Caged (4 page)

I, however, was not.

I came out of my stupor to see him studying me - not in a sexual way, but clinically, as if I was a lab animal doing something interesting in my little cage. He shifted his attention to my store full of jewelry once he noticed me noticing him. I stayed silent while he wandered around taking everything in, again in a very studious fashion.
I’m guessing he’s not actually a fan of fine accessories.

“You made these?” he asked. There seemed to be a sense of appreciation in his tone.

“Yes. I find vintage, broken or ugly pieces and find ways to rework them. I recently started working with recycled metal, plastics and other unusual things. It seems to be gaining popularity. I think people like the idea of supporting the ‘green’ movement.”

“They’re…unusual,” he replied, lightly fingering a beaded necklace on display.

“Unusual, eh? Is that a good or bad thing…or do I want to know?” I asked. I smiled uncomfortably awaiting his response. He seemed to really think about his answer before he spoke, as if it were paramount that he get it just right.

“You have a distinct point of view, unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. You combine color, metals and materials in a way that should create a visual disaster, yet it’s so beautiful in an original way,” he said with a steady tone.
Maybe he really does appreciate jewelry.
My face flushed and warmed with his compliment, and I instantly turned to shy away from him. “You’re very talented,” he added. It stopped me in my tracks.

I turned in slow motion to face him, needing to see if once again he was pulling my chain. When I met his eyes it was clear that he’d meant what he said and all I could pull together in response was a measly “thanks”. I knew it was beyond weak considering the level of compliment I’d just received, but it was something so unexpected and unfamiliar that my brain hadn’t finished processing it before my mouth independently replied. I lacked a lot of social graces due to my sheltered childhood, but even more than that, I lacked praise to which I would have needed to respond. My parents were never quick with a compliment, and it left me feeling a little lost when his was so easily given.

I was so excited upon receiving the news that I asked one of the other graduate students in the lab to drive me home right away. It wasn’t often that a non-doctorate student was published, and Professor Lewellen had made a special trip to our building to give me the news in person. My research on neurophysiology and its effects on the human immune system was being published in American Physiological Society’s Journal of Neurophysiology.

I had been working on this connection since my undergraduate studies after a random chance discussion I had had with a chiropractor I met while studying in a nearby coffee shop. He had mentioned a link between improper nerve function and the immune system, and was so passionate about his clinical experience with it that I started to wonder if there was really something to it. I dedicated all my free time to researching the connection, and since I had more of that than I cared to admit to, I accomplished a lot before ever entering my masters level program. I had compiled a summary of extensive research, clinical application and trials, as well as case study statistics, and presented it to Dr. Lewellen for his review. He said it was amazing research with compelling information, but neglected to mention was that he was going to submit it to journals for review on my behalf.

I felt like a kid on Christmas the whole way home in the car. I could barely sit still or shut up. It was probably good that I couldn’t see the expression of my poor classmate, who I’m sure was entirely disgusted with my antics by the time she dropped me off. I forgot to say thank you for the ride as I jumped out of the car and made my way up the driveway, white cane flying from side to side. I ran through the door shouting for my parents, who upon hearing my cries immediately thought something was wrong and crashed upon me in a panic. When I convinced them there wasn’t anything wrong, which took quite some time, I gave them the good news. Being academics themselves, I thought they would gush over such an accomplishment, especially for someone at my age and level of scholastic achievement.

What I never would have expected was the silence I was met with. Neither said a word for a good minute or two. When I figured that they were in quiet shock, I reached over to feel my mother’s face to read her expression. What I felt was something smacking of indifference and irritation. Did they not hear me? I opened my mouth to ask if they had, but my father quickly asked which journal it was to be published in. When I told him, all he said was “Oh. Not the British Journal of Medicine? That’s disappointing.” My mother quickly added that “there was no reason to come storming into this house causing that kind of a scene over that”. In that moment I was the embodiment of dejection in ways that neither would ever live to understand. It was also at that precise moment I realized that their imperfection of a child might never accomplish enough to make them proud.

When I snapped out of my not-so-fond-memory, I found Sean looking at me with a careful, patient expression on his face. He was slighted by neither my lack of manners nor by my flightiness.

“You sure that head is feeling OK?” he asked politely.

“Sorry, I just thought of something. It’s not important.” I feigned a smile to try to sell my response.

“Well then, Ruby, I’m off to grade some desperately boring papers. It was great to…meet you. Finally.” And with that he turned on his heels and headed out the door with the same abruptness that he had come and gone with before.
So that was it? What I’ve been obsessing over for months? All that lead up for, gotta go grade some papers, peace out bitch? Oh hell no!

“Why are you here?” I blurted out as quickly as I could before he completely escaped through the door.

“Ah…isn’t that the million dollar question?” he said, turning gracefully to face me. “Why am I here? Why are you here? Why are any of us here? Didn’t take you for a philosopher, Ruby.” He flashed me the toothiest grin before letting go of the door. Unfortunately, it shut off my response to his rhetoric. I bet he wasn’t sorry that he didn’t get a chance to hear it.

5

I spent the rest of my evening trying to figure out how I was ever going to get some answers out of Sean, if that even was his real name. I couldn’t think clearly enough when he was around to actually formulate a well-thought out and coherent, not to mention pertinent, question. Just the sight of him got me so frazzled that all higher brain functions shut down, making it nearly impossible to do anything above breathing and staying upright. I may as well have just grunted and banged on things to communicate with him; it probably would have been more effective. I had sworn off men a long time ago, so it wasn’t that I wanted him, it was simply his face. It was mesmerizing, like staring at the most beautiful piece of art.

His uncanny ability to disappear as quickly as he showed up made my predicament even harder still. I worried that I was going to have to resort to criminal activity to keep him in one place long enough to get what I wanted from him. I wasn’t necessarily opposed to physical violence, but I heavily questioned my ability to knock him out with a solid blow to his head and then immobilize him with rope or one of those crafty zip-tie things. He had at least a hundred pounds on me. My semi-kidnapping fantasy hardly seemed that morally reprehensible given the circumstances. At least then I could have gotten some concrete information from him: full name, phone number, workplace, life story,
etc.
Cover all the basics.

I chuckled to myself at the mere thought of clubbing and interrogating him. I imagined doing it up
Law & Order: SVU
style, sans partner. I had to admit that in all the weirdness and strange coincidences, which I still didn’t believe in, he never emanated anything but a calming and neutral energy. Had he bad intentions or evil plans for me, I would have picked up on it. At least I
hoped
I would. But there was still something that seemed just a little too convenient, and my gut resonated the slightest sound of warning. I tried to focus on that feeling and strengthen it for better interpretation, but I couldn’t. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t put my finger on it. So I chose to ignore it instead.

Maybe he was my consolation prize: lose your parents, gain a strange hottie. My mind constantly ran over the possibilities until, for the sake of my sanity and my under-eye circles, I conceded that he was just a very strange individual who looked like a Greek god and really enjoyed saving me. I drifted off to sleep, wondering when he might choose to drop in again, and what tragedy he’d snuff out in the process.

6

Saturday proved to be a lucrative day for the shop. I sold ten pieces in six hours, which may not sound like many, but when some of them fetched a price tag of five hundred dollars or more, it made for the beginnings of an excellent shopping spree for me. And a fatter check for Uncle Sam come quarterly payment time.

There were a couple pieces that I was sad to see go, including my absolute favorite; it too had found a new home. I had made it from an amazing sapphire ring that I found washed up on the beach in Maine. It was extremely old and in horrible condition, but the round-cut gem itself had remained remarkably perfect according to the guy I took my gems into for assessment. After I dismantled it, I remounted the stone in an obnoxiously huge white gold pendant that amounted to nothing more than a really thick disk framing the bezel-mounted stone. The end result was bold, elegant and fashion forward, not a piece for the average girl. Luckily, the young doctor who purchased it had impeccable fashion sense by my estimation, and I was certain that she’d take care of my baby. It also made me an easy twenty-five hundred dollars. The profit margin on it was huge, given that the stone had been free and I had a great contact for getting gold at a really reasonable price.

I was still glowing about the sales of the day while I closed up the books. It really illustrated how much of a banner day it was at REWORKED because I
hated
the business part of being in business. I was happiest being stuck in the back and left alone to design. Accounting was for the birds, or the nerds, as was often the case.

After locking up, I rushed to my apartment in a frantic state, needing to find a barrage of items quickly so I wouldn’t be late. The best part of my day was yet to come and I had to get my ass moving. Saturday evening was reserved for a sacred activity: dancing. I took classes only a couple of miles from my house at a fantastic studio that offered a comprehensive selection of styles with amazing instructors. I always started with ballet for the evening (as all dancers should have a strong background in the basic principles of ballet). Next was jazz, then tap, and last but not least was hip-hop. It was my most recent addition, but rapidly proving to be my favorite.

I liked to run the two miles to the studio to get warmed up before starting barre work, but unfortunately I was at a total loss as to where my running shoes and iPod were. Running without music was not an option. Ever. In fact, I never understood how anyone could do it. I firmly believed in having an ongoing soundtrack to my life, courtesy of my teenage years listening to Ally McBeal. Striding down the streets of Portsmouth to the studio was a perfect time to apply that notion. Thankfully, I located both my shoes and iPod so I could run with both tunes and protected feet.

I arrived at class just in the nick of time, tearing off my outerwear in the lobby until I was down to the required dress of pink tights and black leotard. After I slapped on my thigh-high leg warmers, I positioned myself along the barre with the others. An hour later, I was thoroughly limbered up and ready for the rest of my classes. The four hours of dance made for a long evening, but I didn’t mind. It was better than anything else I would have been doing any other night of the week.

Hip hop ended after a wicked combination that our instructor had just learned in New York City was firmly drilled into our brains and bodies. I had the shakes from lack of food and was in dire need of replenishing fluids. If I’d wrung out the sweats I was wearing, I could have filled a Nalgene bottle.

I changed quickly after class and put on my iPod before waving in the general direction of everyone as I walked out onto the street. I secured my messenger bag so that it wouldn’t bang around while I ran back home. My legs seemed especially tired that evening, so I started off walking, hoping that they would quickly be inspired to get with the game plan to run home.

The trip through town could be a bit unnerving in the dark. Winding through the main streets of the city was safe, but I could freak myself out sometimes, ducking down alleys and roads that weren’t well traveled during the evening. There were always people out when I hit the bar district, but other than that, they were few and far between.

I’d never actually
walked
home before, and after about ten minutes, I started to realize why. Running seemed to numb my awareness of certain things in a way that walking did not. I didn’t get as much time to focus on the upcoming dumpster and what could be lurking behind it, or what could be around the dimly-lit corner laying in wait. Even worse than the general anxiety I was giving myself was the very definitive feeling that someone was following me. I was picking up on something that was not especially warm and fuzzy, but whenever I turned to see if someone was there, I was alone. Very, very alone.