Dear Anne

Letter #3

Dear Anne,

I looked for the woman in the sidewalk café this morning and yesterday. She wasn't there. A vision of her is imprinted permanently on my mind. I find myself worrying about her at night. That brute she walked away with was huge, probably twice her size. This unnamed woman was petite, shorter than you, Anne, and willowy. The man--I expect her boyfriend or husband—could have crushed her easily with his bare hands. Why am I so concerned? I wonder. I don't know her. She was a woman I notice, probably the first I noticed in Paris.

I drew her as I saw her that first morning—sitting at the table with her coffee and beignet. The man looms above her in the sketch, and she looks up at him apprehensively before her lips turn upward in a smiling greeting. The smile is false, I could see that from my distance. The brute did not notice her initial apprehension.

I'm obsessing, I know. You didn't mention my obsession in your email this morning, but I expect you noticed it. You will recognize this characteristic in me if we ever get to spend any real time together. I'm obsessive and possessive, at times. At others, I can let things go and walk away as though they never bothered me. I'm sure I'm turning you off by saying these things.

When will I return to the States? I do not know. I want to stay in Paris for as long as possible. My father said one year, and I'm back in college. Ugh! I was never one for schooling. I scraped by high school by the skin of my teeth. Mae helped me.

Oh, I haven't told you about Mae. I dated her a little in school, took her to the senior prom and we partied together after graduation. Mae Brick. I liked her, okay, but must admit I only went out with her because she did my homework. You're thinking I'm a CAD—a complete loser. I promised to keep in touch with her but never wrote a single email in her direction. She went to UCLA. I went to Butler in Indianapolis. My father wanted me to go to Princeton. I defied him on that. Probably shouldn't have. You're closer to Princeton. I might have met you sooner...maybe.

Anne? Do you think I'll make it as an artist? I was going to paint so much on my first day. I've started one painting. That woman! I'm so obsessed by her. That's so crazy!

When I fly back someday, will you see me again? I'll get the same layover again. Maybe I'll take a day or two and stay close by you. We can go out for dinner a few times and maybe there's someplace you would like to go. A daytrip, perhaps? I would like a whole day with you. Say you want one with me too. I feel good about you, Anne. I'm not really a taker like I was with Mae Brick. Mae had something to offer, and I took it. Sometimes I feel bad about it, but I wouldn't have graduated without her. Do you understand? CAD, I know. I have no shame, not really.

The weather is quite nice. Still foggy in the morning. I enjoy walking in it. The scent of Paris is fascinating. I can't describe it. Perhaps you, with your novelist abilities, could put together the right words. I think of you here with me always. It seems right to me. How do you feel about me? That's a direct question, I know. You probably won't answer.

There are some things I write about that you don't answer to, Anne. You skip points that are vital to me. I think you don't feel the same about me as I do about you. Do I surprise you with my rambling thoughts? I get surprised every time I see your name in my inbox. When I send an email, I think you will not respond. It thrills me that you do. Please keep answering. If you don't or want to stop, let me know. Don't just disappear, please, Anne. I want to know otherwise I will continue looking for your email. If you want, I'll send my phone number, and we can text or do you like writing emails? I want to feel closer to you.

I'm coming on too strong and not giving you much of a chance. Do you regret emailing me initially? Do you email other men? If you emailed me at random, you must email others also? Right? I guess you do. Why not? You're free to do as you choose. I'm not that possessive, not really. Tell me if I am and I'll stop.

Please write again, Dear Anne.

Yours affectionately

Corey Clairmont