In Progress

Mr. Close Encounters came to pick up his edited manuscript on Saturday afternoon. C and I spent the morning in Hampden after dropping by my office briefly so I could drop off my laptop (I worked from home on Friday), and then came back to the apartment to drink mimosas until Catchka's Johnny Depp Movie & Tacos night (affectionately referred to as "Depp and Tacos").

I'd e-mailed him on Friday evening to let him know I'd finally finished, but as we were on the cusp of the long weekend, I thought it entirely possible that I wouldn't get a response until today. I knew he was getting anxious, though, so when he called on Saturday after reading my note, it made sense.

The last time I saw him was at the then new Starbucks in Mt. Vernon. This was back in January and I was 30 pounds lighter than the last time he'd seen me. I hadn't yet gotten into the MFA program, the big, consuming project at work wasn't yet over, and I was so rigid during our interaction because it was about me feeling like I had some control, me letting him know that I'd be the one walking away this time. And for as much as I walked away with some semblance of my lost dignity back, I also knew he knew I couldn't sustain eye contact with him. And I knew he knew why.

This time, the distance of months and the process of having read his book smoothed my sharp edges and it was easier being caught up in his prolonged hug, easier to look at him.

I made him a mimosa, sat beside him on the couch, and we hung out with C, watching a movie for the better part of an hour. When time dictated an organic end, he stood up. So I stood up and handed him the box that contained the pages that dominated my life for nearly a month. I dreamed in its narrative; I weighed every word.

Just before he walked back out of the gate of my apartment building, I was caught up again in his embrace. I must have tried to pull away, knowing me (I always try to end things first), but he held on longer. Then he took my hand. He looked me right in the face.

This morning, he wrote to tell me he'd immediately read the more lengthy edits and grew "on the spot" because of them. He called my effort an "incredible tool"--one that he's already started to wield to the end of satisfactory revision results.

I told you once that you can't always guess who the hero of the story's going to be.