Chasing Memories

[17] Workshopped

    The university prized its proximity to Bosmouth's long beaches at open days and in advertising, yet the location was a mixed blessing at best. On clear days, when the sun loosed its beams of boundless warmth unopposed, students relocated their pastimes to the pale sands and dark rocky outcrops along the seafront. The sounds of the beach crowd flew away when the wind picked up, leaving nothing but the occasional crack and creak of the hollow campus buildings.

    A single leaf broke loose from its branch and fluttered to the ground ahead of Elise. By her side, Cadence shoved her car key into her pocket and whistled to herself. "Wow. This place is dead," she said, glancing around at the undisturbed doors and windows. "It seems like it's not just you who skips out on extra-curriculars around here. Still want to go to this book club thing, killer?"

    "It's not a book club. It's a writing workshop, and yes, I'm going." Checking the contents of her bag, Elise swallowed down the nausea that stirred at the sight of her short story extract. The story's rejection by the Orchard had kept her from looking at it with anything more than a fleeting glance, yet she was about to subject it to the close, sustained critique of her peers. "I told James that I would come, and it's the right thing to do for my writing. I know it is."

    "Just asking." Cadence rocked her head back and stared through an oak tree's branches at the spotless blue sky, her ears pricking up at the cheers and laughter from the nearby sands. "But what if nobody else shows up? Then can we go to the beach and get wasted on someone else's booze? Just a little bit?"

    Elise cracked a smile as she sized up her friend's sad puppy eyes and wringing hands. "You're such a pain."

    "I do my best."

    Inside the faculty building, a wave of stagnant heat washed over Elise's skin, a by-product of the sun's unfettered beams setting the granite floor alight. A subtle musk sprinkled with the scent of sea salt lingered through the corridors, and every short breath slowed her thoughts until they matched the gentle pace of the spiralling sunlit dust specks. No sound disturbed the old walls beyond the combined tapping of her and Cadence's shoes on the hard ground.

    As she approached the set of double doors that led to the classroom, Elise winced at the pit that yawned in her gut. Anxiety had torn the hole open long ago, and each step she took towards the workshop loaded the breach with a rotting, toxic mulch that inflamed her insecurity to bursting point. The Orchard's silent rejection hung over her story's pages, growing to encompass every other rejection Elise had faced until she could no longer stand to look at a single word. Her story was not good enough. She was not good enough.

    "Well, look at this," a man's voice said as Elise passed through the double doors. Down the hall ahead, James strode towards her with a tan leather satchel at his side. "Do my eyes deceive me, or is Elise Penrose finally attending one of my writing sessions?"

    "James!" Elise froze in the doorway, the surprise seizing her limbs in place. As if he anticipated her reaction, her seminar leader broadened the keen smile he sent her way to dispel the doubts that clouded her mind. "Yeah, I'm here for the workshop. I've been meaning to come for a while, and I had the time today, so...no time like the present, right?"

    Stopping in front of Elise, James nodded and tapped the side of his satchel. "I couldn't agree more. Glad you decided to join us," he said, the midday light leaping with joy from the square lenses of his glasses. His hand ventured up to his stubble as he turned to the girl at Elise's side. "And how about you, Cadence? There's always room for more budding wordsmiths in my class."

    The man's affable demeanour did not shed a single particle, yet Cadence inched forward to put herself between James and Elise, her arms folded. "No way, specs. I'm just the taxi," she answered, pinning her hard stare on James' face. On their way through the campus, Cadence's every move had swished and swayed with relaxed ease, yet now a wary hold gripped her spine and leashed the cheer that bounced through her words. "Flo never even bothered telling me she was a writer, let alone trying to get me into it. Good practice for all the stuff she forgets to tell me now, like when she has people over, I guess."