Letters To Emily

Warm Feelings

Laura asked me to walk Marvin tonight. Marvin is the bane of my existence. It irks my nerves the way Laura speaks to her dog and calls me his daddy. Do I look like a French Bulldog? I feel like Marvin spites me. I go one way and he pulls the opposite direction. I'm thoroughly exhausted and I wish it was just me and Laura. I wish that after dinner we could just talk or maybe I could write a bit more.
I concede to her and take Marvin for that walk into town. It's a great excuse to unwind for a bit at the bar with a beer and chit chat with the folks that gather there. Sometimes there's just quiet murmurings in the background and my mind picks up new pictures to express in my secret notebook.
Today, I met someone incredibly fascinating and it has sparked some interesting thoughts. She has soft brown curls and a mouth so delicately pink and heart shaped. Her eyes are a clear ocean blue. Her nose absolutely perfect. What drew my attention to her initially was that she always sits in the back of the bus. She looks around and writes in a dark leather bound notebook. Her eyes are wide as she thinks about word placement maybe? Her name is Emily. Hmm. Emily with the soft looking creamy skin with a touch of pink to her cheeks when she smiles. There's a carefree way about her. There's something there that I wish I did not envy, but I do.
I know I shouldn't be thinking of this woman as much as I am, but I can't help it. Her face just keeps popping up. I sip my beer and wonder if I will see her tomorrow. It's Sunday and she typically rides the bus all day on the weekends. I never thought about it much before, but now that we've introduced ourselves, I find myself wanting to know more about this woman. What kind of poetry does she write? Where is she from? What does she do for a living? Does she have family here? Does she have a boyfriend? Wait, why am I thinking about that? It's irrelevant. I'm a happily married man. In the span of about three hours, this mystery woman has completely taken over my thoughts and I need to get a grip.
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Sunday
Megan called out sick for work at the bookstore. I had to take on her shift. It was a pretty smooth day until around one when we were flooded with young kids for story time. I forgot about that. We had a special author come and read to the kids and do a book signing. It was really loud in the shop until about four when they started clearing out. I was really missing my weekend routine. I had a few new ideas for poems and even a short story, but this is a day for really good business. I'm happy to engage with the customers and talk books. When families came in today, they didn't just stop at buying the new book at the signing, they found other gems to take home. There were instances of hundreds of dollars worth of books being purchased.
All in all, we were pretty busy and truth be told, I could use a drink. The shop closed at nine and I strolled down to a local bar. I wandered inside, clad in my eggplant colored sweater and light wash skinny jeans. I've been wearing my brown short boots a lot lately. God, I love autumn. I take a seat at the bar and ask the bartender for a double bourbon neat. I glance to my right quickly and double take.
"Hey, aren't you my bus driver? Paterson, right?", I ask with with a friendly smile and hoping I'm not bothering him.
He turns and says, "Yes I am. Hi. You're the poet, right? Emily."
"Yeah! Hey, you remember me. That's so cool", I say to Paterson who continues to stare into his beer smiling, nodding, and dare I say...blushing?
"Uh, you weren't on the bus today. Unusual for a Sunday. The day took you somewhere else?", he asks  with a half smile.
"Excuse me?", I ask a little confused at his question.
"Yesterday you said you would see where the day would take you. Where did it take you, if you don't mind my asking?", he ask before sipping his beer.
I take a sip of my bourbon and answer, "Work. Someone called in sick. I work in a shop that sells books and vinyl records."
"Ah", is all Paterson says while looking over at me and nodding with a knowing smile.
"Ah? What is that all about?", I ask while chuckling.
"Nothing. It just explains a lot. You... are a dreamer. I suppose you read a lot and pull inspiration from music?", Paterson asks while looking at me briefly before turning back to his beer.
"I do and I don't. I try not to get too caught up in the art of others. I like going out into the world and discovering new warm feelings. It's the feelings attached to the experiences of living that that are fuel for great art. Anything else is derivative", I answer him.
"What about the cold feelings? Aren't they also relevant to creating great art?", Paterson asks looking over to me. His look is slightly inquisitive.
"You're absolutely right. Most beautiful art comes from pain and suffering. I suppose the feelings I've had lately have all been warm. Don't you just love autumn?", I ask somewhat rhetorically and let out a deep sigh. I sip my bourbon.
Paterson answers, "I do", he says again with a nod. There's a long, somewhat awkward silence. I decide to go for it.
"So... did you miss me today, Paterson?", I ask. This is my awful attempt at flirting.
"What makes you ask that?", he asks with a smile fighting to break through his look of surprise.
"You noticed I was gone and you noticed that I ride the bus almost every Sunday. That makes me feel special. So, did you miss me today?", I ask and I can't help, but mock bat my eyelashes and smile sickeningly sweet at Paterson. I'm probably terrifying him at this point. He tries to hold back a laugh, but he can't help it.
"Sure. You were missed", Paterson says letting go of that chuckle a little more. His laugh becomes more full and deep the more he lets go.
"Why are you laughing?", I ask laughing and shoving lightly at his elbow.
"I don't know... we're strangers and we're talking about missing each other. It's a little odd", he says turning a little more red than his earlier blush.
"Ah! I never said I missed you, but you're right...Well, you give me some of the warm feelings Paterson. I'm inspired by you. Officially", I say boldly to him. I raise my glass in a mock toast and sip.
"Inspired?", Paterson asks looking completely bewildered, "By me? Why?"
"You're beautiful... and you must have a wonderful perspective. You see the world through a huge windshield. You see a lot of the same everyday with tiny differences here and there. I'm sure you've seen and heard some interesting things. You're kind of like a fly on the wall of lots of people's lives", I say and I realize I sound like I'm envious.
"We can all have that perspective I suppose, if we all quiet down and really look and listen", Paterson says with a shrug and bouncing his eyes back and forth from me to nothing in particular and then back to his drink. "And... beautiful how? Thank you for the compliment, but that's not really... I'm not... I mean, you're very....Uh... never mind", Paterson says shaking his head looking dizzy from this conversation.
I laugh and say to Paterson, "I'm sorry. I don't know what to say sometimes. That was my very awkward way of flirting with you. You are very handsome and I've wanted to say that since the first day you said 'good morning' to me. Whew! This double bourbon has made me bold!", I say with a nervous laugh. There's a long look shared between Paterson and I. There's a searching in his eyes and a sense of desperation?
"Oh", is all Paterson can manage to say as he stares into the empty glass.
A look of realization hits Paterson and he gulps down his last bit of beer, stands, and says, "Goodnight, Doc", to the bartender. He walks to the door and I feel like an idiot that has said something terribly wrong. My heart sinks and as I turn back to my drink feeling completely embarrassed, I hear the bell ring on the door and Paterson says, "Emily."
My eyes dart up from the bar to look at him. A stray strand of hair has flopped down to his forehead and I swear my insides feel like warm butter melting on pancakes.
Paterson says, "Goodnight and... I hope you find only the warm feelings."
With the chiming of the bells, Paterson is gone into the autumn night air.