Afraid to Love (4 page)

I laughed at myself for sounding like a silly teenage girl, but I was having fun. I should have left then because I was having too much fun, but I couldn't bring myself to.

“What do you write?” I asked him.

He scribbled a web address on a napkin and handed it to me.

“Check it out, it's my website,” he grinned.

“I'll have to do that,” I nodded.

The waiter brought our drinks out and my stomach growled to remind I hadn't eaten lunch.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“No, I already ate,” he said.

I was about to ignore my stomach until I got home, but Mark must have known I was hungry.

“But they have wonderful sorbet here,” he quickly added, “and I'm always ready for desert.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I laughed.

I think we annoyed the cashier by ordering a second time, but I didn't care.

As we ate, we talked more about our parents. I even told Mark the truth about how my mother couldn't be bothered to hang around once I turned five.

“She hasn't even contacted you since?” he asked.

I shook my head in response.

“That sucks,” he frowned, “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” I told him, “She just showed me what I didn't want to be.”

“See? You can look at the bright side!” he laughed.

I rolled my eyes, but smiled at him.

The rest of our casual meeting went well. Mark was the most entertaining person I had ever met. I left the coffee shop smiling and laughing.

When I got home, I ran myself a warm bath and grabbed my phone. I was still thinking about Mark and the incident at work was all but forgotten, but I wanted to talk to Sasha. I needed to hear her tell me how stupid I had been to agree to go out on a real date with Mark. I needed someone to tell me to pull my head out of my ass. He was white and that meant we were never going to work out.

I pressed three on the speed dial and waited for her to answer.

“So you finally called me?” she laughed in greeting.

“I've been busy,” I said and rolled my eyes.

“Who was the hottie who had your phone?” she asked.

“You didn't see him,” I said, “how do you know he's hot?”

“Because you always attract the hot guys,” Sasha sighed.

“I do not,” I laughed.

“Yes, you do,” she said, “you're just too busy to notice them, but anyway, who is this Mark?”

“A guy I met at the cafe,” I told her.

“And?” she asked.

“And what?” I asked.

“How long have you known him?” Sasha asked.

“Just met him on Monday,” I said.

“Yes, but you like him,” she teased.

“I barely know him!” I said.

“Yes, but you barely knew me when we first met too, and now we're best friends,” she said.

“True, but he's white,” I sighed.

“So what?” Sasha asked.

This conversation wasn't going the way I had planned.

“Dad wouldn't have liked him,” I said.

“Yes, but he's not trying to date your dad,” Sasha laughed.

“True,” she sighed, “but I always wanted a man he'd be proud of.”

“But would that make you happy?” Sasha asked.

“I don't know,” I admitted.

By the time we got off the phone, I was mad at her. Why couldn't she just tell me what I wanted to hear? I already knew the answer to that question. Sasha never told anyone what they wanted to hear. She told them what she really thought.

I flopped onto my bed naked and stared at the ceiling. What the hell was I getting myself into? After a half an hour of staring into the darkness, I realized I wasn't as tired as I had thought before I lay down. I sat up and stretched, enjoying the tension leaving my stressed out muscles. I wasn't sure what to do so I headed downstairs and turned on my laptop. I didn't use it much now that I had finished school, but I kept it to play around on when I couldn't sleep.

Upon opening the browser, I remembered I promised Mark that I'd check out his website. I sprinted into the kitchen and retrieved the napkin with the information out of my purse and returned to the computer.

I typed in the web address, but I wasn't expecting much. I tapped my fingernails against the desk as I waited for the page to load. I had gotten my internet as part of a bundled deal and found out that I got what I paid for it. It was cheap and I hardly used it, so I considered it a fair compromise. Besides, it would ensure I wasn't tempted to waste large quantities of time sitting in front of the computer.

When the site finally loaded, it looked a lot nicer than I expected. It looked good enough that I wondered if Mark had awesome computer skills or if he had hired someone to design and run it for him. I skipped the personal bio stuff, because I never believed that writers tell the truth in those anyway. I searched around for a few seconds and found the page that talked about his books. Mark hadn't been lying about being a writer. His website listed eight books, the earliest of which was written almost ten years ago.

I read through its description and was pleasantly surprised. It sounded to me like a science fiction book that held a lot of commentary on what Mark thought about the real world. Maybe it would give me more insight into the man who captured my attention. When I realized I was grinning like a fool, I nearly hit the little X to close the window, but stopped myself. Mark would never know it was me that ordered his book. It would be sent straight from the publisher. It was one of those deals where books were only printed when they were ordered. I wonder how many books he had sold. It had to be enough to live on, because he hadn't mentioned having a real job.

I opened another tab to check my bank account balance and grinned. I switched tabs and ordered his book. I even paid extra to get it within forty-eight hours. It most likely wouldn't be delivered by our date Friday evening, but it would give me something to do this weekend.

Chapter 4: Mark

I hung around the coffee shop for about an hour after Cynthia left. I didn't have my laptop with me so I wrote my notes frantically. I felt the grin on my face spreading from ear to ear as my mind replayed her smile and laughter. Every time I thought about how she agreed to go on a real date with me Friday night, I laughed out loud. It was foolish of me to be so excited about such a small thing, but as a writer I know that small moments in the end make an entire lifetime. We are the sum of the moments we experience. When I'm an old man, I want to look back at a lifetime of tiny moments and know there were more good than bad, more moments that made me laugh out loud than made me angry or upset. Life is too short to be anything but happy.

The sun had set by the time I left the coffee shop, but the staff was used to me wasting away my time there. I tipped well enough that they left me be. I walked slowly through the streets, taking in the sights of the world around me. Happy couples seemed to be everywhere. They were holding hands, embracing, and stealing kisses when they thought no one was watching.

For the first time, I noticed not many of them were mixed couples. Maybe that's why Cynthia had seemed reluctant to accept my invitation to dinner. I shrugged the thought off. I had spent nearly twenty-eight years not caring what people thought about me and I wasn't about to start now. To me, skin color had never been of importance. Growing up, I had friends from all over the world and had never been told that it was wrong. It wasn't until high school that I realized some people thought it was wrong. I was flabbergasted that anyone in modern times could be so ignorant and shallow.

There was only one thing that was bothering me. Cynthia's conversation with the manager of the coffee shop was off putting. I had watched the drama of Justin and his girlfriend unfold from a corner table and knew the kid was miserable. He was in love with the girl and she wanted nothing to do with him. She had even broken up with him while he was on the clock.

When I arrived home, I checked the mail. I always head out with the sunrise and most nights don't make it home until long after the sun has disappeared so I usually had mail waiting for me. I kicked off my shoes at the door and sat down on my bed. The first three envelopes were bills, but the fourth looked like it might be from a publisher. Frowning, I opened it. When I was younger I was always hopeful when a letter from a publisher arrived, but these days I knew it would just be another rejection slip to add to the box. I had to read the letter twice to make sure I had really read what I thought I had. After reading my synopsis for the latest science fiction book I had written, they wanted to see the manuscript.

I tossed the letter aside and hooked up my laptop to the printer. After checking and rechecking the formatting requirements I printed the manuscript. I knew it was going to take forever to print so I decided to call my dad while I waited. He wouldn't be as excited as I was. He thought that I should have given up writing a long time ago and found a real job. It was my mother who had always been my biggest fan. A pang of grief hit me in the stomach as I searched my bag for my cellphone. I silently wished this letter had come years earlier so she could be alive to know that I was closer to succeeding than I had ever been before.

I dialed my dad's number and waited for him to answer. It rang several times, but he didn't pick up. I glanced at the clock, it was still early enough to catch the boys at the bar. I showered and changed clothes while I waited for the manuscript to finish printing. By the time I was ready to go, the last page had printed and my laptop had put itself to sleep. I grabbed one of the large yellow envelopes I kept on hand and carefully packed it way inside the safety of its bubble wrap interior. I sealed the envelope and filled it out. I kissed it for luck and tucked it under my bed for safe keeping until I could send it out in the morning.

I walked the two blocks to the bar and spotted the guys right away. It was hard not to because, as usual, Randy had a large group of women surrounding him. I settled down across the table sitting next to Harvey and Arnold.

“Hey, you finally showed!” Randy laughed.

“I have great news!” I said, waiving away the waitress who was trying to take my drink order.

I had never been one to like alcohol, mostly because I couldn't work the keyboard if I was drunk. 

“Okay, spit it out,” Arnold yelled, “before you explode, man.”

“A publisher asked to see my manuscript!” I said.

“Does that mean you found a publisher?” Randy asked.

“Maybe,” I said already knowing it was a mistake to come here. “If they like it and they think it will sell, they'll print it.”

“So, there's nothing certain about it yet?” Randy asked.

“No,” I shook my head.

“And here I was going to buy you a drink for finally doing something with your dictionary,” Randy chuckled.

I hung around for a few minutes of small talk, but left before I became too angry with Randy. In high school he had been on the football team and I had written for the school newspaper. Somehow we'd managed to remain friends, but as the adult world took over, the friendship had unraveled at its seams. After all, he played football for the state university until he broke his leg and then settled into being a banker who was still trying to relive his glory days of the football field. I traveled the states and Europe and wrote at least five thousand words every day, even if most of them ended up being filed away in a dark box somewhere.

When I arrived home, I almost sent Cynthia a text, but I didn't want to seem needy or overbearing. Women always accused men of being those things. Instead, I settled down in front of my laptop and got ready for a night of writing. My fingers danced across the keys until my hands cramped. I shook the pain off and gave my muscles only a few seconds to relax before I began to write again. The ideas flowed and before I knew it, the sun was coming up. I had finished the first four chapters of the book I had been planning. Twenty thousand words in one night. I hadn't written like that since high school.

I wasn't sure whether it was meeting Cynthia or the letter from the publisher that had renewed my passion for writing. I didn't know how the story would end yet. The robber might get away. After all, he was the main character, but I might have the ending be his downfall.

Shrugging off the thoughts that chased each other around my tired brain, I stepped into the shower. I like to take a hot shower after a long writing session, the heat raining down on my skin also helped me let go of the story. As a writer, sometimes I found myself living inside my head instead of in the solid reality around me. It helped me get through the lonely task of writing and the brain frying tasks of editing and rewriting, but tonight I wanted to be in reality. Things were beginning to look up. Even if I didn't get intimately involved with Cynthia, I was happy with the situation for now and the now is what matters the most.

I flexed my shoulders under the hot water and allowed myself to imagine what it might feel like to have Cynthia’s hands touching my skin, working out the soreness of my muscles. My mind conjured an image of her nude body pressing against mine and I shook the image away.

“It's been too long, man,” I told myself, shaking my head.

I was too tired this morning to give myself the much needed release my cock craved. It was better not to even get it started. I turned off the water and dried off before heading to bed.

As I fell asleep, I realized why Charles, the robber in my story, robbed that bank. His wife was being held hostage by a group of men he owed a gambling debt to. The debt was from years ago and Charles, like most young men, thought he could just leave it in the past.

“Charles, you're a dumb ass,” I mumbled as sleep claimed me.

My ringing cellphone woke me up after only a few hours of sleep. I wanted to roll over and ignore it because I was so exhausted, but I knew better. The manuscript under my bed was yelling for me to drop it in the mail and if I didn't get up, my sleep schedule would be screwed. I sat up and looked around for my phone. It was lying on the floor a few feet from the bed. I flipped over onto my stomach and crawled halfway off the bed to avoid having to get up and get it. It stopped ringing by the time I was right side up on the bed.