Playing Your Part

A couple weeks had gone by since Helene had been given her strange proposition. She dealt with it the only way she knew how. She had put up a wall within herself. She had tried to completely banish any thoughts about that man and his crazy ideas. Helene had made up her mind it was an unhealthy distraction to dwell on his offer, or any of the ideas he tried to plant about what kind of person she was or could be.

What she wouldn't really admit to herself was that she was afraid. She refused to confront it or acknowledge it. If she had, she might have had to ask why this was so. Was she afraid that this man could change her? Was she was afraid she might lose control of who she would become?

During this time of hiding from thoughts she did not trust, Helene was also hiding from her usual lunch time ritual at the cafe. She had to go a different location in the city even though it meant that it cut into her leisure time by increasing travel time. Over time this fact began to aggravate her more and more.

She found herself becoming increasingly irritable with each passing day. By the second week she was venting in uncharacteristic ways with people she encountered. She recognized an anger was building and that she was angry with herself.

Why should she be sacrificing precious time in her day, she wondered? The more she thought about it, the more she had to admit it didn't make much sense. It was childish.

She resented that she could let some stranger make her feel so uncomfortable. She was not a doormat and she was no coward she told herself. If they met each other again she would just give him a polite but firm rejection and let him know that he had misjudged her.

So, during the third week she returned to her usual establishment. The first time she walked through the door she was very nervous though she did her utmost to contain it. She kept telling herself to pull it together. As it turned out the anxiety was for nothing. The man with no name was not there. She was flooded with a sense of relief and laughed at herself.

He was not there the following day either, nor that week. She was aware that almost every time the door opened to the cafe, she was glancing up to see who was entering in spite of herself. She was registering a little disappointment now that she wasn't going to run into him. After several days passed, it began to dawn on her that he must be deliberately not coming in here. It had been his routine. He said as much. But, not anymore.

So he was avoiding seeing her she deduced. So, why was that, she wondered. She inevitably began to think again about what exactly he had said. He had said in effect that nothing would start until she said so and that there was no hurry. Was this man still waiting for the message that would likely never come? It was an appealing notion that fed her ego. A man was somewhere pining for her attention.

She realized that his not showing up was to be expected. He gave the control to her - did he not? That was his theme. Control. Who had, and who surrendered it. She really wondered what he was thinking. Did he still really believe that she was going to agree? She thought it was unlikely that he believed it now but could not be sure.

By the end of the fourth week, she had to admit she was hoping to see the crazy writer with the amusing ideas about fiction becoming life. She still wanted to ask him all sorts of questions about it. The less likely it seemed that she would run into him, the more fascinating the whole idea seemed to her. She wanted that story to read if not to actually live it out.

* * * * * * *

It had been almost two months since the first encounter with her favorite unknown writer. She could not bring herself to try to contact him. The longer she had waited, the more unlikely it seemed that she would be able to contact him.

She knew how strange things were when she realized there wasn't a single person she could have chosen to discuss this situation with. The very idea made her embarrassed - especially because of how his offer had made her feel so conflicted. Things looked as though the standing offer would remain the road not taken.

One day Helene was walking downtown during the day and decided to wander into the public library. She was a frequent visitor to the library. While she was strolling down one of the aisles, she glanced out to the inner courtyard of the building where there was a coffee shop and some small carts selling food to patrons.

There was a handful of people sitting in the courtyard reading their books and enjoying their coffee or meeting friends for lunch. Her gaze below lingered for a few moments. She noted some young couple who looked completely absorbed by each others company, and she admired their obvious devotion.

While watching them, a man walked across her line of vision and she had a shock of recognition. Her mystery man strolled through the courtyard, bought a coffee and sat down. He promptly stuck his nose into a book and was instantly absorbed in his reading.

"So this is where he has been hiding out these days." she thought.

Her first instinct was to simply go straight downstairs and flop into the chair at his table and start asking a whole bunch of questions she had been dying to ask. She was already starting to move to the stairs when a different idea occurred to her.

This man had spent some time making observations and judgments about her while she was oblivious to his attentions. She had an opportunity to do the same. She liked the idea very much.

"It would be interesting to research this character a little bit." she thought. "That would even things up a little." So she went back to the window where had been standing and looked around the courtyard for a moment.

She started to scout around the concourse looking for a suitable vantage point where she would not be too noticeable. She moved down the hall of the second floor to a window seat where she had a good view of her object of study in side profile.

His face was one of singular concentration in his reading, or so it seemed. She wished she had a pair of binoculars so she could see what he was reading. "Stalking is still a little too new to me." she thought. "I don't even have the basic tools."

She laughed to herself as she pondered this notion. She had an image of herself with a wide hat and large sunglasses and a trench coat with many pockets - filled with all the gadgets of surveillance and disguise - peering around corners at her unsuspecting targets.

She was now studying him with an intensity which matched that of the reader in front of her. It didn't take very long for her to make her first observation.

He wasn't actually reading. He had not turned a single page yet. He must be watching something else she realized. She considered the trajectory of his gaze and deduced that he was watching the couple that had captivated her so recently. She looked back at them and wondered what information he was gleaning and what conclusions he was making about this pair.

The couple was the perfect picture of romantic love from what she could see. The young man was animated and almost in constant contact with his hand on her hand, or her arm, or her back. He seemed unable to break contact for long. The girl was laughing at his jokes, and smiling at each caress. They looked directly into each others eyes almost without interruption. It really was a compelling site.

As she looked on, a woman in a red dress entered from stage right. Her face was striking and if your eyes settled upon it for even an instant you would be inclined to do a double take.

She was young and very pretty, but she wore a mask of pure malice that marred her appearance. Her jaw was clenched tight, and her face was contorted into a twisted sneer.

She strode rapidly across the concourse. Her head was tilting forward slightly and she practically stamped her feet as she moved. For a moment one could almost imagine a bullfight was about to start. But was this the bull or the matador approaching? The woman in red stopped abruptly and turned to face the young man.

Helene had the perfect vantage point for this scene. The young man was caught completely by surprise. Although Helene could not hear what was happening, it all seemed plain enough. The woman in red standing over the man was shouting an accusation. It was loud enough to cause all the people in concourse to turn in their direction.

The young man leapt to his feet and grabbed the woman by both wrists as if he intended to take her away from the table. All the while she was shouting at him and becoming increasingly aggressive.

His seated companion looked horrified as the violent emotions poured out of the hysterical woman.

The woman in red jerked violently from his grasp and slapped the man full in the face. This event seemed to bring a dramatic pause to the action as each considered the import of what had happened. Then a burst of activity followed.

The woman who had been seated rose quickly and started to run across the concourse towards the washroom. She was now in tears and in full flight.

The woman in red seemed to take some satisfaction from this outcome as she yelled something after the fleeing woman. She then turned on her heels, gave a meaningful look to the young man and then started to saunter to the exit.

The young man now had the stage to himself as all eyes were upon him. He appeared frozen in place and apparently could not decide what to do for a time. Anyone could see the anguish on his face. He was trembling and seemed to be staring at his hands as if he expected to find something in them. Helene felt very sorry for the man. It seemed unfair to merely watch this man suffer. The impulse to watch made her feel mildly guilty somehow.

But the scene was not over. An even more surprising twist if possible occurred. The writer had got up from his table and approached the man directly and said something to him. The young man looked at him with obvious surprise and stared at him as if he were looking at a madman. More words were exchanged and in the next instant the young man lunged and grabbed the writer by the collar of his jacket as if ready to strike the man in the face.

No effort was made to defend against a blow. The writer stood still and held his arms down. The two men were nose to nose. More words were exchanged in this position. Then the young man let go and took a step back. The writer continued talking and the young man simply listened. Again, the young man was frozen, and again the stare as if he beheld a lunatic.

In the next instant the spell was broken and seemingly a decision was made. The young man ran across the concourse and burst through the door of the bathroom where his distraught companion had gone. After only a few seconds, some people began to rise from their chairs and head toward the door. Seconds after that, it seemed many people began to converge on the doorway and security guards appeared and forced their way through the cluster of bodies and entered the doorway.

The young man next appeared with several men dragging him across the concourse. He was struggling with all his energy to break free but was no match for the determined men. He wailed and screamed and thrashing violently and would not be pacified. She last saw the man disappear down some hallway as the crowd stood and gaped.

All in all it was a horrible scene and Helene was greatly affected by the spectacle. So much so that she temporarily forgot who she had been watching just minutes before.

She glanced back at her subject and realized that he was on the move.

"Damn it." she exclaimed. "He is going to get away already."

She saw the writer heading for the main doors that led out to the street. She started to break into a run as she went along the hallway, down the stairs, and across the concourse. In the thirty seconds or so that it took to reach the street, she had lost him. On the sidewalk, she was snapping her head back and forth trying to figure out which way he went but could catch no sight of him. Defeated, she shuffled over to a bench and slumped down onto it and shook her head.

"Well, stalking lesson number one" she thought. "Cover the exit if you expect to follow."

* * * * *

That night Helene had another dream. She was walking toward the entrance to the library. The sky was piercing blue and she noted that there was scarcely a person to be seen on the city streets and no cars anywhere. She felt completely relaxed and serene as she walked.

She felt a warm sensuous breeze upon her face that was like a gentle caress. There was a peculiar lack of sound in the street. The silence seemed to hum and vibrate all around her. She started to feel like her body held no weight and that she could practically float at any moment of her choosing.

She could scarcely register her footsteps as her body moved to the entrance of the library. The doors opened for her as she reached the threshold, and Helene thought that it was as if a curtain were being drawn back and a performance was to begin.

Although it had been bright outside, the courtyard was dark as if night. There were many figures seated in the courtyard but none could be seen clearly. There was just a hint of noise as if an audience were already assembled and waiting with a tangible air of anticipation .

She felt confused and thought that she too must find a seat. As she slowly traversed the courtyard she could see no empty seats at all. Finally she spotted a table with one seat.

As soon as she took the chair, Helene noticed a book on the table. The book was lying face down to an open page. It was a book of quotations. She turned the book over and glanced at a quote that was on the top of the page. It was a quote from James Dean of all people. It said "Dream as is you will live forever, and live as if you will die tomorrow." At that moment the sound of a full orchestra exploded in the concourse and she heard the opening notes to the opera 'Madame Butterfly.'

"Oh my god." she gasped. "Its a tragedy."

A spasmodic jolt, and a gasp punctuated the end of scene, and left her shaking in her bed.

* * * * *

Sometimes decisions are made and one would be hard pressed to explain why. Sometimes its because the reasons are not well thought out and are the result of whim or impulse. Other times it may be that we wish to conceal the true reasons from ourselves.

At times prefer to live in a state a denial about our motives when they clash with the stories we tell ourselves about who and what we are as individuals. Our principles, our character, our morality, our visions of who we are and what we stand for will sometimes not fence in our humanity. Inconvenient truths still occasionally slip past.

Helene was typing the words but thinking surprisingly little about what they would mean. "I am ready to start." was all that was written on the screen in front of her. In the next moment, she sent the message to that anonymous sounding email address.

Sending this message reminded her of the first time she jumped off a high diving board as a child. It was her first lesson in banishing logic. She remembered how everything inside her told her not to jump off the board. Her fear was assaulting her with notions of danger and making a compelling case.

To proceed, she did not dispel the instinctual logic of danger with sober notions of physics or the observations of others in this experiment of jumping off. She instead had to force herself to simply ignore her thoughts. She had to tell her brain to shut up, and then simply step out without time to consider what would happen next.

Only the experience would teach her if it was a good idea or a bad idea. If she only listened to her fear, she wouldn't know the exhilaration of free-fall into the water and how alive it could make you feel. It was time to make another splash.