Exposed

I had never been pursued like this. I figured the guys you see in underwear ads were probably accustomed to this sort of thing, a fate I dramatically overestimated. To me, Vanessa was either a harmless tease or the embodiment of my supreme fantasy, and a garden variety tease fit in with my plans more nicely, so I chose that one. But, that didn't prevent speculation in my writings...

At night I would sit down at my computer and sketch a short poem or strand of text to encapsulate the day. I would post these ramblings on my blog in case the world was interested in my little thoughts, but mostly because the system allowed me to organize my entries easily. Organization was always a weakness, and I figured some anonymous gut spillage for the masses was a fair enough trade-off. Hey, free online journal, why not? No one would read it, and much less less associate it with me, so I felt completely free to be myself and write what I wanted, mostly in poetry.

One evening I wrote what I considered an innocent five lines...

Above the sternum, below the neck
Her mysterious valley of innocence
In it resides the secret to life
The air of wonder
The invisible cure

The nape of a woman's neck was sort of a fascination of mine, even before I read The English Patient. A genuine curiosity of the woman's body. I admit my blog delved into just about anything that crossed my mind; philosophy, sex, economics, religion. And, yes, Vanessa was a significant inspiration.

The next day I was walking out of the bookstore and I literally bumped into Vanessa as I turned the corner. We both apologized and stood facing each other for a moment. She was wearing a devastatingly tight, low cut striped shirt with cut-off sleeves. I'm sure my pupils were like saucers, and I tried to keep them high. It was no use, the word "nirvana" was pasted all the way across her proportional, unsupported boobs. She smiled and I smiled back, superimposing my still-frozen image of her.

"Hi, I don't think I got your name..."
"It's Magnus."
"Oh, so lovely to see you again, Magnus. I hope I wasn't a bother at the library the other day."
"Oh, no, um, not at all. It was nice to see you." (ug...)
"Really? Oh good. You'll be seeing more of me soon I'm sure."

As she talked she raised her finger to her shoulder and gently scratched the nape of her neck, smiling knowingly as she turned around to walk away.

It didn't register at first, but after a minute it struck me. The scratch on her neck...had this girl read my blog?

Terror.

The possibility shocked me and caught me completely off-guard. How could she have found it? And if she found it, why would she read it? It was a bunch of bad poetry and my rambling thoughts, some personal, some very personal. Others, devastatingly personal. If she had read it, she knew all about me, my family, my political beliefs, my fantasies, my commitment. I forgot about it. I decided it must be a coincidence...

Even so, I went directly to the computer lab to review my previous entries. What I found was less than comforting. Sure enough, I had alluded to my weakness for striped shirts, my special place in the library, even my fascination with "the mysterious girl from the trees" who she could have easily identified as herself.

Ug. I found a few descriptive lines describing our meeting:

She appeared.
Paralyzed. It was her eyes.
They peered into mine inquisitively, relentlessly.
"Are you my love?"
She became mine.
Her skin glowed like a streetlamp in early morning mist.
Around us, a vacuum.
Silence.
Dark waves framed her pale skin.
A strand fell over her left eye.
She did not move.
Focus.
Wonder.
Mystery thick, between us.
From me, fascination.
From her, understanding.
Needed.
Begged for.
Did I?
She wanted me to know something.
Her emerald eyes were screaming.
Crying.
For me to know.
Something.
What is it?
It is greater than words.
Than actions.
Lips.
They are moist, red.
Closer.
...
Gone.

Oh god. Had she read it? The mortification was beginning to set in.