I spent the two days after meeting Eve writing every spare moment. My creativity was inspired by the strange flash of memory. I barely slept but it didn't matter what I was writing was the most inspired story I have ever told.
What little I did sleep gave me most of the story. A rich merchant of ancient Egypt known for charisma and good looks who drew the attention of many women. He never found one of worth. In his heart he was a potter aching for inspiration, his work kept him from his true passion.
A traveling group of entertainers comes to town. With them the girl I named Eve in honour of my inspiration. She was stunning and beautiful but it was the air of something special that finally caught his eye.
Within the week he took her as his bride, her youth and beauty would serve his business well but more importantly he bought a pottery wheel to finally follow his dream. Months pass and his pottery skills exceed his wildest dreams and his lovely bride supports his pursuit of his dream while she does her best to help his business.
What she never tells him about is the accosting from customers and the frequent attempts to pry her from her husband. Eventually this leads to the events of the 'dream' and his subsequent death. A touching tail of jealousy and tragedy coming in at over thirty thousand words.
On my way to the cafe where we met I had the story printed at a print shop. I wanted her to read what she had inspired, the why was irrelevant though I suspected it had something to do with infatuation.
Entering the cafe I am greeted by the harsh and sweet aroma of coffee. Today they had the roast with a hint of walnut, one of my favorites. I quickly scan the place for any signs of Eve, but I am disappointed to find she has not arrived yet. Oh well, I am two hours earlier than last time.
I order my coffee and find a seat in the comfortable lounging section before relaxing and enjoying the nutty blend of coffee. After two days of intensive writing this afternoon would be a relief to just breathe, so I took the time to ponder Eve.
She is classically beautiful. Her soft features and perfect complexion is a sight to behold, a girl like her is not born every day. She held on to a slender physique that spoke to a wish to be desired and take care of herself. For all the times I have seen her I don't remember one time where she was wearing something revealing. It seemed above all else she wanted to be desired for who she was, not what. I respect that a great deal. As a writer I put myself on the page when I write, even if it's fiction. The people I write about are an extension of myself, and therefore when people adore a character in a tale I write they adore a part of me.
Time whizzed past while I day dreampt of her and all the things I knew about her. When she arrived and sat down at the table I nearly fell off my chair in surprise.
"Nice to see you again Taylor." She begins.
"I am so glad you came, to be honest I was a little concerned you might not show." Okay a lot worried. I had literally thought about her and the character that looked like her for two straight days.
"Well you could have gave me a call or a text if you were not sure, my card has my cell number on it."
"Right! Your card, I honestly forgot all about it."
"You forgot about me?"
"No no no, just your card. I have been thinking about you non stop since we parted ways." Wait, did I just say that? It sounds so creepy.
"Oh so I did have an effect on you. When you didn't call or text I figured I was just another face to you."
"About seventy five pages single spaced worth of effect I would say."
"Seventy five pages? You mean you wrote about me? Is it strange that I am flattered by that?"
"It is not strange to be flattered about being a Muse."
"A muse?" she looked unimpressed.
"Like an inspiration, or subject. When you left the other day I was inspired to write a story. I went on a binge and wrote as much as I could and well, here it is." I say pushing the stack of paper across the table towards her.
"Oh, I thought maybe you were interested in me, not stories about me. Maybe I should go." she says standing up.
"No wait, listen. There is so much more than a story here. I don't understand what happened to be honest but the story just flowed from me. I like to think that you and your secrets put me in a mood to write. The rest just happened."
She sits back down carefully. "Look, I kinda like you, so I will listen. You need to understand that I am not some conquest for you to take as a prize. I have feelings like anyone else. Writing stories about me will not impress me."
I squirm in my seat, writing is the core of my being, how could I just not write. Could this girl be worth never writing again? "Okay Eve, I am sorry that I upset you. The story was never about impressing you, just inspired by an image that came to mind when you gave me the card. Writing is what I do, it is how I express to the world how I feel and what I see from my perspective. You on the other hand are a totally separate thing from the writing. For some reason that I don't understand yet, I grow more fascinated by you and your perspective the more we talk."
She takes a moment, clearly pondering what I said "So you didn't write this to try and get with me?"
"Absolutely not, sure I am fascinated by you, maybe even a little infatuated by you, but I do not play harmful games."
"I think you are a very different kind of person Taylor"
"Funny, I was just thinking that about you."
We both laugh at the common thought. I begin to regale her about the tragic tale I printed for her. This time she listened intently and fascinated at the story and in the end she was positively riveted.
"You got all that from a short view of a murder you imagined from two thousand years ago?"
"That is what writers do."
