Page 23 of Forever Flustered

“Archangel, I don’t think you’ll ever be trashy – now, reach out to your girl and schmooze her over with all that char…um, well maybe ‘charm’ is a bit much, but you can give her that glorious gargoyle stare that you do oh-so well.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Eli listened as Bode told him, with stars in his eyes, about his plans to buy a small airplane and that he intended to get a job at Flyboys. Apparently, Loki - Bode’s former wingman before Banshee - had convinced him that the Flyboys team would help him get started. They had promised to help him with setting up a flight schedule or chartering flights across the state to a smaller landing strip that was also part of Flyboys. It was surprising to hear that they were branching out like this, but it was also quite savvy. He had all of his eggs in the Air Force’s basket, and while he’d always been grateful before for this opportunity, the threat of losing everything was there today for the first time. The two brothers talked for almost two hours with only a few interruptions before Eli made his apologies.

“Hey,” Eli began uncomfortably, but he had reports to turn in. “I’ve got to get some stuff done, and you need to pack.”

“True that,” Bode responded, almost bragging. “I’m expecting you to come visit me when you get some leave accrued.”

I have leave; I’m just not sure I can use it right now…

“I’d love that – and appreciate the offer,” he replied instead, keeping his thoughts to himself once more.

“My sofa is your sofa,” Bode joked, grinning. “Except I don’t have a sofa - yet.”

Typical, Eli thought, smiling as they hugged once more before his brother left the room, closing the office door behind him. Turning to the stack of reports, he began sifting through them, working diligently. His neck ached from the angle and stress, tensing as the task seemed never-ending – and then he moved to tackle the plethora of emails that were now waiting in his inbox. He was on the seventh one when he recognized the email.

“She wrote me…” he began, surprised, and quickly double-clicked on it to open the email – before frowning as his eyes scanned the email. “Narcissistic? ‘The Ego is Might’ – sheesh – ‘The Dimly Lit Light’? Oh my gosh, she thinks I have a melon-head? What the heck? Apparently, I made quite an impression.” Rolling his eyes in frustration and defeat, Eli clicked delete – and paused as a second email popped up from Maureen again.

He almost didn’t open it. His finger hovered over the mouse where the cursor was waiting over the delete button, and then sighed. Moving the cursor, he opened the email and braced himself for a second mental beating and whatever ‘gems’ she decided to throw his way this time around… and was pleasantly surprised. He read the email, rubbing his aching neck once again as he read her letter – and smiled.

It was nice.

It was exactly what he needed right now. Elijah pulled her business card out of his desk drawer, looking at it once again. He wasn’t sure why he kept it so close; it was almost like one of those ‘worry stones’ a school counselor had given him in middle school. He’d rubbed that indented surface of the stone that he kept hidden in his pocket for years until it broke by accident. He still remembered what it looked like, how cool it felt, how lovely the quartz striations in the rock looked… and kinda wished that I had one right now, he mused, rubbing his thumb over the flowery, foil script on her business card in the same manner.

He thought Maureen was pretty – but terse. She was pushy and driven, but wasn’t he? The problem was distance and prior commitments - both were a huge issue for even considering attempting a relationship with anyone. They were oceans apart, time zones apart, and his parents were a big, big problem – financially and mentally. It wasn’t like there would ever be a cozy holiday with the family or a chance to meet the in-laws, because it would be like shoving Maureen into the deep end – a piranha with a bunch of sharks, and frankly he wasn’t sure who would win.

“What am I even thinking?” he whispered, staring at her email. “In-laws? I must be more stressed than I realized because it’s just a chummy email after she ripped me a new one… not exactly ‘romantic’ in the slightest.”

Processing, debating all the ways this could blow up in his face, Eli finally clicked reply and began typing.

Dear Maureen,

I’m really not good at this – at reaching out or even opening up to someone, but that hasn’t served me very well in the past or the present. Here I am, taking a chance, and hoping that you can read between the lines of what I’m afraid to put down on paper. Your email meant a lot to me – both of them. I’ll admit the first one was a little humbling and hard to accept, but still welcomed because it was an attempt at friendship… which I could use badly.

I never thought to share with you that these emails are monitored, so please don’t disclose anything regarding location, political opinions, threats, or anything that could be construed badly or picked up on the filters. If I knew those exact terms, I would share them… unless it got me in more trouble. I probably shouldn’t have told you about my brother, so ‘brother’ should be an okay term - but I really don’t want to talk about him when I’m emailing you.

Let’s focus on… friendship. I don’t want to give you the wrong idea, but I have too much baggage to really be much of anything else – besides, if I told you, you’d probably run. I wouldn’t blame you, if you did.

Sincerely,

Eli

P.S. Do my eyes make up for my melon head?

P.S.S. You can tack as many of these on here as you want, because I generally read them as ‘psp-psp-psp’ like you were calling a cat.

Staring at the screen, he almost deleted both postscripts because it sounded much too forward, much too flirtatious, and that wasn’t the vibe he was trying to create right now. Friendship. That was the only thing he could really give someone, and it was barely there to begin with. Before he could change his mind, he drew in a shaky breath and clicked ‘Send’ – before letting it out in a panicked rush.

“What am I doing?”

Opening another email, he began typing frantically.

Maureen,

Don’t take any of that the wrong way. You were right. I’m a douche with a melon head in dire need of therapy, meditation, and right now my neck is killing me from the stress. Lots of stress. Can a guy die from stress? Asking for a friend…

Me – I’m asking for me.