Inspiration

She found herself in the cafeteria at a table by herself. She was unsure of how she got there and of how long she had been there. A plate of food was sitting in front of her and a half empty mug of coffee. She sipped the coffee and found it to be cold as was the food. Clia noticed that the place was nearly empty and the janitorial crew was already at work. She glanced at her watch to find it was nearly 4:30. Her last class had been over before noon and she was almost certain she had been to it, but try as she might she could not recall the lecture or the intervening hours.

Once she got to her apartment she felt the overwhelming need to write. On rare occasions she had felt this need, the frenetic, nearly delirious feeling had led to some of her best works. Writing in this manic state, where 10 pages in an hour was not uncommon Clia had discovered a joy that was almost orgasmic. She started a pot of coffee and then grabbed a fresh composition book and several pencils and sat down at the dinette in the kitchen. She opened the composition book and picked up a pencil and fully expected to explode into a frenzy of writing, but instead she just stared at the blank page. She started several times during the next half hour, but never got farther than a sentence or two before she crossed it out and tried to begin again.

By evening she was becoming frustrated and angry. The feeling was there, her body thrummed with it, but the words would not come. Clia passed on going out with her roommates and stayed at the table, she felt certain that inspiration would hit her at any moment and she did not want to be far from her tablets when it did. The hours passed slowly and nothing happened. By three o’clock that morning she had finished two pots of coffee and had two pages of starts crossed out. She was startled by the door opening and her roommates retuning from the clubs.

Sharon was drunk, as usual and hanging on the arm of some blonde guy. Shelly was less inebriated, but was also with a guy Clia had never seen before. Beth was the only one who seemed sober and as usual she was alone. Clia was in no mood to deal with them or make small talk with guys who only had one thing on their mind. She was thankful that they barely spoke to her before heading down the hallway. Only Beth stopped to ask how she was doing. Clia’s frustrated growl of a reply seemed to convince the petite brunette that it wasn’t a good time to talk and she retreated to her room.

Clia’s apartment was one of the many new ones put up to house the burgeoning population of the university. The walls were paper-thin and soon the muffled sounds of sex drifted into the kitchen. Bed springs squeaked and the occasional muffled groan filtered to her ear. The sounds seemed to act as a catalyst and she found herself on the beach of her dreams again. Sharon’s crying out jerked Clia’s mind back to reality. Clia shook her head and went to get more coffee.

I have such odd roommates, she thought as she made her coffee. Sharon was a tall blonde and a complete slut, different guy every night, never had a relationship that lasted more than a few rolls in the hay. Shelly was shorter and stockier than Sharon, but still tall for a woman and platinum blonde. She had just been dumped by her high school sweetheart and was almost as bad as Sharon, but she seemed to be looking for more than just a one-night stand. Beth was the odd ball in most every respect. She was a small, petite, brunette very quiet, though not shy. She went out with them every weekend, but to Clia’s knowledge she had never brought anyone home or gone home with anyone she had met. She was closest to Clia in temperament and was probably her best friend at the university. They could talk, but the enigmatic girl seemed to live apart from the rest of the world and Clia often found her unapproachable. There had always been something there, lying just beneath the surface that Clia could never quite grasp.

Clia returned to the table and her open composition book. The house was quiet now and the rhythmic ticking of her grandmother’s clock seemed to be beckoning her to sleep. Neither sleep nor words would come and Clia was wide awake when first one and then the other guy slipped out of the house. Time dragged on and her false starts came less and less often. She was still filled with the urge to write, but the words seemed to have deserted her.

The sun was already up before she finally gave up and padded down the hallway to her bedroom. She passed Beth’s doorway just as it opened and Beth stepped out into the hallway. She was bleary eyed and her mused hair and dazed expression lead Clia to believe she must have just woken up. Beth wore only a thin t-shirt and black silk boxer shorts, Clia had seen her dressed like this many times, but today she seemed different. Clia noticed Beth’s small breasts and how they stood up and strained against the thin material of her shirt. She found her eye attracted to the gentle curve of the brunette’s hips and noticed for the first time the girl’s firm and shapely legs. Clia’s eyes returned to Beth’s face, the girl was very attractive; there was no doubt about that. She was staring and Clia was startled to realize Beth was speaking.

“Cli?”

Beth’s voice startled her and Clia felt her face flush. Rather then respond she turned abruptly and hurried to her room. Clia could feel the brunette’s eyes on her back all the way to her room. Clia’s attempts at sleep were thwarted by the restless energy and feeling that she should be writing. The disturbing encounter with Beth also left her feeling restless and edgy. She tossed and turned in her bed until she finally gave up and returned to the kitchen and her writing tablet.

Clia barely noticed anything going on around her until Sharon asked if she was going out with them. Clia begged off and was actually relieved when Sharon didn’t push the issue. She watched her roomies leave for the evening from her place at the dinette. Sharon wore a tight red mini dress that showed off her figure and left her long legs bare. Shelly had on a white western shirt with a sting tie and black flared skit and cowgirl boots. Beth wore a green body suit with a short black fringed jacket and blue jeans. She also had cowboy boots on and her black Stetson. Must be Bronco’s tonight Clia thought.

She studied her roommates with a detached view that she only achieved when on an insomnia binge. Sharon was pretty, but not overly so. She made up for it by dressing and acting in a way that exuded sex. Guys flocked around her almost as if they could smell sex and she reveled in it. Shelly was a little heavier than Sharon and not quite as pretty. When she had first moved in she had been as shy as Clia, but her boyfriend breaking up with her had changed her. She had become as wild as Sharon, and just as brassy. Clia felt like it was a knee jerk reaction and that she would calm down some over time. Beth was dressed the least sexy, but to Clia’s eye she was the most attractive of the three. She didn’t exude sex appeal, but there was a far away quality to her, something intangible, that Clia found extremely appealing.

What am I thinking? She asked herself. She realized her scrutiny hadn’t gone completely unnoticed. Sharon and Shelly were chatting away about this guy and that, who would be out, where they would go if Bronco’s was dead, but Beth was staring at her curiously. Clia felt herself blush and looked away. She didn’t look up from her blank comp book until she heard the door close.

By the time they returned Clia was close to tears. She had never experienced writer’s block like she was now, and that powerful need to create was making it even worse. On top of that her mind would not stay focused and returned again and again to her mysterious classmate and if she could have admitted it to herself, to her small roommate as well. The swirling emotions, lack of sleep, sexual frustration and buzzing need to write all culminated in a whirlwind that left Clia wanting to curl up in a corner and sleep.

Sharon was draped over the arm and shoulder of a huge guy with a crew cut. Clia decided he must be on the football team from his huge muscles and obvious athleticism. Shelly was with a short swarthy guy with black hair and black eyes. Clia took an immediate dislike to him. He had the arrogant look of an abusive bastard and since that was the kind Shelly went after Clia had no doubt he was just that. Beth was alone as usual, but she seemed far less sober than she normally was. She wasn’t drunk, but just in that giggly state of being buzzed.

Shelly and Sharon made no attempt at conversation; they both had one thing on their minds and retired to their bedrooms without more than a casual hi to Clia. Beth started a fresh pot of coffee and leaned against the counter. She was staring at Clia with an expression that left the tall blonde hot and flushed. She made two cups of coffee then sat down and pushed one across the table to Clia.

“Soooo, whats up?”

“Nothing,” Clia said, hiding her discomfort by looking down to sip her coffee.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing, why do you ask?”

“Well let’s see, You have been walking around in a trance since Thursday, you haven’t backed out on us going out two days in a row since you were sick last semester, You haven’t eaten or slept in two days, you tell me,” Beth said with amusement evident in her tone.

“Two days?”

“Who is it hunny?”

“Who is who?”

“Oh come on, you can tell me. Is it Bobby? Or Jordan?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Cli, you have a crush on someone. It’s so obvious. You can tell me, I’m your best friend,”

“A crush?” Clia asked. It all became so clear to her then. Beth was right she did have a crush on someone and the someone she had a crush on caused her to feel sick to her stomach.

“Okay, so not Bobby or Jordan, a guy in one of your classes?”

“Oh God,” Clia exclaimed. It all came pouring out then, the girl, the dreams, everything. Clia was sobbing by the time she had finished. Beth said nothing, simply listened until Clia had no more to say. She moved to the chair next to Clia and held her as she sobbed.

“Shhhh, it’s not as bad as all that. It’s going to be all right,” she whispered.

---

By the time class started Tuesday Clia was a nervous wreck. She didn’t know what to say or what to do, she found herself torn between praying the girl wouldn’t be there and hoping she was. Clia arrived in class a half hour early and took her normal seat. She started each time someone entered the room, twisting in her seat to see who it was. Dr. Roberts arrived to call the class to order and there was still no sign of the girl. Clia was not sure what she felt, disappointment of course, but also a curious relief. On the other hand she had to wonder if the girl had ever existed at all outside of her imagination.

Clia found herself listening to the lecture today and actually enjoying it. Rather than being boring she found her mind conjuring up images of times long past. She found her fertile imagination beginning to place characters of her own design in among the historic personalities. She felt the creative energy begin to build inside of her and she hastily pulled out her notebook and began to scribble down ideas.

“You needn’t write so fast,” a soft voice behind her said. Clia stiffened and then slowly turned her head. The girl with the dark eyes was sitting behind her. Today she wore a simple white dress with a modest neckline and hem that fell to mid calf. Clia felt her breath catch, she had never seen anyone so lovely and her heartbeat quickened in her chest.

“I…I mean…” Clia stammered.

“I am going back to my apartment after this class. Will you come with me?” the girl asked in that soft voice Clia had come to love. Clia tried to respond but no words would come. Her heart was hammering in her chest and it hurt to breathe. She was so confused, pulled in so many different directions and so unsure of her feelings and of herself. This strange girl was inviting her back to her place and Clia felt sure she knew what for. She was not at all sure she was ready for this, but she knew she could not refuse either. In the end she simply nodded her head.

The class was almost over, but the last few minutes seemed to last an eternity to her. When the professor closed his book and gave out the homework assignments Clia felt herself becoming incredibly nervous. She was sweating and shaking and suddenly not at all sure she could go through with this. The auditorium emptied out quickly and soon it was just Clia and the girl. The girl was standing, her book already in her bag and holding the black case Clia assumed held an instrument of some kind. Clia felt her resolve melt and she tried to think of a way to get out of going. She started to say something, but her eyes caught the girls and she felt her will to resist fade away like ice under the Aegean sun. She followed the girl out of the history building and across campus in an almost trance like state. She did not hesitate to get in the girl’s car with her and throughout the short drive to her apartment not a word was exchanged.

The apartment was small and tidy, very comfortable and pleasant. The girl fixed drinks and sat on the sofa next to Clia. It was only then with their bodies so close together that Clia could find words.

“I don’t know what I am doing here, I must be mad,”

“You are here to begin a great adventure. I, not for what you are now, but for what you can be, have chosen you. In a very short time we shall see if you are worthy of the gift I can bestow,”

“I don’t understand,”

“No, but you shall,” the girl said as she stood. A gleaming light seemed to come from her body and as she disrobed Clia could only stare in fascination. The light became intensely bright, so bright Clia had to shield her eyes, when it faded she was awestruck. The woman who stood before her was not the Greek girl she had known, but a tall, statuesque woman with unearthly beauty and the wisest eyes she had ever seen.

“What?”

“Do you not know me?” the woman said in a voice that was both musical and wonderful.

“No, I don’t,”

“I am Clio,” the woman said simply.

“Clio? This has to be a dream,”

“No little one, it is no dream. I am the muse and I have chosen you,”

“But, I don’t even like history,” Clia protested. Somewhere in her reeling mind it occurred to her she was arguing with a figment of her imagination. It seemed so real, but so had the beach dream. She wondered if she was dreaming in Professor Robert’s class at this very moment.

“No, but you do not know history, or yourself, but that will change, NOW!”

The final word echoed like a thunderclap and the world spun away in a dazzling kaleidoscope of colors and tints. Swirling patterns of light and color coalesced around her and she had the sensation of falling, but not fast, almost floating downwards. This seemed to last forever and yet happened in an instant. The paradox was such that she nearly blacked out from the influx of stimuli. She closed her eyes and tried to block out the colors but it did not work and she became aware of sounds. Millions of sounds, the roar and clatter of battle, the gentle patter of a summer rain, the voice of a man crying out in pain, the scream of a woman overtaken by ecstasy, the cry of a new born infant, the dirge of a funeral, and so many others. She heard each with clarity, but at the same time they were one cacophonous roar in her ear. She felt as if she would loose her mind and then suddenly all was still.

Clia found herself standing on the beach of her dreams. There was no poet this time, only the Greek girl from her class. She was sitting on the rock that the poet had been leaning on and staring out at the sea. Clia approached her carefully. The girl looked at her and smiled.

“Clio?” Clia asked.

“In one of my many guises. This is the one you are most comfortable with is it not?”

“Yes. Where are we?”

“You have asked that once before, but I will answer again, we are on the Isle of Lesvos, in the Aegean Sea,” she replied with amusement evident in her voice.

“Why?”

“History has no beginning child and no end. If I am to be your guide I had to start somewhere. Your own latent potential and desire lead us here. So it is here that we will start,”

“Start what?”

“Your grand adventure. I am going to show you history, show it to you in a way you cannot imagine, and in doing so give you the unique insight into it that will mark you as one of the greatest of writers,” the muse said.

“Why me?”

“You have the potential, you lack only the direction and inspiration. You are also unknown to man and you must remain so. Should you ever have intercourse with a man, my gift is wasted,”

Clia was unsure of what to say. She had always planed on getting married and having children one day. That dream was a nebulous one, with no particular husband in focus. For that matter, she realized she was more enamored of the concept than any particular dream or plan. Five days ago she would have laughed if someone had broached the quaint idea of her having a muse. Now she believed with all her being that the mythical patron spirits of creativity existed.

The bargain Clio offered was one that many people would have refused out of hand. Clia weighed the options, but she knew before she finished what she would do. She had always felt a deep commitment to her craft. Now she was being offered the chance at inspiration beyond mortal ken. There really wasn’t that much of a choice to make.

“Show me then,” she said at last.

Clio smiled and nodded. She climbed down off the rock and motioned for Clia to come nearer. Clia approached without fear or trepidation this time. The pretty girl gently touched her shoulder and the world dissolved around her again. The sounds and colors engulfed her again and she struggled to keep her sanity.

“Relax,” the soft voice of the muse urged her, “trust me and let go. No harm will come to you,”

Clia forced herself to relax. The swirling colors and cacophonous sounds crashed in on her and for an indefinite period of time she lost herself in the storm. Slowly the colors began to coalesce into scenes, the sounds wore away to a sound track and time began to flow past her like a river. She was everywhere at once and saw everything that had happened through time. An impartial observer, unaware of her existence as a single being, she watched the rise of Greek culture and it’s fall. She saw huge empires rise and fall in the dense jungles of South America and the long voyages of the Vikings. There was far too much for her to ingest it all, but some things remained clear in her mind even after years had passed. Clia sensed the guiding hand of her muse, directing her attention to specific events and people. The muse’s choices in scenes that stuck out seem capricious but Clia detected a common theme, they were always scenes involving women.

Clia watched the mysterious workings of the cult at Delphi, she saw the high priestess of an Assyrian cult conducting an orgiastic ceremony where all the participants were women, in the far north she watched a woman rise to lead a tribe of Celts on a bloody rampage, and she saw a pharaoh’s daughter control the mightiest empire in the world from behind the scenes. In every case Clia witnessed women in positions of power and authority, women who made significant contributions to art, literature, statecraft and civilization. She was conscious of the fact that none of these women had ever appeared in any of her history lessons.

Clia felt the gentle urging of her guide pulling her attention towards England. She felt her mind slowly focusing first on the island, then on a particular castle, then on one room in that castle. With a suddenness that was disconcerting Clia found herself standing on the cold flagstones in a large room. Clio stood behind her taller now and no longer wearing the guise of her classmate. She could see the muse but she somehow knew that the occupants of the room could not see her.