Capturing the Muse

Luck be a Penny - Part 2

As Rayne sat in the window seat of the airplane, she used the short flight to get to work, and typed on her laptop. She thought back, often, to the moment on the street with the homeless man, her emotions tingling. He had given her the tiniest spark towards getting back that urge to write. It came unexpectedly, but Rayne grasped at the few ideas with open arms. She'd spent the better part of the last two days plotting out Clara and Dexter's final book. But to her dismay, the ember began to fade. The longer she looked at the computer, the more she realized what she had written down was crap. She knew it. It wasn't the epic final installment her readers deserved.

Although she didn't select the words and delete them, Rayne let out a frustrated grumble and closed the lid on her laptop with more force than needed. Taking the small plastic cup of rye and coke, she slung it back, letting the burn of the alcohol slide down her throat. She'd felt as though she'd wasted the last couple days, the deadline looming.

Pressing her head against the rest, she closed her eyes, bringing her hands up and over, shielding them further from the glow of the plane.

Rayne heard the tell-tale sound of a thumb connecting with a metallic coin being propelled through the air. It was faint but clear. She'd now recognize the sound anywhere. Pulling her hands from her face, she looked to her left, across the aisle. Then she wiggled in her chair, got to her knees and peered over her seat, looking front and back, searching out the sound.

"Ma'am, we're about to make our descent. I need you to sit down and buckle up," a flight attendant said, coming down the aisle.

"Did you see... I mean, is there a man on the plane, really tall, handsome-looking, flipping a coin in the air?" Rayne was still searching the faces of the passengers she could see. Oddly enough, she hoped she would find him, but when the flight attendant shook her head, she slid back down into her seat. Her hand rested on her heart, feeling the erratic beats within. It was strange. Of course, he wouldn't be on her flight. He was probably back at the train station, begging for change. Rayne had apparently misinterpreted the sound she'd heard.

* * *

After checking in and dropping off her luggage in her room, Rayne went into the lobby of the hotel. She was used to eating alone, and found a cozy corner in the lounge to enjoy a meal and a glass of burgundy merlot. She still hadn't felt the inkling to write, and may have drowned a little of her woes in one too many glasses of wine. Rayne didn't care. She was, after all, on vacation. There was no one there to scold her for being tipsy, there were no fans that expected her to be this brilliant and creative author. She was all by herself, which most times, Rayne preferred.

After finishing her meal, gulping down the dregs of her wine, instead of heading back up to her room, Rayne went into the lobby and headed out the doors. She was staying in a cozy seaside community, and with the impending sunset approaching, Rayne thought a beautiful sight like that might re-spark the ideas that still floated in her mind. She really did need to figure out a way to just... collect all the thoughts in one cohesive weave and get to work.

For the most part, the only thing holding Rayne back was herself and the fear of failure.

As she walked along the boardwalk, the lapping waves of the ocean just below her, what seemed to work, sort of, was taking her mind off the novel and to just be... Rayne spent more time looking at the sights, how many people still covered the sandy beach, playing in the water, screaming and laughing. Carefree. The shops and bars across from the ocean were bustling with activity. Sitting on a bench, Rayne people-watched; often times one of her favorite activities. She found that going unnoticed was a great way to see how people truly interacted. Many of her characters in the past had been created by something she had seen.

An older couple held hands, clinging to each other; such love swirling between their gazes. A mother, holding a small baby, cooing. She looked exhausted, dark circles around her eyes, and yet, as she looked down at the little person, all that didn't seem to matter. The look of adoration in her eyes was compelling. A young couple stopped abruptly, and the guy grabbed his companion's hand, pulling her into a small alcove between the buildings. Pressing her against the wall, he kissed her passionately, as though they were the only two people in the world.

And that's how life should be. Always. That love, that transcends all things, making it as though there is nothing else that matters. Just the deep, consuming feeling of giving yourself over completely to another. Rayne wished she had that. That she could reach out and take that kind of love and shove it into her story.

Dexter and Clara needed it too. She had put them through the ringer, left their love story hanging, wide-open, with gaping holes, and tearing them from each other. Only she knew they would end up back in each other's arms. It was inevitable. She just had to write it.

After a long while, Rayne began to retrace her steps, heading back towards the hotel. She felt lighter, more relaxed but still not sure she could put pen to paper, yet. The other problem she'd been having about Dexter and Clara was the simple fact they needed a love story ending that would give justice for what they'd gone through. Rayne wasn't sure how to do that, when she had never experienced that all-consuming love herself. She had never given her heart to someone freely. She guarded it. Always. Only, at times, giving small pieces of herself away. How was she to write about something she'd never experienced before?

The ringing sound was abrupt, slicing through the air, reaching her ears. Rayne looked to her left, right, forward and backward. She knew, this time without a doubt, it was the sound of the man flipping her penny in the air. Picking up her pace, Rayne ran. A silly sensation in her heart propelled her forward.

* * *

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