Fated

The idea at first was to write a story about a character just out of college who is already so worn down by life that he really just wants to fast-forward it all to a quick end. It didn’t seem enough, though. The story would have started at the bottom and from there began its rapid decay. Not much I thought to hold a reader’s attention. Not even enough to hold mine. And then fate intervened. It was a day before Christmas. I had to switch the insurance policy from my mother’s name over to my own. Being an only child, the house was suddenly alone and mine. A very strange feeling considering I was still in my twenties. Anyway, I walked into the insurance office. It was empty except for the receptionist. She was captivating, she was beautiful. We talked for a while, slowly opening the doors to each other’s lives. Then, without even sadness or anger, she told me that she was dying. God, she was so young, in her early twenties, and had already accepted the fact. I didn’t inquire as to what was wrong. Not because I didn’t want to. I really just didn’t know how to ask. And besides, I knew that it didn’t matter. What really needed to be understood had already been said.

I asked her out for a drink that day. She said yes. But her boyfriend soon showed up and that was that. I walked out not too long after, a house to my name and with this book already in my head. That was the perfect way to contrast someone who still has a lot to live for but wants to just throw it away. You contrast it with a character who wants life but can no longer have it.

Two months later I quit my job, sold the house and moved to the city. Writing was being constantly interrupted though because I kept coming home at four in the morning. I think the final incident occurred when me and this girl left my apartment at two in the morning to find a liquor store because all that we drank from five in the afternoon until that point didn’t seem to be enough. As we went down the steps, I dropped my keys to the apartment in the snow. We just shrugged our shoulders and kept going. Fuck, if getting back into your own place isn’t that important then something is definitely wrong.

I left for Santa Fe, moved on to Cleveland, spent a month in New Orleans, and finally finished the last lines at a bar in Chicago. It's strange, all through the journey I kept telling people that I would meet my character Autumn along the way and fall in love with her. I was so fucking sure of it. And I did. I just never imagined that she would be the girl who placed the pen in my hand to begin with.

After completion, I wanted to dedicate the novel to the girl at the insurance office. So, I called over there to get her last name. I didn’t know what to say since I had already thought that she had died. They told me that while she no longer worked there that she was still alive. I gave the person on the other end of the line my number and asked to have it passed along. Ellen called that night, I think. We met immediately. I loved her just as fast. God, I can still remember that night. She told me that she was dying of AIDS. I didn’t care. I couldn’t wait to kiss her. I would have followed her to the grave.

I can’t remember now how long we lasted. That’s odd, isn’t it? It seemed like only seconds, though.

I wrote my heart out for this book. Everything I had I gave. And fuck did I give for this one. I cried at every point where I think you will and when these two characters fall in love I was in love. This book I lived. As hard as it was, though, I don’t have a single regret. Not one. I would live it again, I swear. All those tears that stain you know. Sometimes you look back and realize that maybe it was actually worth shedding every one of them.

Virginia Austin