Between the Lines.

Title: The Hurting Time
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Summary: Sylvia becomes obsessed with a fantasy and neglects her real life and love.



The sky was heavy and dark, and the air smelled like a damp dishrag that had been left out for too long. Water droplets fell off of low lying branches and onto Sylvia’s head, bringing to mind the lyrics, “Rain drops are falling on my head.” That was the only part of the song that she knew. Her calf muscles ached, and as she slogged across campus and through muddy puddles, all she could think about was her bed and how she longed to curl up and sleep forever. But that wouldn’t happen. Todd kept telling her that her depression wasn’t permanent, that she would feel better one day. Todd didn’t realize that it wasn’t just a feeling. Sylvia’s body felt dense and achy all of the time. She couldn’t make her limbs move or her mind function. When she thought of going home and cooking dinner and straightening the living room, she just wanted to cry. She always wanted to cry, for no reason at all.

The bricks that created the pathway were uneven, and Sylvia stumbled briefly before catching herself. When she looked up again, there was a man crossing the path so closely that she almost ran into him. Sylvia stopped and watched him walk away with his confident stride, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment from tripping like a toddler who hadn’t yet learned to walk. And then she noticed the way that the man’s cologne lingered in the air, and she felt a smile tug at her lips. His confidence, his smell, his navy suit – it was exactly what she had always admired in a man.

*/*/*

The apartment was dim and musty when Sylvia opened the door. Instead of turning on lights and opening windows, Sylvia pulled the blinds tighter and crawled into bed. Her bra clasp and the waist of her skirt dug into her skin, and she shed them and flung them into a growing pile that consumed the floor.

Sometime later, Sylvia felt the bed shift underneath her. Todd’s arms slid around her waist, and as she floated between consciousness and sleep, he held her.

“Why?” whispered Sylvia finally, unable to make sense of Todd’s actions. “Why do you do this?” What Sylvia really meant was, “Why do you love me?” Todd’s only response was to tighten his hold on her waist and kiss the back of her neck.

“No, Todd, really,” protested Sylvia, turning over and placing her hands on his chest, “Why?”

“Why what, darling?”

Sylvia chewed her lip. “Why do you love me? How can you love me? I’ve done nothing – nothing. I’m only an assistant to a curator, I never remember to buy more toilet paper, and I can’t cook like your mother. I’ve tried to use her recipes, I have, but they don’t work-”

“Darling,” tried Todd, stroking Sylvia’s arm.

“No!” Exclaimed Sylvia, pushing herself onto one elbow and looming over Todd. “I don’t understand. You could have married Emily. She’s going to medical school and she sings and she knows how to keep house. She’s pretty. So why did you choose me?”

“Sylvia,” soothed Todd, touching her face. “I love you, not Emily.”

“But I’m a mess!”

“A mess that I love,” said Todd, and Sylvia shook her head.

“I wanted to be so much for you, Todd. I wanted to be everything. And here we are at home on Friday night, and I can’t even get out of bed. I wouldn’t choose me. Out of all of the women in the world, I wouldn’t choose me. I don’t understand.”

Todd kissed Sylvia’s arm and wrist.

“Just rest, baby, and I’ll make dinner.”

“Omelets?” asked Sylvia.

“If that’s what you’d like.”

Sylvia nodded, and Todd left the room to find his mother’s omelet recipe. Sylvia rolled over and went to sleep. Later, when the omelets were ready, Sylvia continued to sleep. She didn’t wake up, not even when Todd called her name and kissed her neck. So Todd left her alone and watched her as she slept, praying that she would be all right in the morning.

*/*/*

Water fell from the eaves, giving the porch a false sense of being the only place in the world, and Sylvia leaned her head on the armrest and allowed the porch swing to rock her back and forth. It was so easy to just do nothing on days like this. Her mind kept flickering back and forth between darkness and light, and she inexplicably remembered the scent of a man’s cologne. Was it the one that Todd wore on special occasions? No, he wore Old Spice, just as his father had before him. The scent that Sylvia remembered was more elusive and mysterious, like that of a rich suitor in a Harlequin romance. It was what that man, the one who had crossed the path with such purpose yesterday, had been wearing.

Todd bustled around inside, intent on freeing the apartment of its clutter, and Sylvia closed her eyes and imagined a life with a man who wore cologne like that. The man from yesterday – he wouldn’t spend his Saturday cleaning the house. He would have something important to do, like researching precious artifacts or meeting important clients. He wouldn’t have made omelets last night; he would have whisked Sylvia off to a fancy restaurant downtown that required reservations. And if she refused to get out of bed, he would have ordered her favorite Chinese takeout and brought it to her on a tray with the best dishes. Life would be whimsical, but it would also be practical: the rent would be saved before the new text books were bought, and paying student loans wouldn’t require eating ramen for a month. Life would be like what Sylvia had expected it to be before she met Todd.

But Todd loved Sylvia, and Sylvia loved him for it. In a perfect world, that would be enough. In Sylvia’s perfect world –

“Sylvia, do you really need all of these art history books?”

Sylvia opened her eyes and squinted at the books in Todd’s arms.

“Yes. Why?”

Todd shrugged. “It’s just, you never use them, and they take up so much space. If we sold them, we could go ahead and pay the rent for next month-”

Sylvia toppled off of the porch swing and grabbed the books from Todd.

“I need these. I do use them. If you want to pay the rent, sell some of your political science books. Don’t try to take what I love away from me.”

When Sylvia stalked back inside, she slammed and locked the door behind her. It took Todd twenty minutes to realize that the back door was unlocked.

Life with the man wearing cologne would be different. He wouldn’t try to sell her books just because he worried endlessly. And if they fought, he would call to her through the open window instead of standing on the sidewalk in the rain.

*/*/*

Monday was sunny, finally, and the humidity blanketed the campus as Sylvia hurried across it. Sweat beaded on her forehead, slipping into her eyes, and she blinked in frustration against the sting.

And then she saw him.

The mysterious man from Friday crossed her path again, and in the humid afternoon the scent of cologne seemed to linger in the air. Sylvia forgot about sweat and her air conditioned house and the conference call that she had to make. Without making a conscious decision, she began to follow the man. She followed several steps behind, prepared to duck down a different path or feign ignorance if he turned around, but she needn’t have worried. The man never turned around, and they crossed the campus quickly.

The man entered an office building, and Sylvia froze. What was she doing? She was stalking an utter stranger. If she continued forward, he would discover her and think that she was a freak. She had to stop here – she had to give up. When had this man become such a topic of interest, anyway?

Sylvia backed away from the door, watching as it closed behind the man. Soon all she could see were the words, “College of Arts and Sciences Offices,” and the man’s shadow as he disappeared down the corridor.  So Sylvia gave up. She hefted her bag over her shoulder and turned around, retracing her steps across campus and looking forward to the air conditioning of home. She had a conference call to make and Todd’s favorite dinner to prepare. There was no time for brooding tonight.

She would show Todd that he was right. She could get better on her own.

*/*/*

The meatloaf in the oven was burning, and it was an hour past the set time for the conference call, but Sylvia didn’t notice. She sat hunched over her old laptop, trying to coax it into keeping an internet signal as she investigated the College of Arts and Sciences homepage.

The page with pictures of professors didn’t yield anything, but Sylvia hadn’t expected it to. The man that she was looking for was much too young to be a full professor. Finally, at the bottom of the page of assistant professors, she found a picture that looked vaguely familiar. It was the curly blond hair that gave him away, and Sylvia quickly scrolled forward to discover his name – Anthony Turner.

Anthony Turner.

Sylvia said it to herself a few times, getting used to the feeling of the words in her mouth. He looked like an Anthony: tall, chiseled, confident. Sylvia studied his picture more closely, noting the way his brow furrowed and his full lips. His voice was probably deep and authoritative. How would it be to speak to him?

The thought made Sylvia’s blood run hot and cold in the same moment. She could feasibly speak to him. But what would she say? “Oh, hello, my name is Sylvia and my life is a mess. But I wouldn’t expect somebody like you to understand that.” But the thing is, he would understand. He would listen to her describe her life, the monotony and constant shades of grey that trapped her, and he would offer her solutions. He would wrap his arms around her, and –

“Shit!”

The smell of burning meatloaf filled the apartment, and Sylvia dashed into the kitchen and pulled it out of the oven, waving away smoke as she heard Todd’s car door slam shut. At least the smoke detectors were broken.

“Is something wrong?” asked Todd, alarmed at the sight and smell of the kitchen.

“I was trying to make meatloaf,” explained Sylvia, gesturing to the charred mess miserably, “But I have obviously failed.”

Todd stared at the mess for a minute, and then a smile crossed his face. Sylvia watched him in confusion, squealing with surprise as he crossed the kitchen, picked her up, and carried her to the bedroom.

“But you tried,” he said, his eyes sparkling, “And that’s what matters. I wasn’t hungry, anyway.”

Todd lowered Sophia to the bed gently, covering her body with his, and kissed her throat.

“Todd,” Sylvia murmured, shifting her legs restlessly and running her hands up and down his back.

“I love you,” he said, moving lower. “I fucking love you.”

*/*/*

The humidity outside was so heavy that it was nearly palpable, and Sylvia pushed her bangs off of her forehead half-heartedly as she walked through campus to the post office. The bag that was slung over her shoulder was full of library books to return and files that she had to drop off at Todd’s office, and it made her shoulder ache.

On weekends the campus became the playground of the community, and as Sylvia crossed the horseshoe, she saw a group of children playing with sticks and capes. One of the children caught her eye – a little boy with curly blond hair – and as he defended one of the girls from another of the little boys, Sylvia found herself watching and smiling. That little boy’s hair was the same shade and texture as Anthony’s, and Sylvia pictured Anthony sitting on the bench down the pathway, keeping an eye on the children. He would be the perfect father, seeming engrossed in his newspaper (not an embarrassingly colorful space-fantasy novel like Todd was apt to take places), but he would watch the children out of the corner of his eye, ensuring their safety without interfering with their game. Sylvia would sit next to him with a bottle of sweet tea that they would share, and he would hold her hand as they watched their son play with his friends.

In the library, Sylvia found herself in the children’s section. A tiny girl with sandy hair and big eyes sat alone on the floor, struggling with a Junie B. Jones chapter book that seemed much too hard for her.

“Would you like me to read it to you?” asked Sylvia, sliding to the floor next to the child.

The little girl looked up at Sylvia with serious eyes. “No, I can do it. But if you could help me, that would be okay.”

Sylvia hid her smile and nodded gravely. “Of course. What seems to be the matter?”

“I don’t know what this word is,” said the child, pointing to the book. “Is . . . isl . . .”

“Island,” corrected Sylvia gently.

“Island,” repeated the girl. “The monster was from an island a long way away . . .”

Sylvia followed along with her eyes, but her mind was far away in a bedroom that belonged to her daughter. The daughter that she had with Anthony would be smart and stubborn, only allowing Sylvia to help her read the book when she couldn’t understand a word at all. And then, when the story was over, Anthony would come into the room and help Sylvia tuck their daughter in. The little girl would close her eyes and sneak her thumb into her mouth, and Sylvia and Anthony would smile indulgently before leaving the room hand-in-hand.

“Kelsey, are you ready to go?”

Sylvia was startled out of her daydream by a woman’s shrill voice, and Kelsey reluctantly put the book down and stood up, turning to face Sylvia.

“I have to go now, but thank you for helping me,” she said, handing the book to Sylvia before disappearing down the aisle.

Sylvia wasn’t even sad to see Kelsey go. All she could think of was the name that kept rattling around in her brain: Kelsey Turner. She had to admit, it had a certain allure.

The bank was busy, and Sylvia was preoccupied with her thoughts as she filled out her deposit slips at the counter.

“Excuse me.”

Sylvia’s head jerked up when somebody touched her arm, and when she saw who it was, her mind became a panicked blank.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” said Anthony in a deep, rumbly voice. He sounded every bit as refined as Sylvia had imagined. “May I have a deposit slip?”

“A what?” asked Sylvia.

“A deposit slip,” repeated Anthony, pointing to the stack of slips that Sylvia was bearing down on.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, embarrassed. “Of course.”

She handed the slip to Anthony, and as he filled it out, he tilted his head toward her.

“I’m Anthony Turner,” he said.

It was all Sylvia could do to refrain from saying, “I know.”

“Sylvia Granger,” said Sylvia.

Anthony put his pen down and shook her hand, squeezing her fingers slightly.

“Sylvia’s a lovely name,” he said warmly, and Sylvia smiled. Everything was happening perfectly. More perfectly, even, than it would have occurred if she could have scripted it. Suddenly, inexplicably, the fantasies and dreams that she had harbored for the last few days slipped away.

“Would you like to go get coffee?” asked Anthony as he released Sylvia’s hand.

Sylvia chewed her lip and scrutinized Anthony’s eyes, then shook her head slowly and stepped away.

“No,” she said softly. “No, I’m afraid I can’t.”

Then she stuffed her deposit slip in her purse and waved slightly before turning around and heading out of the bank.

*/*/*

The sun was setting behind the houses across the street, and Sylvia closed her eyes and let the light warm her face as the porch swing rocked her gently.

Todd’s car door slammed, and his shoes crunched on the sidewalk. When Sylvia felt his shadow cross her face, she reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Sit?” she asked him.

Todd complied, and Sylvia rearranged herself, leaning against his shoulder.

“Can we talk about something?” asked Sylvia, squeezing her eyes shut and feeling the way her eyelashes tickled her cheeks.

“Sure, darling. What?”

“Can we talk about our future?”

Todd stopped moving, and Sylvia opened her eyes and sat up to look at him.

“Our future?” he repeated.

Sylvia sighed and turned her eyes to the sun, watching as it sank behind the trees.

“I know I’ve been distant lately, Todd, and it hasn’t been fair to you. I don’t know what’s been wrong with me. But if you want to, I’d like to discuss our forever.”

“Our forever?” asked Todd.

Sylvia sat upright when she heard the question in Todd’s voice, and he turned to her and placed his hands on her cheeks.

“Well, I guess we should begin with marriage.”

“Marriage?” it was Sylvia’s turn to ask.

“Sylvia, will you marry me?”

“I will,” said Sylvia softly, closing her eyes as Todd kissed her face. When he pulled away, she took a deep breath.

“I just have one question,” she said. “Do I have to cook?”

Todd’s face split into a grin. “I was hoping you would ask that. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to do the cooking.”

“That’s fine by me,” said Sylvia gratefully.

Todd took Sylvia’s hand and gazed pensively at the pink sky.

“I’ll try my hardest to make you happy,” he promised.

Sylvia cupped his cheek and kissed his mouth softly.

“You will,” she promised him. “You already do.”

“God, Sylvia,” whispered Todd. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she told him, and as they sat there together at twilight, she realized that she did. She always had. And even though he wasn’t her romance novel ideal, she would be happy with him. They might never have genius children or a gorgeous house, but they would be content with their messy, chaotic, imperfect life together. For Sylvia, that was all she needed to reclaim her life again: love.

The End.