Category : Stories

Sub Category : Romance

“It has been absolute torture to watch you all this week.”  


I look up and spy an elderly man standing over my table at the familiar cafe.  Confused by the statement I wait for further clarification.


“Yours is not the first heart she has broken, and definitely won’t be the last.”  He continues, the compassion in his voice is abundantly clear.


“If you love something let it go, if it’s meant to be it shall return.” I reply vacantly.  It’s hard to feel anything but pain since the day she walked out.


“You say that with the conviction of a death row inmate.”


“Yes well, I suppose a broken heart will do what a broken heart does.  Look, it’s very kind of you to offer some kindness; but, I think this is something only time can mend.” I reply hoping to end the increasingly awkward conversation.


“As you wish, but in my experience you should write the story if you wish to get over this.”  he places a business card on the table and walks away.


I sit there for a moment idly staring at the blank screen of my laptop.  Write the story.  It has been invading my dreams for days now.  The sweet romantic story of two people in love trying to make a world of their own.  A poetic telling of the hardship to become an apprentice to a mason. The trouble with evading suitors to marry for love.  The girls parents who refuse to allow it.  The marriage that finally comes and the baby soon after.  


Of course the story doesn’t end there.  The young man is soon called to war in Scotland where he does not return and the child does not survive a particularly harsh winter.


This will be the second romantic tragedy.  I am not sure why the two stories so far have been tragedies, but it is the only thing they have in common other than the main female character is named Eve.  Wait a second, how did that guy know I had a story to write?


I bolt upright and scan the cafe for any sign of the man, alas all that remains is his card and a few startled customers near me.  There is something strange going on here.  It is abundantly clear to most people that I am a writer, but he made it clear that he knew I had a story and it was related to her.


Now the story had to be told, and more importantly I needed to know why this man knew so much about her.


* * * * * *


The writing and editing take a week to complete.  The nicely polished tale is almost twenty thousand words longer than the first story.  This was a manuscript to be sent to a publisher, first it needed to be reviewed by the old man and the muse.


The old man had a few things to explain including how much he knows about me and why.  Eve owed me nothing.  I figured it was just a courtesy to let her read it.


I sent Eve a short email with no requirement to reply.


Eve,


I have finished the story that we talked about when last we met.  I am sending it out of respect for your input to the story.  I hope you enjoy it.


Taylor.


The old man would be here momentarily.  There is something strange going on that exceeded an overactive imagination.  Today will be the day I find out what is going on.


“I am sure by now you have a million questions.”  he says sitting down opposite of me in the cafe.


“I am not sure about a million but I do have at least one pointed question.”


“I see.  In my experience the answer to your question will only lead to many more questions.  I will answer all that I can.”


“That’s very cryptic.” I reply growing more suspicious of the motivations this man has.  “My only question is how do you know so much about me and my relationship with Eve.”


“Or lack there of, I know about you because I was you not even three years ago.”


“You tried to date Eve three years ago?”  I ask reflexively.  Obviously I was skeptical of this man dating a girl less than half his age.


“Yeah, she looked different then, and so did I.  We spent months together before I got sick.  She inspired more than fifty paintings in that short time, but I paid a heavy cost.”


“I see what you mean by a lot of questions, though I am a little sceptical of the idea that Eve is the same girl you dated three years ago.  You did say she looked different now, are you sure it is her?”


“I looked a lot different three years ago too.  Back then I looked not too much older than you.  The doctors figure I have some kind of advanced aging disease, I figure she had something to do with it.”


Now things were getting a little far fetched.  Before I could ask a follow up question he interrupts with more.  “Shortly after she disappeared from my life I got sick and the dreams stopped.”


“The dreams?”


“Yeah, every day she would touch me for some reason or another and I would get some kind of inspiration, something incomplete.  That night I would sleep and the rest would come in my dreams.” he pauses for a moment to examine my reaction.  “For you, I imagine she gives a story idea with her touch and the rest comes in your dreams.  Regardless of the details, when I was in the hospital coming to terms with only having a few years left in my life I met a man with a similar condition.  He told me a wild tale about a woman he called a Muse that stole his life from him.”


“So what you’re saying is that Eve is a soul sucking Muse that is going to steal my life away?”


“That’s exactly what I am saying.”