So this is the way that I write.

The fic concept begins with scenes. I've got three for this one.

1. Teaching a clumsy Willow to dance. (light)

2. Surviving the loss of love (heavy)

3. Breaking away from familial expectations. (underlying theme)
I don't usually write any of this down, it stays in my head.


I just write until I get to those scenes. Sometimes the fic ends once I get there and sometimes it is just the beginning. I always keep little notes on ideas that pop up but don't fit the current chapter. They can ocassionally be found at the end of unbeta'd chapters.

So here is an official W.I.P. (work in progress) This is completely unedited and will publicly display all of my spelling, grammar and punctuation flaws. It is also a POV that I don't often write in, so any help with that would be appreciated.


*insert disclaimers*




Dance with Me (working title)




I’ve always hated the country. It was my parent’s idea, to break away from city living. I on the other hand like to walk to the corner to get my dinner from P.F. Chang’s. The best fried tofu in the city. So being stuck out in the swampland of the Catskills was definitely the worst idea for my first official, single chick, college summer break.

“You’ll meet a nice Jewish boy and settle down.” My mother said all the way to the airport. I was certain I would be trapped in a hell storm of wanting boys. She lives in denial… my mother. I came out when I was twelve. Right after Schlomo Brielkwitz kissed me after my Bat mitzvah. I had to wash my face to get his germs off. She wanted to know why my lips were chapped that night. My father joked about kissing a boy. I protested violently enough to peak her curiosity. I proceeded to explain that I only wanted Sarah Pendleman to make such advances in my direction. That did not go over well.

I was sent to Bubbie’s the following day; my parents hoped that she would scare the gay right out of me. Little did they know that Bubbie was a financial supporter of the Gay alliance at the University. She helped me when things got scary with my parents. For every girl I brought home Mother would bring me a nice boy from the neighborhood. “Give it a try Willow.” I heard it every day. I couldn’t wait to graduate High School.

I moved in with three girls that my mother was certain would shave my head and get me tattooed on a weekend trip to Vegas. The weekend trips were fantastic but never involved shavers. Little did I know that the first tattoo would lead to a new addiction. Mother didn’t like her at all. She worked very hard to control every penny of my trust so that I couldn’t get to that particular tattoo parlor. Every time I put on a bikini mother can see that triple goddess creeping out from my right butt cheek. It hurt like hell but the nursing made me feel so good.

So my punishment; 8 weeks in the swamps of New York. I can’t imagine a worse sentence. The flight was horrible. My kosher meal contained a ham sandwich. Grandfather would turn in his grave if he knew I was almost hungry enough to eat it. I’ve decided to order vegetarian from now on.

My best suitcase was lost. I’m still trying to triangulate its where abouts. I mean seriously, it goes on the conveyer, spins around to the little carts; you pick it up and put it on. Where does the losing take place? The Baggage clerk was very hot but straight. What a waste.

So that drive from the airport was equally a joke. Fifteen passengers crammed into a whale of a van. They called this a limousine shuttle. Funny, my idea of a limousine is far different from theirs. I kept wondering if my suitcase was having a better time. I met a nice Jewish girl on the bus. Totally straight but she was very sweet. We are going to have lunch.

So we get to the hotel in the middle of nowhere and I’m not happy. The closest form of civilization is thirteen miles away and I have only my feet as transportation. Mother is smiling right now. I can feel her grin. I find out later that this thatch hut of a town only has a McDonald’s a Wal-Mart and three bars. I figure it’s not worth the hike. Mother must have thoroughly investigated this.

Checking in was a fantastic disappointment. They gave me the cabin furthest from everything. I wonder if Mother was aware that the women could share living space. I don’t think she investigated that well enough. That’s one point for my team. It’s going to take a bit to tip the scale in my favor though.

The cabin was cute enough. Mother knew. My reservation is for single occupancy. It felt clean and that was all kinds of good. The last thing I wanted was to sleep in a creepy old cabin. I watched that Jason movie in high school. I had to check every small space for bloody corpses, when I didn’t find any I unpacked my carry on.

Mother always suggested, “Carry on your necessities and a change of clothes.” Oy, I hate when she is right. I figured I could survive three days without having to really wash anything. Hopefully my suitcase will stop having a wild time before then. There was a nice desk that my laptop found very comfortable. I worried about electricity on the plane. My necessities require the modern convenience of dc current.

Apparently the Catskills are 15 years behind the times because not only do they not have telephones in the cabins but they also don’t have cellular service. I’m now officially staring at my laptop and wondering why I bothered to bring it if it’s umbilical had been severed.

There’s a bell here. When it rings all the happy campers are supposed to come running. I walk. I just can’t be bothered elevating my heart rate to get to the event of the day.

It feels like the first day of Uni. All the happy little people eager to discover what the place holds for them. I’m not enthusiastic about this place. Mother picked it; there can’t be anything good about it at all.

Gabriel Peterman stands in the middle of the stage. He’s tall and handsome but he could use a queer eye visit. I amuse myself by imagining the Fab five rummaging through his closet. Gabriel introduces all of the camp employees. I’m mentally rummaging through his drawers. My giggling is very misinterpreted.

I love theatre. Mother hates that I try to sing so she has always refused my request to try out. I figured this would be my one time to perform. I’m waiting for the theatre team to be introduced. I can see three people that we haven’t met yet. Two men who I can tell my mother would love and a woman that is standing in the shadows. The more I try to see her the more she leans toward the darkness. Totally coincidental, I’m sure of that.

Gabriel smiles as he introduces his creative theatre team. He admits that this year they are trying a musical at the end of the camping season. It’s a 12-week camp. Thank the heavens I’m only here for eight weeks. Mother’s right. I can’t sing.
Gabriel has affection for the woman. I can see it as he introduces her to us all. The blonde is very nervous on stage. I find it very odd coming from a theatre person. I’m curious enough to make plans to investigate. She’s gorgeous. I can imagine trying out to sing for her. I make mental note to investigate her thoroughly. In my hazy dreaming I’ve missed her name.

The rest of the event is a blur. I’m too distracted by the curves of the blonde hiding in the wings. I fantasize that she is the mastermind behind the scenes. I’m hoping that she isn’t opposed to dating Jewish girls. I’m mentally channeling every deity that she is into redheads.

We’re officially dismissed to mingle in the grand ballroom. They try to wrangle us all together so that we’ll volunteer for all of their crappy programs. I make a beeline for the drama table. She’s not there but I sign up to help in any way. “What’s her name?” I ask myself mentally. It’s killing me not knowing.

Gabriel walks into the room. I liked him at first. My girl is being escorted on his arm. She’s even lovelier up close. She has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen and I need to get close enough to find out more.

I’ve decided that Gabriel Peterman is evil. He kissed her in front of me. Well, okay… it wasn’t anything more then a peck on the cheek and it wasn’t as if he was trying to make me jealous. But it was and it really did. I’m questioning myself. I don’t even know her name and I’m ready to smack anyone that touches her.

I’m getting close enough to hear her voice and I think that she is a living angel. I just wish that devil would get his hand off the soft curve of her spine.

A very short man in a white shirt and bow tie comes to rescue me. He whispers in Mr. Peterman’s ear and they scuttle off. She’s standing alone now and she captivates me. I must look like a vulture as I loop around the table to tap her on the shoulder. Wow, she really is beautiful.

I cough and swallow hard before I offer my name. “Willow Rosenberg.” I extend my hand. She seems startled by me at first. Perhaps it’s my need to have physical contact.

“Hello.” Is all she says as she reaches to for my hand. Her gaze is so blue that I want to build a ship to sail around the ocean in her eyes. I’m so distracted. Did she say her name? I can’t believe I missed it again.

Her hand is in mine and I love the way her skin feels, like two pieces coming together to finish a priceless mosaic. She is an angel for sure. There is no other way to explain how my heart stopped and I didn’t die that very moment. What is her name? Is there a way that I can ask without appearing moronic?

She’s wondering why I’m still holding her hand. “Sorry.” I let it go. There is a physical pain in doing so.

“Willow?”

She said my name. It felt wonderful to hear it come from her lips. I’m imagining her screaming it in ecstasy. Words creep slowly from my mouth.

“I’m sorry.” I apologize. I linger in the words. “Do I know you from somewhere?” I flog myself mentally for the lamest pickup line ever.

“I think I’d remember meeting someone with such a unique name.” She pushed a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. I could see the tattoo on the back of her neck. I fight the urge to touch it.

“What do you have?” She looks clueless as I point to her neck. She wears the painted detail without thought. “Your tattoo?”

“Oh.” She smiles a brilliant smile that takes my breath away. I reach to move the hair aside. We have the same tattoo. I recognize the work.

“This is lovely. Did you get it in Vegas?” I can’t believe how bold I am to ask. The look on her face is like a blanket being lifted to strip her naked.

“I got it about eighteen months ago at a great place near the strip.” She tilts her head to the side and smiles. I think she’s remembering the same hot artist that I am.

I struggle to reveal my similar affection. “I had her too. But mine is in a less revealable spot.”

The look on her face is intriguing. I can tell that she understands every innuendo in my confession. “The same one?”

I sweep the hair on her neck. “Yours looks better then mine.” I hope that she’ll want to see where it resides. In the haze of tattoo comparison I realize that she’s had the same tattoo artist. My body does an inner celebration at the news.

“You’ll have to let me take a look. I’ve only seen mine in a three way mirror.”

I can feel my eyes widen as she propositions me. I have to know her name. I’ve done this many times but never wanted it so badly. The room is filled with hundreds of happy campers yet it feels like we are the only two here. I want to touch her skin again.

The Devil is returning and I know he is taking my angel away. I just need to know her name. I’ll be satisfied if I can just get that for now. The devil gives me new life. “Ms. La rue, can we have a word?”
She is ripped from my concentrated world. I’ll find her, I’ll always find her. She smiles and gives me a farewell that fills me with joy. “Come by the theatre tomorrow and we’ll finish this conversation.”

I watch her walk out, the angel on the arm of the devil. I can’t wait for tomorrow to come. Ms. La rue. Now I have to know more.

I spend the rest of the evening trying to discover the first name of the gorgeous blonde that just stole my soul. Most of the staff members have no idea about her. She is a new employee they reveal. I’m frustrated beyond limits. Perhaps the devil will reveal the information that I deeply desire but he is gone as well.

I wander around in the darkness of the night. I think that this eight-week stay is going to be more then I bargained for. Mother would not be pleased.

The linens of my bed are damp from dreaming. All night I tossed and turned reliving the events of the ballroom greeting. I was hesitant and lost her. In my dreams I did not do the same. In my dreams I grabbed hold and took my nameless angel to paradise.

I roll from the bed and pad across the floor to the coffee pot. It is empty. The timer blinks. The clock beside my bed blinks with an eerie synchronicity. The power must have gone out in the middle of the night. My head is blurry without caffeine.

Without care for my feet I make my way across the lawn to the cafeteria, mug in hand. I can tell by the smell that their pot survived the debilitating darkness. The aroma of rich roasted beans looms through the thick dewy morning. Salvation.

Like a magnet to steel I am beside the fountain of java. I note to myself to skip the wimpy cabin pot and make the same morning walk tomorrow. The hot liquid floats across my tongue and slips down my throat. I notice that few campers have the same need for early caffeine. The cafeteria echoes with emptiness. I sip a few more times and top off the cup, ready to make my way back to the solitary cabin.

Mornings in the country are creepy. The sounds of nature are frighteningly loud. I wondered as I walked back to the cabin, how anyone could find such noise peaceful. I rounded the corner of Cabin 22, catching mine, number 25 out of the corner of my eye. It was the last thing I saw before lofting backwards onto my butt.

“Willow?”

The sound woke every sensation in my thighs. Well I thought it was the sound. It was actually the coffee seeping through the texture of my terry cloth robe. It was hot but fortunately for my thighs the robe was very thick. I looked up to capture the vision of an angel. Well she looked angelic with a halo of morning sunlight illuminating her from behind. She reached to grab my hand and I eagerly took hold.

“Are you alright?”

I was more alright then she would ever know. “I’m fine, really.” My grip tightened around her hand.

She could sense that I was slightly dazed. She thought it was from the impact but I knew it was the pace of my heart surging blood to my brain. I didn’t faint but I felt light headed. She caught me as I stumbled to stand. Her arms held me in a way I’d never felt strength before. I was definitely not all right and would never be again.

I wanted the dizzy to stay forever if it kept her this close to my skin. We sat on the porch edge of cabin # 22. I’m quick to point out that 22 is generally a weak and unfortunate number but calculated properly in numerological circles a 4 is on the road to interesting experiences. I felt quite confident that the heavens were encouraging me to pursue this gorgeous blonde. Never one to temp fait, I went for it.

“Ms. La rue, could you help me back to my cabin?” She tightened her arms around, allowing me to lean on her. I wasn’t truly injured. I just enjoyed being so close. I figured I’d feel guilty about it later. For now I held on for the ride.

“Trish.” Her soft tone broke my mental wanderings. I wanted her to never stop speaking.

“I’m sorry. What now?” I’m totally lost inside my head.

“Call me Trish.”

This is it. This is the moment that changes my life forever. Heaven has a face and it belongs to a woman named Trish. I say it over and over in my mind. Trish, Trish, Trish… I’m happy that she can’t hear inside my head because obsessive is the mildest definition of how I am behaving.

We’re almost to the front porch of Cabin 25. I’m sad actually, that she is so energetic. It has ended the moment too soon. We step through the door and I can’t help but think about how I left it so obsessively tidy. It was the first thing that she noticed.

“You’re very clean.” I hope it’s meant to be a compliment. I have to make sure she understands why.

“I’m usually much messier.” She lowers me to the chair and her body moves away. I feel the absence of her immediately and don’t like it at all. I explain the lack of personal possessions and the loss of my luggage. Her laugh is contagious and I make note to be funny as often as possible just to hear that sound again.

And just as immediately as we’d collided that morning she was gone from my space. I want her back. I’m lighting a candle and burning an extra long stick of incense to summon her back to me. It’s not working. The brown stain on my cabin bathrobe is beginning to set and I don’t feel like washing it myself so I drop it in the corner of the room. I realize that I’m right back where I started 15 minutes earlier only now I’m without a coffee mug and a robe. The euphoria is wearing off and the hangover of reality makes me find my shoes. I’m determined to trudge across the lawn for a hot drink and perhaps some food. I want to be upset but I can’t help but remember the arms that helped me back to the cabin. I was now determined to have them around me as often as possible.

The sound against the pane of the door snaps me back to reality. That snapping needs to happen less. I open the door to see my angel has returned. “Trish?” I want to grab her and pull her inside.

“I thought this might help.” She lifted the clean mug and a carafe of hot coffee.

“Come in.” She’s shaking her head and I ignore it completely. I hold the sleeve of her long t-shirt and pull her inside. I hadn’t noticed she was wearing shorts before. She has great legs. How could I not notice them?

“I felt really awful about running into you.”

She’s pouring me a cup of coffee. I can’t believe that she thought about me. “Can you stay and have some with me?” Please say yes, please say yes. I’m chanting over and over so much that I miss her reply.

“Can we sit outside? It is beautiful this morning.”

She’s a stranger to me and yet I feel like I’ve known her all my life. I follow her out the door and can’t help but stare at how beautiful she is. Her hair is tied up and I can see the tattoo. It suits her.

“So tell me about yourself.”

Her legs dangle over the edge of the porch. Did I mention what great legs she has? I proceed to give her every moment of my life up until she slammed into me this morning. She liked the story of Bubbie and her PFLAG demonstrations. Trish is the sweetest sound that I’ve ever made with my lips.

“So Trish, tell me about you.” I’m trying to give her the same courtesy of silence but she makes me want to dance and sing.

“I’ll be 23 in two weeks. I’ve been singing and dancing since I was a young girl.” I nod and make note of her birthday. I’m captivated by the way her eye twinkles when she smiles.

“What brings you to the swamplands of New York?” She belongs center stage, I say to myself.

“Gabriel is a friend.” She’s rubbing her thighs nervously. I can read that there is a story here.

“So is this a summer job for you?” I’m imagining her as a brilliant actress. Something inside of me can tell that she is talented.

“This is a break for me.” She’s turning away. Why is she doing that?

“A break?” I can tell that she wants to talk about it.

“I’m coming off of a relationship and I needed something new.”

And you thought the Catskills? My head is spinney with the notion. “How long?”

“Two years.” She shares it openly.

“No, I meant how long since the breakup?” Her eyes are so deep with sadness I want to grab hold and comfort the pain.

“Two years. It’s been hard to say goodbye.”

I’m stunned. It’s like she’s in mourning. I hesitate but I have to ask. “What happened?”

Her story makes me cry. “I was deeply in love Willow.”

Was… using past tense is good.

“We met my first year of college. I graduated half year and wasn’t quite eighteen.”

I’ll bet she was just as beautiful then. I can imagine her walking through the halls of a university campus.

“We were together every day.”

I’m thinking that whoever it was is a dummy for letting her go.

“We had such an amazing future.”

Her story seems deeply rooted in sadness.

“I never imagined it would end… so soon.”

Why did I have to ask? Why couldn’t I just let her be?

“I wasn’t allowed at the funeral.”

Those bastards. How could anyone be so cruel? She’s lost so much.

“I wasn’t allowed back into my apartment. They boxed up the entire place and took all of our private personal things.”

The story is making her cry. I want her to stop feeling the pain. I want her to stop speaking so her heart will stop breaking. But the floodgate is open. “Not allowed?”

Her explanation makes my mother look approving.

“The person I loved couldn’t share it with their family. What we had… who we were…was special and they never tried to understand. We connected in ways that most people only dream of and for us it was for life.”

Now I have a very good idea that she loved a woman and I’m about a thousand times as certain that she needs to talk openly about all of it. “Did you love a woman?” The expression on her face answers everything. She is not very good at masking her pain.

“More deeply then I ever thought possible. I’ve been in this abyss since her death.”

I decide the comment is an open door to ask more. “How did she die?” I’ve overstepped. I’ve pushed and asked too much of her. She’s going to think I’m nosy and insensitive.

“Most of the kids in her family were sick, but not her. She took care of herself almost obsessively because she was afraid. But her brother was so ill. They had him on a waiting list for most of the time we spent together.” He needed a kidney and she was the closest match. I don’t think her family ever understood how frightened she was when it happened.”

I can see the blonde is shaking with pain. Should I comfort her? It’s a risk but I’m drawn to her side. Her tears are breaking my heart. The weight of her head on my shoulder creates a calm I’ve never known. I hope she feels it too.

“She didn’t want to risk herself. Somehow she knew that it would kill her but she did it. The night before the surgery she said goodbye to me.”

I should stop her. I wonder if she’s ever had anyone to talk to. These memories are trapped. She is trapped. I’ll give her this freedom. “She knew?”

“She knew that something would go wrong. We did what we could to find peace. I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if…”

She stopped. Why is she stopping, if? If what? Finish what you were saying.

“I’m sorry Willow.”

I melt when she says my name. How could someone so wounded sound so angelic? “Sorry?”

“I knock you down and pour scalding coffee on you and then dump my sad life story in your already scorched lap. I think an apology fits.”

She’s moved from my shoulder. The vacancy leaves my emotional cup half empty. I’m shocked that she can be thinking about me when her heart is so broken. “I’m fine. Don’t even worry about me. I’d like to help. Can I help?” I sound so greedy. I wonder if she can tell that my heart is racing faster then a 2 gigahertz Power mac.

“I haven’t spoken a word aloud about her in 18 months. I’m not sure why I’m doing it now.”

She looks so fragile. I can’t believe she knocked me on my ass just twenty minutes ago. She seems so lost.

“You think I’m silly don’t you, hanging on for so long?”

Her question shocks me. “You loved her, very deeply; I could only wish to be loved like that. I’ll bet she would be honored.” She’s considering what I said and I can tell she’s tortured by it.

“I think she’d be disappointed that I can’t let her go.”

She’s so insightful. Her girlfriend must have fought like hell to stay alive. Leaving her must have been the hardest thing to do. “You will. One day you’ll feel strong enough.” That was dumb to say. I’m just making things worse.

“My family thinks I’m throwing my life away. They think I should just get over it already and I just want those feelings back.”

I’m holding her hand. I feel the need to show I understand. “What do you miss the most?” Oh, crap Willow, what the heck did you ask that for. Why don’t you just find a paper cut on her hand and pour lemon juice into it? Torture her much?

I made her smile. Wow, I made her smile. I can see that she is remembering something so fantastic.

“No one has ever asked me that.”

She’s very grateful. Go Rosenberg!

“I miss the quiet moments. I miss the stillness of being. I could have the crappiest day and I knew when I walked into our apartment that there would be safety. I miss that most of all.”

She’s a complicated woman. I wonder if she’ll ever have room inside to let me feel like that. I’m really very selfish. I should be thinking about how she is, not about me, but her hand feels so good inside of mine.

The alarm on her watch is chiming. Damn the realities of life.

“I have to go Willow. I have a meeting and then I have to set up for the auditions.”

She is so giving. How can she be concerned about leaving after all of this? “Can I help you? I love the theatre.” Please say yes, please say yes. I’m mentally begging her. I hope she hears.

“I’m not sure Willow.”

I guess we aren’t telepathic. She has to stop saying my name. I’m going to have to shower again. “Oh?”

“Well Gabe might have a problem if I let a camper in behind the scenes. We have lines that can’t be crossed, in fact, my being here; crosses more then a few. Not to mention the confessions of the broken hearted. It could get Gabe very worked up.”

I’m worried now. “Could he fire you?” She’s smiling about that. She must have a little leeway.

“I can’t be fired but it could make the summer a real drag.”

She’s standing up. I hate that she has to leave me. I want her to stay forever. “I’m coming over there and I’m going to help you.” Gosh her legs are so great.

“You’re persistent.”

She’s so smart. “You don’t know the half of it.” I’ve done it. I’ve tossed my hat into the ring. I’ve thrown down the gauntlet, shown my hand, made my intentions known. I hope that she can handle it.

“I’ll let you have camper volunteer status. I think we can make that work.”

Ooooh, she’s a playful one. She’s breaking rules for me. I’m impressed. I wonder if she can read what I’m really feeling. “Does that give me backstage access?”

“I’ll give you the highest level of access available.” She’s walking away. I’m going to watch her. She is so cute. I hope she sees that I’m watching her. Look back Trish. Look back.

She really is amazing. I knew she’d look back. “Bye Trish.” I’m waving like a schoolgirl. I really am a geek.

I think I took the fastest shower in the history of showering. I realized as I was undressing to wash, that I was wearing my fuzzy bunny pajamas. If anything in the history of the world can turn a woman off, it’s my fuzzy bunny pj’s. Maybe she didn’t notice.

I sat in my cabin attempting to fill the next two and a half hours until auditions. I figured I’d skip the stage performance so that I could be behind the scenes with Trish. Somehow when I imagined her name the night before Trish wasn’t something that I put with her. I think I like it now.

Solitaire has to be the invention of a cloistered monk. No one could have the patience for any real length of time for this game. Today I hate time for moving so slow. I wonder if being there early would reveal my eagerness to be near her. I think I’ll risk the revelation.

Trying to walk fast and look like you aren’t in a rush is a tricky thing. I think I’m pulling it off though.

There’s a crowd around the theatre hall. Well it isn’t actually a hall. It’s more like a building with a stage but it works for me. There’s a curtain and a piano. I wonder who plays that. I make plans to impress her with my high school band experience. Mother would not be happy with such misuse of skills.

Trish is nowhere to be found. The plastic men are here in her place. My mother would definitely pick one of them. I’m calling them Rob and Fab because only Milli Vanilli could be so fake and get away with it.

My watch says 72 minutes since she should have arrived. I’m getting more nervous as the moments pass. Where could she possibly be?

Rob and Fab have signed up all the campers and most of them have moved on to the sporty activities of the afternoon. I’m still waiting for Trish. I hope that she’s not upset about this morning. I think I asked too many questions.

Why has the clock become such an evil creation? I wonder how long I can sit here before Rob and Fab think I’m some sort of stalker. I’ll just ask them if they know anything.

She told them about me. I’m on a list. How cool am I now. Well in my head I’m pretty cool. And if I’m on a list that means that she was thinking about me and that means that I made an impression. Doesn’t it? Rob thinks I’m kinda wacky. He’s given me a list of names and cabin numbers shoved into an official envelope. I’m a gopher now. This is the big special job that Trish lined up for me? Mother would ‘Oy’ and express how beneath me this is. The name on the backside of the envelope has ‘Tara’ written on it. Rob has given me full access to the staff area of the camp. I feel special but I wish the envelope said Trish on it instead.

Fab was positive I’d get lost so he drew me a map. What a spaz. As if I can’t find my way to some chick’s cabin.

This place is a friggen maze. I’ve looked at the map twice. It’s like jabbing a knife into my palm but I’d be in the swamp if I didn’t use it. The staff members have really small living quarters. I feel sorry for this Tara chick. I wonder what she does here. I don’t remember her from last night. I’m imagining what she could possibly look like. My mind keeps wandering to an awesome pair of legs.

Cabin B15, I finally find it. I’m trying to triangulate my way back to my cabin. I may need to use the Fab map again. I knock on the curtained door.

I can hear a thumping sound coming from the inside of B15. It sounds like she’s slow, maybe injured. I hope she wasn’t asleep. I really want to wander around and look for Trish but this Tara girl is taking so long.

“Come in.”

The voice is familiar. My mind is distracted and I walk inside.

“I hope it wasn’t a problem for you Willow?”

My angel. I think my chin has rocks in it because as hard as I am trying, I can’t get it off the floor. “Trish?” She can see how confused I am.

“Willow?”

Her face is so divine when she looks concerned. I am confused and she is achieving the very same level. “I’m supposed to deliver this to someone named Tara.” She has a girl living here with her. How could I think that she would be interested in me? Tara must be her girlfriend. I’m such an idiot. “You have a girlfriend?” It’s bold of me to ask but if my heart is going to break I might as well get it started.

She is so smart. She has assembled my confusion and disappointment in mere seconds. She’s so hot.

“It’s complicated. Mitch is such an idiot sometimes.”

Fab has a real name, Mitch. I like Fab better.

She’s limping. She’s making her way slowly around the couch. I can tell she needs to sit back down. “Your foot?”

She looks down at her betrayer. “I twisted it after my run. I was working with Alex on the choreography and I turned it. It’s an old injury. Ice it and move on. I’ll be good as new by morning.”

I’m volunteering to be her nurse. Well in my head I am. I think I’ll just help her back to the sofa. “Here.” I fluff the blanket around her. The ottoman in front is so chilly when I sit that I make a squeak. Ice is very cold through the thin fabric of a gauze skirt.

Her smile will always be like waving a magic wand. What a spell. I’m fighting the urge to ask about Tara. I’m about to lose the fight. “So who is Tara?” She can read my disappointment. I roll back the blanket to reveal the tight bony structure of her foot and ankle. I imagine my hand exploring the height of her calf and thigh. The best I get today is a handful of ice in a wet Ziploc.

She begins to explain. “I am Tara.”

I am doing the single most fantastic happy dance in the history of happy dances. Now I’m intrigued. This Trish is quite the complicated woman.

“I was a dancer in college. My family didn’t approve. There are a lot of things about my life that they disapproved of but this was the biggest one.”

My mind is concentrating on more then her words and I have to keep from being distracted by her beauty. I want to see her dance.

She continues. “My father paid my tuition. He figured that would keep me on a solid path toward a business future. I’m not a businessperson. So when he came to the University and saw my name plastered across the marquee in the student union.” Her pause is so adorable. I could listen to her speak all day. “Well let’s just say that dad threatened to stop helping me pay for school.”

I’ve decided that I dislike her father. “So the name?” I think I understand now. She’s smiling from of my comment.

“It was a necessary deception so that I could continue at the university. We thought it up.”

I don’t have to wonder who ‘we’ is.

“What was her name?” I ask seriously.

“Her name was Katharine.”

I hope that Katharine knew how lucky she was. “It’s pretty.” She appreciates my compliment.

“It was Kat’s idea. She figured that if I used Trish, dad wouldn’t know and I could have the best of both worlds.”

“And it worked?” I smack myself mentally for asking such an obvious question. Of course it worked, she’s using it isn’t she?

“Well some old prune in the theatre department thought it was a violation of Student non student participation rule. So I was enrolled as Tara the business student and Trish was enrolled as a theatre major. The course work was hell.” Her smile is so beautiful but her laugh makes me feel more alive then I’ve ever been.

Could she really have done two course loads and still have time for theatre work? “Really?”

She’s laughing at me. I think if it was any other person I would be as red as my hair with anger. She can tease me as much as she wants.

“I’m kidding Willow. I just asked the department if I could use a stage name and they let me. It was very easy actually.”

“So… why are you using it now?” Her face is so serious. I’ve just noticed how beautifully her hair frames her face. I must decide later if it is better up or down. Right now down works.

“After Kat died, I changed it. I just wanted to disappear. Gabe, Mitch and Alex all knew her. We went to school together. To them I’ll always be Tara. Legally I’m Tara Maclay.”

“Tara.” This name feels right for her. “It suits you.” I hope it isn’t insulting that I call her Tara. “Can I call you Tara?”

“You can.” I’m wondering if she has more sadness in her past. “Willow, do you think you can only use it in private though?”

She is so amazing. “It might be kind of hard to do.” I’m scolding myself. You loved her name just minutes ago and now you don’t? Just agree Willow Rosenberg. “I’ll come up with a way.”

She seems disappointed. “It’s been a long time since someone has said it aloud.” Her body temperature must be rising; I can see the water drip from the melting bag of ice. “Like I’m another person.”

I’m wondering when the alarm will go off and she’ll have to leave me again. “What happened after you changed your name?” I don’t think she understands. “At school I mean.”

“I used it for the year. It worked great.”

I can see that she’s hesitating to continue. “It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it.” Her eyes look so lonely. I think she’s lost in it.

“After Kat got sick… everything just fell apart.”

I’m wondering how to change the subject. I feel like she is so uncomfortable and she looks like she wants to run away. “Are you hungry?” That’s good Will, I’m sure she felt the seamlessness of your transition. She’s a little shocked. I wonder if everyone can read Tara so clearly.

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop talking about her.”

“Can I cook for you?” I wonder if she has any food in her kitchen. I wonder what she likes to eat? “And if you want to talk about her I wouldn’t mind listening.” Yes please tell me all the details of the love of your life. I’m chastising myself for making the offer. I really don’t want to know it all. I want to be the one she loves.

“It’s not really her that I want to talk about. I just like that you let me.”

“Let you?” I’m beginning to feel how isolated she is. I’m moving into her kitchen and enjoying the food in her pantry. She’s not a meat eater. There is way too much tofu in here. This I know I can cook.

“Well maybe let is not a good word. I think you tolerate my need to talk.”

She continues to give me all the details that followed the funeral.

“I was allowed two weeks. My family gave me fourteen days to mourn her and then they wanted me to move on.”

How could they be so insensitive? I can see her pain now. It must have been so horrible. “Do you have a large family?”

Her fridge is stocked with piles of very fresh vegetables. I know I’m in love now.

“I have three brothers and two sisters. I’m the oldest of the girls with two brothers above me.” It’s so cute the way she speaks of them. “My older brothers, Daniel and Matt, are traders on Wall street.” I can see her frustrated expression. “Dad is very proud.”

“Do they like it? It sounds very stressful.”

“They like it enough. I think they like the benefits.” She’s forcing a grin. “I really don’t see them much. I think they just don’t get me at all.” She’s getting up. Why is she getting up and putting weight on her foot. “This is Peter.” She’s handing me a framed picture from the table. “Pete and I are very close. He’s 21.” He’s very handsome. There is some great genetic material being blended in the Maclay family.

“He’s very cute.” She’s raising her brow. I think she’s amused by my observation. “Well, cute if you’re into guys.” I think that should cover me. Not that I like guys, I just think he is very handsome. But the chick in the picture beside him is gorgeous. “You look very pretty. Where was this taken?” I touch her image. I hope she doesn’t notice how entranced I am. The boiling water sends my attention back to the stove.

“This was Daniel’s wedding. I had strict orders to attend without Kat.”

I understand those orders.

“Pete and I had a lot of fun dancing and talking. He was just starting his freshman year, poor kid.” I can tell he isn’t the star of the family either. “My father is all business.” He sounds very rigid. “People are always going to need money. You have to find a way for them to need yours.” She wrinkles up her face to imitate the man. “He’s always saying things like that. I’m not a big fan of his philosophy.”

“Science is more my thing.” I try to contain my excitement. “This is the first summer that I’m not doing the Nerd Challenge.” I’ve raised her brow again.

“Nerd what?” She’s offended by the name. It’s almost like she’s defending my nerdyness.

“Well formally known as the Einstein mindset challenge, but all of the participants call it the Nerd Challenge. We’re intensely proud of being selected.”

“It sounds very academic.”

She’s so adorable; trying to show interest in what is pretty boring in general circles. “E=mc squared. That’s what it is called on campus. Last year my team built a schematic for converting fossil fueled vehicles into electric hybrids.” I think she’s speechless. Either I’ve bored her to death or she’s impressed. I hope she’s not ready to nod off.

“I’d love to see you in action.”

I think I just gulped. My throat is dry and I think I’ve lodged my breath somewhere between excitement and terror. “Action?” My reply is choppy and nervous.

“I just think that smart chicks are hot. I’d love to see what your mind created.”

Did she just say that? She did. There is some chemistry going on here and it isn’t combining wine and oil with grains to make risotto. “Anytime.” She just made a pass at me. I hope I’m not outwardly displaying the volume of shock that fills me. “I have most of my work on my laptop.”

“Do you do that a lot?”

I love that she’s curious. She’s interested. There’s a part of me that she wants to know more about. I should invite her to my place. We could talk and she could look at all my stuff. “Do I do what a lot?”

“Bring your laptop?”

She has a devilish grin. I don’t think she was asking about my computer. “I’m very devoted to what interests me.” There you go Rosenberg. Drive that point home.


TBC.....

That's it for now. Any suggestions?

_________________
Urn of Osiris

"A new idea is delicate. It can be killed by a sneer or a yawn; it can be stabbed to death by a joke or worried to death by a frown on the right person's brow." C. Brower