment, alone. You’re probably right. I just need to get some rest and get back to my writing. I’ll be fine.” She doesn’t understand.
“Well, the offer stands if you change your mind.”
“Congrats on the Nordstrom account, by the way. I know you worked hard to get it,” I say. We finish our lunch, talk about her work success, and then go our separate ways again.
* * * * * * * * *
I stop by the grocery store and pick up a New York Strip steak, salad fixings, and bread on the way home. My appetite is returning and I’m in the mood for a real dinner.
The radio plays soft melodies while I sear the steak and toast the bread. The announcer comes over the airwaves and says, “Now we’re going to take you back a few decades with a special song request from Harley to Jewel. Here’s “ I’ve Got You Babe’’ by Sonny and Cher.”
I jump what feels like three feet off the floor, slicing my finger with the knife I’m using to cut vegetables. In my frantic search for the first-aid kit, I trip over something. It’s the box of Harley’s things! This can’t be. I know I put that in the closet.
I tear a fast path upstairs to check in the closet, my heart pounding with each step. Then, it almost stops beating altogether. The box isn’t there! Blood soaks through the paper towel I have wrapped around my finger, so I finally find a Band-Aid to cover it.
On shaky legs that feel as if they don’t belong to me, I hurry back downstairs. The box is still in the middle of the living room. I approach it at a turtle’s pace, as if something might jump up and bite me. There is a note on top that reads, “Your destiny is waiting.”
I throw the paper down and fall onto the floor behind me, landing on my bottom. “What the hell is going on here?” I question the empty room.
The glass patio doors fly open and I rush over to lock them.
“How much longer are you going to haunt me?” This time, Harley doesn’t appear.
After several minutes of being crumpled up like a ball on the sofa, I walk over to pick up the paper again and my eyes scan the room. Okay, Harley. You are obviously trying to tell me something, so I’m ready to listen .
I remember how he told me that everything I write comes true, in my world, but that it isn’t reality.
I turn off the radio with shaking hands and sit down to finish my dinner, looking around me all the while. Once done, I walk upstairs to grab my laptop and return to the sofa to begin typing. Words are spinning around in my head like a merry-go-round.
Five hours later, my book is finished, or so I hope this time. I lean back in my chair and look up toward the ceiling. I wipe my face with both hands, and get up to stretch my muscles. Then I hit send to email
Similar Books
