We Lucky Few

The passionate obsession

"Son of a bitch! You did not!"

I started in my chair as Callie's shout echoed through the apartment, followed by a string of impressive curses. I shot up and ran into the living room, where I stopped short in my tracks and looked at Callie wide-eyed. 

"I swear I'll reach through the pages and strangle you, you idiot!" she continued to rage at the book clutched in her hands. She walked up and down in front of the couch, eyes skimming over the lines of the pages, her cheeks tinged red by anger, her eyes wild. And my heartbeat slowly calmed down again.

"Are you okay?" I asked, though I knew I probably needn't have bothered. Callie proved me right when she didn't even acknowledge me. I smiled to myself as I leaned against the wall and watched her prowl the room like a caged tiger.

"Are you stupid, or what??"

In case you were wondering: she was still screaming at imaginary characters on a piece of paper.

A low chuckle escaped me. Wondering what it was that had held her interest captive for the last few days, I craned my neck to get a look at the book title, but to no avail. It didn't matter, in the end. It was so like Calliope, so much like the wildcat I fell in love with, that I equally hated and loved the book. Hated it, because Callie was obsessed with it and consequently very much absent. Not bodily, but mind-wise. When she got sucked into a story like that or delved into her music for hours or worked on her endless puzzles for days on end without looking up once, I always half expected to see her physical outlines blur and disappear, like those of a ghost. It was hard do describe how passionately engaged she could be with her hobbies, but that's what captured it most accurately: as if I was living with a ghost. It could be lonely, especially when the obsession of the moment was tenacious, because she would just forget all about me. But that didn't happen very often, and I couldn't help but love the passion she showed in everything she did. Callie was as erratic in her hobbies as she was fickle in her emotions. That made loving her not always easy, but very interesting. Oh, I didn't take her obsessive behaviour that lightly all the time, believe me, dear reader. No, sometimes I suffered from it. Sometimes I raged at it. Sometimes I was saddened by it. But sometimes, like now, I had to smile at it. It was so much a part of my wildcat, that I couldn't imagine her without it.

My eyes followed Callie as her steps faltered, then stopped. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp, and the angry red tinge left her cheeks. She slid back onto the couch as her eyes filled with tears.

"Oh, you stupid, stupid girl," she whispered.

I admired Callie for her strong connection to her own emotions, and I never grew tired of watching them unfold on her open face.

After all, how many among us could pretend to feel that depth of feeling towards imaginary characters?

With another chuckle, I shook my head and returned to my computer. For however long it would take Callie to finish the book, I knew there was no sense approaching her. I'd learned some time ago that I just had to ride her waves of passionate obsession. And I wouldn't have it any other way.