Awakening...

Two years later...

"I'll see you guys later."

That was an interesting evening to say the least. I have just spent the evening painting at Jennifer's apartment while she and I and her boyfriend, Brock - the same guy I caught staring at her in our theatre class a couple of years ago - watched a movie. She got a phone call tonight from someone she was determined to be secretive about - probably on account of Brock, who has no idea that she has been dancing in night clubs for two years.

It is nearly midnight, but I haven't checked my mail in three days and I have been expecting a response from a magazine company about a short story I wrote. I better stop by the post office and check my box.

"Hi there."

I heard a male voice from across the deserted room in the post office. I looked around, but saw no one. I ignored the voice - after all it was the middle of the night and I wanted to get home.

"I said, 'Hi there.'"

This time when I turned around, I was standing face to face with a very conservative-looking man dressed in a long beige coat with a Wall Street Journal tucked under one arm.

"Oh, Hi."

"My name is Jason. What on earth is a girl like you doing here in the middle of the night?"

"Excuse me? What exactly does 'girl like you' mean?"

"I didn't mean anything by that. I just meant that it's dangerous for a young woman like you to be out late alone."

"I've been taking care of myself for many years, thank you. I will be just fine."

"What's your name?"

"If it's so dangerous for me to be alone at night, I don't think I should tell you my name."

"I just wanted to know - You are a very pretty woman and I would like to take you to the coffee shop around the corner to talk. You strike me as someone I would like to know better.

"Know better? Look mister, Jason, whatever your name is - I don't know you, I don't want to know you and I don't date people. I am just checking my mail.

"You're an artist aren't you?"

"How did you know that?"

"You're temperamental and you're wearing Birkenstocks and overalls."

"What the hell are you talking about? Is that some sort of stereotype that you've made up? Lots of people wear Birkenstocks and overalls, and as for being temperamental, I just don't like you. I really need to go now and just for the record, I don't like stereotypes."

"Didn't mean to offend you. Other than those obvious artistic traits, you have paint on your fingers. What is your name? Please tell me."

"Tempest."

"That's a unique name, Tempest. It definently fits you. Care to have a cup of coffee with me?"

"Will you leave me alone if I do?"

"Yes."

At the coffee shop...

"Tell me about yourself."

"You guessed it - I am an artist, but first and foremost I am a writer. I am also a student at the University of Savannah majoring in English and minoring in Art History. Now, let me ask you why a straight-laced conservative guy like yourself would choose to pick me, of all people, up in a deserted post office in the middle of the night. I appear to be the total opposite of you. What do you do anyway?"

"I'm a stockbroker here in Savannah. I graduated last year from the university with a major in economics. I knew a guy who told me he was an English major while I was in college. I met him in the library accidentally one night. His name was Milton, but everyone called him Bo I think. Did you know him?"

"No."

"I think he has already graduated, but I thought you might have run across him. As for our being opposites, it is said that they do attract. What do you do besides go to school, paint and write?"

"Well, I make a little money by selling a few stories now and then to tiny magazines and journals - not exactly my dream, but I've got to start somewhere. I also work in a small bookstore downtown, just to make ends meet. I have a dog, I don't eat meat and I am politically active as a propagandist writer working for the Democratic party in Savannah."

"Well, we are definitely opposites. I don't have any pets, I love red meat and I was a member of the Young Republicans in college. However, I would love to see you again. Maybe I could read some of your work. Can I call you?"

"I'll call you instead - if I think about it."

Ring Me Baby
Return to the Muse's Introduction
Return to Tempest's Beginning
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