Fuzzy memories and things that never happened

Heart and Soul

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Call me Ishmael. He knew how a great novel should start, he just needed to start. He stared at the blinking cursor. This wasn't as easy as he'd thought. He intended to write a bestseller, of course. And now that he was retired, early thanks to some clever investing, what better time to start? He got up to fetch another cup of coffee.

Once he returned to the cursor which mockingly blinked at him saying "you got nothing, you got nothing, you got nothing", he was struck by the beginning. "You got nothing" he typed, setting the cursor straight. He then let the story flow through him like water through coffee grounds. The story came easy, it almost wrote itself. Maybe it did. Maybe he was nothing more than a transport vehicle carrying loads of ideas from some nether region into a place we call reality. That's how he felt mostly. He wasn't convinced of possessing an ability to create such a world as he was creating on his hard drive. He didn't know if he was alone in making these people live.

Days passed, he became increasingly engrossed in the story, it was, to him, like one of the great novels he'd read and he couldn't put it down. The story unfolded before his eyes like a piece of marble transforming itself into the statue of David. His fingers could barely keep up with the pace of his thoughts.

In the beginning he was still able to sleep, he continued going to bed at around the same time each night and he'd dream his dream life and awake refreshed and eager to sit at his keyboard and let the show go on, only after he'd taken care of trivial chores like the rose bushes and coffee cups. The beginning ended with neglected coffee cups and grass grown unchecked. Sleep fled, an old friend who never calls anymore but once in a while you remember him. This story, his novel, it would not leave him. This is his oldest and dearest friend now, he poured his heart and soul into it.

Each night he'd fill another blank page with irresistible words. Words with undeniable meaning. People entered rooms and spoke most eloquently, people held hands and spoke things only lovers can hear, hearts were broken and pieced together. When all was lost deus ex machina provided an escape plan. This novel would be his gift to the world.

Weeks passed. There were few interruptions. Life beyond the light of the monitor became less important. Light bulbs died and were forgotten, an oversized ashtray on his desk spilled over with cremated remains of soldiers in a lost battle. The novel was winning.

With each paragraph he grew wearier. With each chapter he felt less connected to the world. With each keystroke he pressed a little bit more of himself into the blinking cursor. With each fabricated soul he lifted from the abyss, he fell just a little more. Though there was joy before his eyes he felt a growing numbness. Over the pain he prescribed he felt no remorse. And the story was coming to its fruition.He titled his novel Heart and Soul.

The last keystrokes were heavy, like running in a dream. What had started with a mocking cursor and a cup of black coffee with honey, ended with a tale that consumes. A truly gripping tale, the kind you won't put away for something as silly as sleep. It ended with a flashing cursor and an empty chair.

#

Hanna couldn't reach her father by phone, he wouldn't answer for about a week. He always answers unless he's in the garden or otherwise occupied. She drove to Lakeside to his cabin. She took the key from under the flowerpot and let herself in. Her father was nowhere to be found. Only an ice cold cup of coffee, an ashtray over filled, a honey dripper on the desk by a candle that burned itself away and a best selling novel hiding behind a picture of Hanna and her dad. After time Hanna went through her father's things. His estate. She didn't want to part with any bit of it. She only wanted to know where her father was. They'd dredged the lake and searched the woods to no avail.

When she found the novel she made the decision to publish. It was really good and she wanted to do right by her father. It became a bestseller and topped the list for more than a year. It brought joy and sorrow and joy rebirthed into the lives of many. It dreamt it's way into the hearts of young and old alike. It was talked about at water coolers and book clubs and in screenwriters circles. It was the product of a man who loved people and had an emotional connection with the world but saw below the shiny surface and exposed the dried up bones. Sometimes you uncover a story written with heart and soul.