Moore to Lose (2 page)

Schooner stroked her hair and smiled down at her. “Try running away from me again and this time you won’t get very far. I will track down your ass and hunt you down like a dog.” He laughed. “It’s not like the 80’s anymore, Baby Girl, when if you wanted to disappear you could, and did, disappear. No internet, no cell phones. Those days are over.”

Mia smiled, “I’d take you with me this time. I learned that lesson the hard way,” and Schooner assumed she had.

“Now
you’re
the Queen of Understatement, BBC.” Seth commented on Mia’s declaration about learning the hard way as he entered with her breakfast on a tray and sat down next to her on the bed.

Although Mia hadn’t told Schooner many details of their years apart, he surmised that Seth Shapiro had always been there for Mia in both her brightest and darkest moments. Their love and bond was something to behold, and Schooner took comfort in knowing that in all the time he couldn’t be there for her, the whole time she mistakenly thought he didn’t love her, Mia had someone by her side who loved her deeply, understood her and knew when to reign her in when she was going off the rails. What Schooner didn’t know was just how perceptive he was and that maybe
he
was the King of Understatement.

Tom Sheehan was loving life. Twenty-seven, MFA in creative writing completed, his Sci-Fi screenplay under consideration by two Hollywood studios, and an amazing teaching gig that had fortuitously landed in his lap. Most unfortunate for his old mentor, George Roy, who was convalescing from a massive heart attack and had to withdraw for both semesters from teaching his upper level year long creative writing seminars – but very good luck for Tom Sheehan.

With his dark Irish good looks and the cultivated sensitivity of a poet, Tom’s charm was working wonders on his students – 70% of whom were female. It was three weeks into the fall semester and he was already nailing two of them. At twenty-one, the two seniors, Sherri and Jacqueline, were old enough and certainly experienced enough to keep him very satisfied, but they were also young enough to look up to him like he was just short of a god. It was a heady feeling.

“We are almost done with the poetry unit.” Almost all fifteen in his upper-level writing seminar cheered at the news. Students had submitted writing samples to Professor Roy, a particularly harsh critic, to gain entry to the coveted seminar, so Tom was working with a highly talented group comprised mostly of seniors, a few highly capable juniors and one sophomore transfer student. “Is everyone ready for short stories and screenplay adaptation?” Smiling out at the group, he could see that they were totally over and done with the poetry segment — never a favorite amongst students.

“I know poetry has not been everyone’s favorite,” he continued, “and I know you didn’t appreciate some of the assignments,” he smiled out at them as he effortlessly covered the front of the room in a slow, deliberate pace, “especially the ones from the insect’s and animal’s point of view. But we have one more poetry assignment — the last poetry assignment, and it’s due Monday. This will be the first assignment without character or theme constraints. This one is all you. And if you thought the others were difficult, they were nothing. For this assignment, you need to dig deep. Give me something so personal that you are embarrassed to look me in the face. If I get fluff, it
will
be reflected in your grade. I will pretty much be grading the poetry segment of the course on how you perform with this assignment.”

He stopped his pacing and was looking down at the floor. Shoving his hands into his Docker’s pockets, he slowly looked up and smiled at the fifteen. “Have a great weekend.”

They started to shuffle out of the class, both Sherri and Jacqueline packing their backpacks slowly. His little transfer student made her way from the back of the classroom. This one was an enigma. She seemed to be hiding behind a mane of unruly curls and dark sunglasses that never came off.

“You going to give me something good with this assignment, Mia?”

She smiled, “I don’t know about that. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, my poetry pretty much sucks. I promise my prose is significantly more adept.”

“Poetry is a tough medium, even for a lot of very prolific writers.” As he packed up his desk, he hoped Sherri and Jacqueline would leave. He continued talking to Mia, “Just try and be as raw as you can with this last assignment. There are no rules attached to this one.” Her face belied little and he wondered what was going on behind those dark shades.

Mia snickered. It appeared to Tom that she wanted to say something, but checked herself and left him with, “Have a good one.”

Tom was alone in the classroom – his stall tactic had yielded the results he wanted. As he turned off the light and locked the door, he wondered why Mia Silver was hiding behind dark sunglasses. Was it to appear cool and affected? Maybe, but he didn’t think so. It felt like she was putting up her force field – something no human could penetrate.

He shrugged into his brown corduroy blazer as he exited the building. The crisp afternoon air cooled his cheeks as the late afternoon sun illuminated campus, bathing it in a golden glow with its side lit beauty. There was nothing like fall in the northeast.

That same side lit golden light was bathing the park early Saturday morning and although the air still held the chill of the Indian summer night, Tom was bathed in sweat. Slowing down from his run, he began his cool down. It was the first time he really noticed the leaves and decided it was going to be a brilliant autumn. The yellow leaves popped against the flawless blue of the sky. Tom breathed the air in deeply and closed his eyes for a moment as he walked. Running allowed him to get lost in his own head, work out plot elements for his screenplays, visualize the nuances of his character’s personalities and just dump all the shit that was bothering him.

He knew it was her by the unruly mane cascading over her shoulders. She was on her knees, bent over a camera on a low tripod with its legs splayed flat to the ground. Her camera lens hovered over a tangle of wildflowers – blooming goldenrod and purple asters, the last vestiges of fall flora. He quietly approached, not to disturb or alarm her. Tom found himself smiling as he noted the worn Levi’s, hiking boots and open hoodie sweatshirt. It was quite the juxtaposition to her classmates and their designer everything, with labels prominently displayed.

It was interesting to watch her focus and intensity as she manipulated the lens, testing out different focal points. There seemed to be almost a surgical precision to the minute adjustments she made and her concentration was absolute.

Tom shifted his weight and some leaves crunched under his back foot. Mia shot up from her position in a single fluid motion, her eyes wide and flashing fear, her autonomic nervous system snapping into fight or flight mode.

“Whoa, sorry I scared you.” Tom apologized. She looked like the proverbial deer caught in headlights. He could see the fear in her big green eyes and in the stiffness of her spine and shoulders. He felt terrible for scaring her.

It took Mia a minute to realize that she was not in danger, and he could see that as he watched her process the situation. He felt just awful for scaring her. He could see how visceral her response was – the rosiness from the cool morning air, drained from her face.

“I’m really, really sorry, Mia,” he apologized again, “I saw you here and wanted to say hi. I was trying not to disturb you while you were working.”

Mia nodded and Tom could tell that she was not able to speak yet – or at least not without her voice cracking. He had an overwhelming urge to hug her and reassure her that she was safe, but his gut told him it was best not to make a move toward her.

“Hey, no sunglasses.” He needed to get her to relax.

Mia smiled and nodded, “Would make it really hard to see through the viewfinder. I just got contacts,” she explained, “and my eyes are really light sensitive. I’m really not trying to be a jerk in your class.”

That admission elicited a smile. So that was the mystery behind those sunglasses and the reason for hiding those striking green eyes. “I didn’t think you were being a jerk.”

Mia nodded. “Want to see what I’m taking pictures of?”

Tom got to his knees in the dew damp grass and looked through the viewfinder of her camera. “Wow.” He had not expected the amount and clarity of up-close detail or how large every minute element of the flowers appeared.

“I’m shooting with a macro lens and that allows me to get really close to the subject.” Mia sat cross legged next to Tom while he continued to check out the colorful new world in the viewfinder. “On the end of the lens, I have two diopters stacked and they magnify everything, which is why you are able to see the amount of detail in the flowers. Pretty cool, huh?”

Tom looked up at Mia. “Very cool,” and he was not just referring to the subject at the other end of her lens. He cocked his head to the side, “You’re only a sophomore?”

Mia smiled and nodded. She looked up at the sky, squinting. “Looks like the good light is gone.” She started to break down her equipment – removing the camera from the tripod, the glass diopters from the end of the lens – and loaded them into her backpack.

“There’s a great little bakery on the edge of the park. Join me for coffee?” Tom didn’t have anything (or anyone) to do until noon and Mia Silver seemed sweet, shy and intriguing.

Thirty minutes into their coffee, Tom changed his assessment – Mia Silver was not shy, she was very funny – bordering on bodacious, still sweet, but with a big bite of spice and very intriguing. And those eyes – damn. Three weeks in his class and this was the first time he was seeing those expressive green pools. And she was cool. He could definitely see being friends with her.

“So, you were in California last year? What was that like?”

“It was like being in a Heinlein novel.” Mia played with her muffin.

“I don’t know if I grok.”

Mia looked up and smiled at Tom and their
Stranger in a Strange Land
ⁱⁱ
banter. “Ok, well it started at freshman orientation.”

He saw a flash of something in her eyes. Pain, maybe?

But she continued, “I was the only freshman girl in jeans. Literally, the only one.”

Tom looked at her, confused. “What was it, a nudist school?” He laughed. “What were they wearing?”

“Dresses.” Mia whispered, as if it were a nasty word not to be mentioned in public, her eyes wide, and then a devilish grin overtook her face.

The sip of coffee that had just passed through his lips was spit onto the table in front of him as he began to laugh.

Mia laughed even harder at his reaction.

“Dresses? Seriously? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dress on this campus.”

“I definitely don’t own one.”

“So, you didn’t fit in? Certainly you had some friends?” What was going on with this girl? He was interested to find out.

Mia smiled, “Yeah, I had some great friends. I didn’t know I would miss them so much.”

Definite pain in this one’s eyes. Tom wondered why she had come back east. There was a story there. Part of him wanted to peel back the layers on this girl, find out what made her tick, but with Sherri and Jacqueline, he already had his hands full.

“I expect a great poem from you on Monday,” he changed the subject on her.

“Don’t hold your breath. My poetry sucks. You’ve seen it.”

“Tell me, what makes writing great?” He challenged.

Without missing a beat, “It has to be honest.”

Tom smiled. “Bingo!” Ok, even more impressed, he thought. He had asked that question a week ago in another senior level writing seminar and not one of the students knew that simple, yet essential answer. “Just be honest. Do whatever you need to do to get there. Smoke a joint, drink some beers, run, shoot photos – but get to an honest, raw place and give me one badass poem on Monday.”

Mia was looking at him intently. Her eyes teared up. She grabbed a napkin and dabbed at them. “Freaking contacts,” she muttered.

Contacts, my ass, thought Tom.

And with that she stood and grabbed her backpack. “Hey, thanks for the coffee and muffin.”

“Anytime,” he smiled.

And she was gone.

Tom sat back in his chair wondering what the hell was going on with that girl. She was witty and bright, but there was something going on there and he could not put his finger on it. Maybe it would come out in her writing during the semester, because if she was in pain, she needed to use that. She needed to take that pain and let it serve as the cornerstone of her creativity.

Tom Sheehan left the bakery at 9:30 A.M. on Saturday morning with the gut feeling that the girl in the back of his writing seminar with the dark sunglasses might just be the surprise talent of the semester.

Tom sat down in the brown faux leather recliner in his furnished apartment. Coltrane filled in the silence and with an ice cold LaBatt Ale in one hand, he started to go through the class’ last poetry assignment. There were definitely a few not making eye contact with him today and he hoped that meant they had bared their souls in the assignment. Jacqueline, usually fairly brazen, seemed almost shy, while Sherri, on the other hand, spent the class looking at him like she was undressing him. Mia, as usual, took her seat at the back of the room, sunglasses back in place.

An hour later, Tom was mostly unimpressed. Why did they all feel the need to rhyme? Jacqueline’s assignment was next in the stack and two stanzas into her three-typed page ode, Tom didn’t know whether to blush or get a ticket for a Greyhound bus and high tail it out of town. Jacqueline had clearly taken their casual tryst as something more important than it was, and as was typical with an ode, elaborately glorified both the event and the person. And in this case, the person was Tom. “Oh crap,” he thought, “I need to figure out a way out of this one.” Jacqueline clearly did not understand casual.

Sherri’s assignment, on the other hand, was so self-absorbed that Tom had to laugh. He opened another beer, and sat down with the assignment of one of the guys in the class. Finally, promise – a lot of self-loathing and angst – but at least promise. Tom finally gave out his first “A” to Rob Ryan.