but no one thinks of changing himself.
―Leo Tolstoy
I'm beginning to have doubts about the use of recalling my past. It's over and will always be over―there's nothing I can do about it other than regret it. This whole business about gaining insight from it is probably just a dead end.
Maybe instead of trying to correct my memories of the past my time might be better spent changing my behaviour in the present. Sure, I blue-pencilled out a lot of bad memories, but it didn't make it better―just eased my conscience until they percolated up to the surface and confronted me as night terrors.
It's always bugged me when people talk about spooky houses, but places aren't haunted, people are and even the dead still oppress us through our memories.
I suppose I'm obsessing about Sofia and the way someone from the past can come back to haunt me. tonight is a perfect setting―sitting by the fire while outside it's dark and raining. It's just the right mood and atmosphere to conjure up her memory.
Just saying her name inside my head turns on a movie reel of images. I picture her quaint Art Deco apartment building on a tree-lined street near the university.
I knew cheating on Emma was wrong but it all seemed so damn romantic and it blurred all the warning signs the same way this rain tonight hides me from the rest of the world.
But those warning signs were all there, right down to the street number of her building. I mean, 1313 Odd Place―hell, the universe was sending me a cosmic SOS, if I even cared to look, which I didn't.
Sofia knew about Emma and I didn't hide the truth from her. She didn't care―even suggested I could marry Em and she'd be content to be my mistress.
When I balked she blackmailed me into submission―threatened to tell Em if I didn't stay with her until the end of semester. What was her game plan―that I'd fall in love and not want to leave her?
But whatever it was, it didn't work. My guilty conscience made me reveal the truth to Em. I didn't hate Sofia―I actually felt sorry for her. I felt bad I caused her pain although in truth, we both were to blame for continuing.
So now here I am, in my mid-thirties and still unmarried. As for these mind journeys I've been on, all they've done is show how much baggage I'm carting around in my subconscious.
And Nat has to get drunk and and tell Sofia enough information about me that it won't be hard for her to find me. Ordinarily, that wouldn't worry me, but the truth is, seeing her again showed me I'm still not strong enough to resist her.
That's why sitting by the fire on a rainy evening can be like a film noir playing inside me.
My cell vibrates in my pocket and I pick up to Zach's familiar voice on the other end.
"Hey, Jase―just wondering if you'd like to grab a coffee at The Brown Dog?"
"Sure, Zach, it's a pretty dreary night and you just rescued me from wallowing in my misery. Meet you there in twenty minutes?"
"Sounds like a plan," he yipped on the other end.
As I drove to the coffee shop I wondered what Zach had in mind. We used to meet for coffee once or twice a week but that tapered off when he got married. I hoped there were no problems between him and Mitzy.
We got a window seat and ordered apple fritters to go with our coffee. It was pleasant chatting with Zach in the cozy coffee shop with black rain trails marring the windows making me appreciate how good it was to be inside.
"Mitzy's at her art class tonight," Zach informed me, between bites of his warm apple fritter. "But I wanted to talk to you about something else and think you might be interested."
"Sounds mysterious," I smiled.
"Well, that's just it―you're a mystery writer and we have an opening at the college for a writer in residence. What do you say?"
I was taken completely off-guard. I hadn't expected Zach to present me with a job offer.
"Don't I have to go through some kind of interview process?" I hedged.
Zach's mouth was full of fritter, but he waved off my doubt and held up his hand so I'd wait while he took a gulp of his coffee. "Ran it by Dean Bissell already and she was in agreement―says she's a fan of your work―loves murder mysteries."
"Oh well, then it's all settled," I deadpanned.
"Actually, it is―the position's yours if you want it."
I was shocked again. Zach was serious. This was all happening so fast.
"When would I have to start?"
"Second semester begins in a week. Take your time, but I have to let her know tomorrow."
I laughed, figuring he was being facetious, but saw the sober look on his face and realized he was dead serious.
"I don't even know what a writer in residence does."
"You'll keep regular office hours and meet with students to discuss their work―you'll teach a freshman course on the mystery novel, and give a speech or two usually at beginning of the year and Convocation."
"Sounds like a piece of cake," I smiled, munching on my apple fritter. "You can tell Mazie, yes, when you see her tomorrow."
Within an hour I was back before the fire in my living room wondering what the hell I just signed up for on the spur of the moment. It was unlike me to be impetuous, but my life needed a change and this position would serve the purpose.
Besides, it would bring me closer to Emma and that was a bonus.
Thank you
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