Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete.
Molly sat back in her chair and sighed contentedly. She looked around the coffee shop she had chosen for her escape on her first vacation day since beginning her career three years ago. It felt good to be sitting before the blank space where the world inside her head would come to life. Even if she were halfway through her first double mocha latte and already working on a second take, she was exactly where she wanted to be in that moment.
His presence commanded attention.
She thought about those words. Her main character would be powerful. He would dominate the room the moment he walked into it. She could see it so clearly.
The conference room was full of executives in a heated discussion about the upcoming year’s capital expenditure. The guy from the Wisconsin complex stopped mid-sentence when he entered the room. It was not his commanding height, tailored suit, $500 polished shoes or his Tag Heuer Carrera watch. In this room full of men, it was certainly not because of his flawlessly chiseled features and broad chest.
It was something bigger. Something about him that demanded everyone’s attention. He scanned the room.
The moment his green eyes locked on mine, I knew I’d have no choice. I would be his.
The door to the shop opened, blowing an abandoned receipt off a table and sweeping it across the floor. Molly’s power suit fantasy eroded. Molly found it ironic that she worked with men who wore gorgeous suits every single day, yet every one of those men allowed the suit to wear them.
Hiding out in a café was no escape from her mother’s expectations. Missing from her mother’s dream for her was a match with a high-powered executive to complement her daughter’s status. Molly had become even more than the executives her mother had encountered in her first years in America. The women of Dallas and Dynasty were no match for her. Her beautiful Mercedes parked outside and herpenthouse on Lake Shore Drive were the evidence of her success.
Her mother’s only disappointment was that Molly had not married the perfect husband to go with the rest of her trappings of success. Once she acquired him, she would give birth to two perfect children and her mother’s plan would be complete.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry the perfect man. It was that she had yet to find him.
Shaking her head, Molly took a sip of coffee. This story would not be about that man. Or her mother’s desire for her to hurry and find him.
Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete.
Her eyes danced brightly.
Molly paused. Her fingertips hovered over the keys of her laptop and then found her cup. Absentmindedly, she slid the cardboard sleeve up and down the container and then spun it until she saw “Molly” handwritten with a bold black marker.
They burst into laughter the moment the waitress stepped away. She covered her mouth with her hand to muffle the sound of her laughter.
He reached across the table and pulled it away. “Your smile is lovely. Please don’t cover it.”
His words made her laugh even harder.
They had been sitting in the booth hours after finishing their meal and her jaw hurt from laughing so hard. The lights flickered on and off to announce the restaurant was closing. He had laughed again.
Molly frowned, realizing she had been smiling and looked around to see if anyone had been observing her. Mild embarrassment conjured up her first day of school. It could have been the first day of any year. They had all been the same.
The early morning excitement of a new outfit, rejoining friends after summer break, and the idea of a fresh start was always replaced with an anxiety that grew relative to the teacher drawing closer to her name during roll call. Molly would slip lower in her chair as her embarrassment mounted and as she got older, she was aware of her classmates sneaking glances at her and snickering in anticipation of the teacher’s impending confusion.
Later, recess filled with classmates teasing, “Are you sure you are female?” It would take weeks to die down, but by then the renewed humiliation would have done its job and any potential new friends would avoid her, searching instead for safer companions.
Shaking the unpleasant thoughts from her mind, Molly reread what she had typed.
Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete.
Blue skies turned gray.
She stopped typing and stared at the screen. This was supposed to be easy. With her daily distractions dismissed, the words were supposed to flow out and fill the page. This day had been planned for weeks. She had thought about her main character until he consumed her waking moments, sitting with her through business meetings and hovering through dinners with her mother.
She closed her eyes and imagined how good it would feel to climb back into her warm bed at home.
She sat up and set the phone on the nightstand. The warmth from being buried under her covers dissipated as the cold air hit her legs and arms. Yoga pants, a sweatshirt and UGGs were thrown on before the chill had a chance to travel the entire length of her spine.
In his car moments after hanging up from his ridiculously early call, he greeted her with a silent smile and then turned his attention to the fog enshrouded roads. Silently, the car slowed and turned down a damp two track. She suddenly felt uneasy. Why had she agreed to meet him before dawn?
She reached for her phone. It was still sitting on the nightstand. As she was about to ask where they were going, he turned onto a path overgrown with weeds. Queen Anne’s Lace swept under the car as it rolled forward in the early morning gloom. Her heart began to rap a heavy tattoo against her chest.
They came to the end of the path and he turned the motor off. He stepped out and popped the trunk. A moment later her door opened and he extended his hand toward her. She felt she had no choice but to step out of the car. He swung a large duffle bag at his side and led her silently down a narrow dirt path overgrown with weeds and prickers that reached out to snag her clothes.
She gasped. He had released her hand at an embankment overlooking a field of wild flowers waking under the glowing orange tip of the sun as it made its rosy appearance for the day.
She felt his arms wrap around her waist from behind, his lips caressing her ear. “Good morning, baby.”
“You’re not being authentic.”
Molly blinked and then realized the girl was talking on her phone not speaking to her. She lost the thread of her fantasy to a memory of college.
Dr. Douglas, her Creative Writing professor, had been the only instructor who ever dared give her a low grade throughout her education. She had worked hard to maintain her 4.0 average and the C- in the one class her mother had warned her not to take had crushed her GPA. It had been devastating to read “Not authentic” scrawled across the top of her story. Later, she had confronted him in his office to contest the grade. He had simply shrugged and dismissed her complaints saying, “Perhaps writing just isn’t for you.”
Frustration and anger welled up inside of her, each taking a shoulder to whisper in her ear. Maybe she wasn’t a writer. Maybe she should go back to her fancy office, sit down in her oversized leather chair and get back to work.
She took another sip of her coffee. It had turned lukewarm and the cream had separated, making a pretty pattern of light and dark colors as she swirled it. She set the cup down firmly.
Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete.
My name is Molly.
Delete.
Female.
I was named by the hospital in which I was born. My proud illiterate immigrant mother had walked to the nursery glass and saw me in the bassinet labeled Female Sanchez. Naively, she had assumed the hospital named all the babies. Her brief embarrassment, and subsequent enduring pride, is how I ended up with the name “Female.” She pronounced it Feh-molly.
Female grabbed her cup, stood and walked to the counter. “Could I borrow your marker for a second?”
Becoming Writer 2016 Anniversary Contest 