Lily opened the dishwasher and began putting the dishes away. The flashbacks started, and she stood motionless for a moment, thinking about Calum. She shook herself from the memory and picked up an earthenware coffee cup and held it to her face, it was still warm. But she couldn't fight it; she closed her eyes and fondly recalled the way he used to come up behind her when she was working in the kitchen. He would pull her back against him, turn her around and kiss her passionately, making her forget all about whatever mundane task she had been toiling away at – those were the days – but they were over; they had been for some time now, and it was all her own fault. That was a bracing thought that brought her back to reality.
She set the cup down and lifted out the plates one by one and stacked them gently on the counter. Her fond memories were from the days when she was a writer. She had always had a gift; a magical gift. She could write scenarios and people into her life– make them real. In fact, she had created Calum; and then he had become her muse. All she had to do was type a scene, or write a few words in her notebook or journal and he would come to her, stories creating themselves. She wrote pages and pages without pause; because he set her free. He released her from the shackles of her humdrum existence, and then, over time, he became so much more. He was her inspiration, and her best friend, and then he became her lover.
He always knew exactly what she wanted, and when she wanted it. He adored her. He was romantic; he brought her flowers, and wrote her poetry. He danced with her in the moonlight. They drank wine together and watched sunsets. He kissed her softly, and held her hand. He fed her strawberries and cream, and stroked her hair as he held her on cold rainy nights. He made love to her for hours upon end, as if no one else had ever existed or ever would.
She leaned against the counter and closed her eyes again. She used to be able to summon him into existence with only a thought; and he would appear like a demon hungry to possess her soul. He would enter her mind, taking over her thoughts and then the words would just pour out from her; Calum holding her face, kissing her lips and then her neck. Calum pressing her against the cabinets, then lifting her up onto the counter top. His hands pushing up her skirt, and wandering all over her body as he kissed her mouth, slowly and hotly, seemingly for hours.
But not anymore.
The ideas had just stopped. She no longer wrote fascinating scenarios, with romantic characters that came to life and entertained her. It had all ended with the last journal entry she had written almost six months ago. Maybe because she had created a new character, James; a young handsome man with romantic interests all his own; and apparently, Calum hadn't liked it. It wasn't even a love story, it was just a few lines of free verse inspired by a dream she'd had, and Calum hadn't been back since.
She sighed and opened the cabinet to set the plates inside. She wanted to feel his hands around her waist again. She closed her eyes and tried to get the words right, but they would not come. She could picture him, and she could still feel his hands hot and wanting upon her skin, but the story wouldn't flow. It was the worst case of writer's block she had ever had. She had lost her muse. She was useless without him, and she had to have him back; today – right now. She went to her bedroom, frantically searching for the journal. It had been months since she'd had it, where had she put it?
After tearing her room asunder, she found it in the corner under a stack of overdue library books. She hastily flipped to the last entry and read the first couple of lines:
James, my love...I remember the pouring rain, drenching us both as we kissed for the first time; Standing together on the white sand, the vast expanse of the great blue ocean, stretched out before us in witness to our profession of love...
She ripped out the page and tore it to shreds. Little pieces of confetti now covering her floor, she closed her eyes once more, and concentrated. Nothing happened. She waited; and then she whispered his name. Another minute passed, and then she felt it; Calum's hot breath on the back of her neck, his hands around her waist. She kept her eyes closed as he spun her around, his mouth immediately upon hers. Her muse was back. Now she could write again.
©2011 Garden Summerland