"Spring Cleaning" on the brain...

With music playing softly in the background, I hammer away a scene on my keyboard, one in which the main character falls for her mentor.  The setup is at a campground in which Zydeco music is heard and people are two-stepping and swinging out. As she Zydecos with her mentor she catches a leg cramp.  Her mentor uses his expertise in the powerful way of healing and he gently kneads the spot where she feels the most pain.  Their quiet interaction speaks volumes.  The careful consideration he takes into making sure she feels better.  The way she stares at him, never before having him up so close that she notices his scars.  She inquires of each one and punctuates each inquiry with the soft tip of her finger.  She takes her finger and traces the outline of his full lips.  He takes her hand and kisses the inside of her palm.

            I am so deep into the scene, writing and rewriting to make sure it works that I don’t realize I’ve spent six hours just trying to make sure I give them the right words, I even try to imagine myself as the character.  I have a digital recording of my Instructor giving me pointers on how to fine tune the scene.  Now all I need is a way to transition it from a quiet little scene on the back of a double cab pickup to a scene filled with passion so intense the reader feels it.

            I put it aside and close my eyes more so to rid myself of an impending headache. Jeremiah floats in my mind like a sheet of paper being blown by a mighty gust of wind.  I try to remember his face and just can’t get past his eyes.  There is something about them.  I remembered how his long lashes fluttered when he tried to see what all I had to offer from behind the counter. I force myself to halt my thoughts of him and be about the task at hand.  My cell phone rings.

That thing’s supposed to be off when I’m writing.  I glance at the ID and see Jeremiah’s number.  Just as I reach over to answer, it stops.  Oh, no he didn’t.  I glance at my cell again to make sure it’s the right number.  I even go so far as to compare it to the number on the paper he had given me.  Why did he do that? I want to call back and ask but I am too afraid for fear that I might appear desperate...