Ache With Me

At exactly nine A.M., I woke up to the sound of my phone trying to take off for the moon. I slapped it to make the alarm turn off and sat up, bleary eyed and grumbling. I didn’t want to get up this early on a Saturday, but I’d spent the last two months almost exclusively with Max, or at work. Today was a day for me. Last night I’d laid out my clothes, so I got dressed quickly and brushed my teeth, not even bothering to do my hair since I was just gonna slap a beanie on it anyway.

A quick breakfast of coffee and a piece of toast later, I was out the door. My camera swung heavily from its place around my neck, bumping into my stomach as I walked. Instead of turning right to head to the bus stop, I turned left towards the subway station. I melted into the crowd of people escaping the city for the weekend as I walked down the cold concrete steps of the station. I found the appropriate train and managed to find a handrail to cling to. As the train began to move, I counted how many stops I would have to take to reach my destination on my fingertips.

Around me, I saw people watching me count on my fingers. I was twenty five years old and I still counted on my fingers. I’d never been very good at mental math or math in general, for that matter, so it was easier to have the physical representation from my hands.

Six stops went by quickly and I pushed my way out the door, nearly racing for the free air of the world above. The subway always kind of gave me the creeps. I didn’t like being that closed in. I need an open space, definitely. My mom said that’s why I had a loft, because I didn’t like the separation of rooms with walls. Even my bed curtains made me feel a little claustrophobic sometimes. I saw an empty bench ahead of me and I plunked myself down, taking a moment to fill my lungs with fresh air. Then I put my headphones on, turned on my camera, and started walking.

I was happiest in these times, probably. The world shrank to the music pounding in my ears, and the camera in my hands. I could walk Seattle for hours, taking pictures whenever the moment struck me. I loved the gray half-light of the winter. It was so much softer than the sunshine of the summer, and gave the pictures a beautiful effect.

Around noon, I stopped to eat lunch at a small café I found on my walk. I had just sat down with my sandwich and a Coke when my phone started ringing in my pocket. I fished it out and swallowed quickly.

“Hello?” I croaked out, having swallowed too fast.

“Hey Lily, it’s Hunter.” For a moment I wondered how he’d gotten my phone number, but I guessed that Max had given it to him.

“Hey, what’s up?” I took another sip of Coke to try and open my throat up.

“I was wondering if you wanted to do that interview today.”

“Sure! Where do you want to meet?”

“Where are you right now?”

I paused, looking around at my surroundings. “Um, I don’t really know.”

“What street are you on?” I could hear the smile in his voice. I located the street sign and told him where I was. “Perfect, you’re right near my house. I’ll send you the directions.”

“I’ll be there in a bit, I’m eating lunch.”

“No worries, I’ll be here.” He texted me the address and some pointers on how to get there. I inhaled my food and started walking again. I knew I was gonna regret this amount of walking later. Within fifteen minutes, I arrived in front of an old Victorian house. It looked almost abandoned. The drive way was empty and all the plants on the front porch were dead. The paint on the door was starting to curl off in large strips. I was afraid if I knocked I’d get a splinter. In the time it took me to locate a space to knock safely, Hunter had come down the stairs and opened it for me. He pulled me into a hug that smelled a little like musty attic and mothballs. His damp hair tickled my nose as I hugged him back.

“Welcome to my lair.” He said as he released me and opened the door wider. His furniture was nice, but the house itself didn’t seem well kept. It was dusty and cobwebs clung to the corners of the ceiling.

“I love Victorians.” I said, for lack of anything else to say.

“So do I. You should see the best part, follow me.” He led me up the stairs and halfway down a hallway before he stopped abruptly. He reached up and tugged on a string, unfolding a ladder. “After you, milady.” I was a little nervous about what I would find when I got up there, but if Max was his best friend, the likelihood of him being a serial killer were very slim. I hoped.

The attic was the best kept room of the house. It was swept clean of dust and webs and the air felt fresh, probably from the open skylight. Candles lined the walls, centered mostly around a heavy wood desk that looked antique. A futon was pushed up against one wall, a thick fuzzy blanket draped over the back.

“This is incredible.” I said, stepping away from the ladder so Hunter could follow me up.

“This is my little office/crash room.” He explained, closing the door so I wouldn’t fall through it accidentally. “I spend most of my time up here when I’m working.”

“I would spend all my time up here too if I had something like this.” Hunter sat down in his desk chair and indicated that I should sit on the futon. “Do you mind if I take a few pictures?”

“No, go right ahead.” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. “You know, I requested that you do this interview.”

I paused in my photographing the skylight, turning to face him. “Why?”

“Because you’re Max’s girl. And if you’re with him, then I can trust you.” He continued at the look of confusion on my face. “I’m a bit of a recluse, as I’m sure he’s told you. I don’t like nosy journalists and I don’t like random women showing up on my doorstep because they like my poetry. But I trust you with my lair and I trust you to write a great article about me.” Something in the way he said it made me feel special.

“Well, you can definitely trust me. I wrote a good article about Max even though I wanted to strangle him after the interview.” He broke into uproarious laughter.

“He told me about that! He said you cursed him out in the middle of a coffee shop because he was a dick.”

“He was a dick! Lucky for me he’s not like that all the time.”

“You mean lucky for him. If he acted like Max Brooks, artist and asshole all the time, he never would have had a girlfriend like you. He talks about you all the time.”

“I don’t know when he is, because it seems like he’s always on the phone with me.” I snapped a picture of Hunter at his desk. “Can we light the candles? It’ll make a really cool effect.” He tossed me a lighter and set to work on his own half the room. I felt very comfortable with Hunter, even though I’d only spent a little bit of time with him before this interview, and that time was mostly us drinking. Between the two of us, we lit the candles quickly and I took several more pictures, loving the way the candles made the attic room look like something out of a Gothic novel.

Finally, I sat down to start the interview. He was much more receptive than Max was, and answered my questions in a poetic manner that went right over my head. I wished Eden was with me so she could help translate; she loved 19th century literature and poetry.

Hunter mentioned being worried about the future and I asked him what he meant. His answer was something I was pretty sure was a Keats quote: “I have fears I may cease to be before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain.”

I cursed myself for not bringing Eden. “You mean you’re worried you’ll die before you write everything you have to write?”

“Yes. I don’t take very good care of myself.”

“You look good to me.” I blushed when I realized the implication of my words. “I mean you look pretty healthy.” He laughed.

“That’s because your boyfriend comes over every few days and makes sure I’m eating and I’ve showered and slept. When I write…I write. I sit down and focus on one thing and everything else just kind of fades out. I don’t sleep, I don’t eat, I barely move from my chair if I’m working. And if I’m getting too tired, I sleep for a few hours on the futon and then get back up. If it weren’t for Max bringing me McDonald’s every few days, I’d probably have wasted away up here.”

“Well I’ll be sure to send him with something good the next time he visits.” We kept getting off track during the interview, but that’s only because he was so easy to talk to. He treated me like I’d known him all his life and told me all about himself. He told me about falling through the trapdoor because he’d stayed up too long and he was too tired to remember where the door was. He mentioned his band and how he wrote poems that worked better as lyrics, and sending them to his band members to work on while he kept working on his poetry. He seemed truly devoted to his work, even at the cost of his health.

“Thank you for your time.” I said, standing up to shake his hand. I had about two hours’ worth of tape; I knew this article was gonna be a good one. He batted my hand away and pulled me into a hug.

“Strangers shake hands; friends hug.” He squeezed me tightly and then opened the trap door. A huge, fat rain drop fell through the open skylight and he swore, closing it quickly with a long pole. I did not want to walk all the way back to a subway station in the rain.

“I’ll be out of your hair in a bit, I just need to call a cab.” I pulled out my phone to call my favorite cab company.

“Nonsense, I’ll drive you.”

“Where the hell do you keep your car?” I followed him through the house towards the backyard. His driveway wrapped around the back, which is where he parked the car.

“It keeps people from knowing my license plate number. There are some crazy fuckers out there.” I climbed into the passenger seat and he turned on the car.

Have you ever been on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride at Disneyland? Hunter’s driving was very similar to that particular ride. I made a note to never make fun of Max again. Max looked like the epitome of good driving in comparison to Hunter. There were several points throughout the trip that I was certain had I not been wearing a seatbelt, I would have been flung through the windshield.

“Thanks for the ride.” I said, climbing out of the car shakily.

“No problem. I look forward to reading the article.” He tore away from the curb, causing several cars to honk angrily at him.

I collapsed on the couch of my loft and tried to keep my head from spinning off my shoulders. I’d start the article tomorrow, I promised myself, letting my eyes droop shut.