The Poet and His Muse

While Jason Petrov stirred his oatmeal in the boiling water, thinking about the new poem he was writing, saying the line in his head, sensing he was getting closer, the phone rang shattering his thoughts and forcing him to close his eyes at the disturbance. "Oh, fuck!" he muttered out loud, slamming the spoon down on the counter then barked, "Who the hell could that be?"

He walked over to the phone glancing at the bird feeder outside his kitchen window, noting it was empty then picked up the phone, "Hello," he said, mustering up the strength in an attempt to not sound grumpy. "Oh, Emily," he responded when he heard. "What? You say you're on your way here."

Jason nodded as he listened. "What do you mean you're on your way here?" he asked, stunned that the graduate student he had been emailing answers to was on his way to his cabin. "And you're lost," he continued, looking down at his dog, Oscar, whose whimpers indicated he wanted to go out. Jason put up one finger to Oscar as if saying, "one minute," then, "I'm surprised. I didn't know you were coming here," he spoke into the phone, running his fingers through his thinning white hair, closing his eyes, shaking his head, holding the phone to his ear as he listened.

"Well, you're not too far away," Jason said carrying the cordless phone to the kitchen door to let Oscar out, glancing up at the sunny sky, glad it wouldn't rain again for the third day in a row. He then stood at the counter looking down at the pot of oatmeal, giving it a stir, shutting off the flame, trying to remain calm. "Emily, I'm surprised to hear you're on your way. I don't know what to say."

Jason nodded, closing his eyes as he realized Emily was ten minutes away and just needed directions. He told her to watch out for the big rock on her left then turn into his lane and keep going through the woods and around a bend then she'd see the solar panels on the right and she'd be here. "See you soon," he added, glancing up at the apple shaped clock, seeing she would be arriving in ten minutes at eight thirty and he wouldn't have time to continue working on his new poem.

"Damn," he muttered, annoyed that Emily Rubin was going to show up, unexpected, uninvited, intruding on his quiet, simple life where all he wanted was to be left alone so he could work on the book of sonnets he was writing.

After sprinkling raisins on his oatmeal, he took the bowl to the round oak table where he had his laptop and his notebook and where he spent most of the morning writing before going out to garden. He looked out the window, again noting the bird feeders needed filling, read over the six lines of the new poem while he ate, trying to remember the line he was saying before the phone rang and again, feeling annoyed that someone he hardly knew was about to show up, shook his head, "I don't know about young people today. They just do what they want."

He knew he couldn't continue working, his mood and concentration had been intruded on by the imminent arrival of the graduate student who was doing her doctoral dissertation on his work. Though Jason felt flattered that anyone would want to do a study of his six books of poetry, the last one published over ten years ago to not much acclaim, he never expected she would just show up at his door. He remembered Emily saying she thought it was by far his best work and deserved much better reception than it received. Still their correspondence was all via email and now he didn't know what would be with her surprise visit.

Jason knew very little about Emily, had no idea what she looked like or how old she was. All he knew was she was a young woman getting her doctorate in literature from the University of Boston and had now made the uninvited five hour trip to his cabin in Maine. She had emailed him eight months earlier telling him that she had discovered his poetry in a used book store in Cambridge and knew instantly she had to do her doctorate on his work. She said she was "blown away" by his poetry. Surprised and delighted by her enthusiasm and desire to study his work for her PhD, he agreed to answer some questions and help her in anyway he could, but also how much he valued his privacy and time and he might not always be available.

All of their emails had been focused on the poems, the techniques he was experimenting with, what was going on in his life at the time in an attempt to put the poems in context and Jason was impressed with how serious Emily was, how probing and insightful, often pointing out things in the poetry that he had not been aware of. He thanked her when she shared her appreciation of a poem or a particular line and they often sent three or four emails back and forth in a day discussing a particular topic before Emily one day asked if he minded having a gmail chat, that it would be faster and easier and Jason agreed.

The chats were definitely more efficient and focused mostly on Jason's later books. Emily always had her questions prepared, took notes then typed a new question and waited for his response. One time she asked if he had skype which he didn't and had not intention in getting. "That's cool," Emily responded then asked a few more questions about his work, but more recently, just before signing off she'd ask him what was happening in his personal life, what has he been doing and their on-line conversations became friendlier and a little more casual. He told her he was working on a new poem and recently finished a short story but also that he baked some bread, what he had planted in the garden, that deer were browsing in front his cabin, but never revealed anything too personal.

Recently, towards the end of one of their chats, Emily mentioned she was having personal problems and difficulty concentrating but didn't say much more than that. After that, two weeks passed and he hadn't heard from her which surprised him because previously she had contacted him at least every two days with a question. Then a week ago, he received an email with two questions about a particular poem then wrote at the end of her message that she had broken up with her lover of two years, a young professor in the English Department, and though she was trying to work on her dissertation, she was in a bad way. She might have to take a break and added how much she appreciated the time Jason was giving her, how important she thought his work is, that he deserved to be better known and was determined to finish her dissertation.

Jason admitted he liked that someone was so interested in his work and his life, especially after having not published anything for ten years. Rarely was he invited to give a reading and he was now resigned to the fact that he was pretty much forgotten after being so acclaimed for his work and his influence on younger poets. It had been twenty years since winning the Pulitzer for his second book, The Hole in the Wall and fifteen since receiving the National Book Award for his fifth book, The Hills of Shangri la. But five years lapsed before his sixth and final book which was published ten years ago with little notice. He recognized he was being replaced by the next generation of poets who were now the darling of the literary magazines and the critics for the New York Review of Books and the New Yorker, where, for a time, his poetry appeared several times a year. No longer was he mentioned or published, nor invited for one or two year positions as Poet in Residence at various universities, and now here he was, a reclusive poet in the woods, writing everyday wondering what, if anything, would become of all the new poems he had written. Not many poets were writing sonnets these days or cared about traditional forms.

Now, Emily had shocked him by announcing she would be there in a few minutes. He finished his oatmeal and was rinsing out the bowl when he heard Oscar bark and saw her red Saab drive up and park next to his rusting pick up truck. He realized he knew so little about her or even what she looked like. He eventually learned she was thirty five, entered graduate school ten years after finishing second in her class at Dartmouth, had been married, divorced, no children but that was it. All of their conversations had been purely professional up until six or so weeks ago when the tone had changed slightly, becoming mildly personal. Then two weeks ago she told him she might have to take a break from her dissertation because of the problems with her lover had gotten worse and she would be in touch. And now she was suddenly showing up.

Jason opened the door and stood out on his small porch while Oscar ran towards her barking. Emily got out and waved over the roof of her car, then leaned back in to get her backpack, a black laptop case and a briefcase. He could see she was a small with dark hair, but that was all until she started walking up the winding path to his door. Now, he could see she was a slender woman wearing faded jeans, a long green flannel shirt, unbuttoned covering a black turtle neck shirt.

She waved again as she made her way up the path, stopping to kneel down and pet Oscar who was still barking. When she stepped up on the porch, she looked around at her surroundings, took a deep breath of relief that she had arrived then reached out to shake Jason's hand.

"Bet you're surprised to see me," she said, smiling and Jason was struck by her sparkling blue green eyes and the smallness of her hand as he took it in his.

"You can say that again," Jason answered, pausing, looking at her, noticing how pretty she was, how petite, how her wavy dark hair fell well below her shoulders, her snug jeans, her smile, her dimples, high cheek bones and olive skin which gave her a somewhat exotic look. "What are you doing here? What made you think you could just show up?" he asked, trying not to sound too upset but it was impossible for her to not hear his discomfort and annoyance.

"I know it was crazy. I can't explain it. I just wanted to be here," she said. "I know you're upset with me just showing up."

"Well, you're here, so I better get used to it," Jason said, seeing she was trying to apologize and explain, "You might as well come in," he said, holding open the screen door for her.

When they entered the kitchen, her eyes widening as she looked up at the wooden ceiling, noticing the skylights, the windows, the sunlight pouring in the windows, the bird feeders, the round oak table with Jason's laptop and notebook. "Wow, your place is amazing."

Jason liked her enthusiastic response, the way her eyes moved around the room, how she put her backpack and computer satchel on the floor, rubbed her hand over the wooden counter and felt a warm sensation sweep over him when he realized how beautiful she was, how her smile seemed so radiant, noticing her breasts straining the black turtle neck sweater, barely covered by the unbuttoned baggy green flannel shirt and how her round ass stretched the snug faded jeans. He was stunned by the impact her presence had on him, how his annoyance at her suddenly shifted to pleasure as he absorbed her energy.

"So why are you here?" Jason asked, still bewildered but also fascinated by her.

"To tell you the truth, I don't really know," she said. "It's complicated. That's why I'm here."

"What do you mean it's complicated?" Jason asked, "What made you drive five hours without letting me know and just showing up. I have to admit I was upset when you told me you were lost a few minutes ago and asked for directions."

"Sorry I upset you" Emily said. "I knew you wouldn't like it. I mean, you told me many times how you want to be left alone but I couldn't help it. I had to come."

"What do you mean you had to come," Jason asked, filling up his white kettle with water, "How about some coffee or tea?"

"Coffee would be great, make it strong, I've been on the road since four this morning," she said. "Well, you know I broke up with my boyfriend but what you don't know is it was because of you," she said.

"Me! What do you mean it was because of me?" Jason asked, alarmed. "What did I have to do with you breaking up with your lover?"

"He was jealous," Emily said. "I mean, it's true I kept talking about you and your poetry a lot and he knew I was reading everything thing I could find, every article, every review, all the interviews, especially the one in Paris Review, that was amazing, Jason, that interview and also the article you wrote for Atlantic Monthly about the importance of poetry in a computerized, technological society and how you asked what it means to be human in a highly technological society and that was way before computers took over. That one was visionary, really, sorry to be rambling."

"That's okay, but I still don't get it, what do you mean he was jealous, jealous of what?"

"You," Emily answer, pausing looking at him. "He said all I ever talked about was you and if I wasn't talking about you, I was writing about you then one night he kept asking me to come to bed, it was late and I'm a night person and was really into it and he blew up and yelled, 'You're in love with that fucking poet.' I tried to calm him down and said he was being ridiculous and we had a huge fight and the fights continued. He was angry a lot and jealous. To tell you the truth, I began to realize he was a baby, really, but I tried to reassure him that I loved him and wanted to be with him but then I saw he was right."

"What do you mean he was right?" Jason asked just as the kettle's shrill whistle interrupted. He took the kettle, listening while filling the French Press with steaming water.

"I don't know. I mean, he was right that I talked about you a lot, but then I started thinking about how I felt when I read your poetry. It wasn't just the words, but it was something more, like I could feel your spirit, like I thought you were speaking to me, it's so hard to explain. I told you I found your book in a used book store in Cambridge and was blown away and I had to read everything and that's what I did. I got all of your books. I was just finishing graduate school at Boston University and had to have a topic for my dissertation. I had several poetry courses, you know, the eighteenth century classical poets, the Romantics, I did a great paper on Blake, by the way and Keats, you would have loved my paper on Keats, 'heard melodies are sweet but those unheard are sweeter' I love that line. And then I was studying Twentieth Century poets, Frost, Eliot, Pound, Wallace Stevens a bunch of others. I had never heard of you until I found you book and here I am."

"I know you're here," Jason asked still not sure what Emily was saying. "I'm not following you," he added, pressing down the plunger in the coffee press. "Why are you here?"

"I had to find out what was going on with me," Emily answered, "So here I am. I couldn't stop thinking about you, dreaming about you, talking about you. I can see now why Kevin was upset with me and why he couldn't stand you, even though he knew nothing about you and why he just stormed out of our apartment. That's when we broke up. I wrote you about that. It was irrational, I thought and I was in a bad way, confused, hurt, upset, but then I woke up last night, sat up in bed like I was hit with lightening with this feeling that I had to be here and here I am."

"So what's going on with you, what feeling?" Jason asked. "I still don't know why you're here?"

"I had to see you in person. I mean I have lots of pictures of you from different magazines and I know you're a lot older than me by twenty five years and you're going to think I'm some whacky woman but I was drawn here, I wasn't sure if it was me being romantic, which I am, super romantic, but I was having sexual fantasies about you. Now I hope I don't embarrass you Jason, but I would get so wet thinking about you."

"Emily, I had no idea. Our conversations were always so focused on my work. You seemed so disciplined and serious. I know that recently we started writing to each other about different things and I knew you were having problems with your boyfriend, but I never felt there was something sexual. It never occurred to me."

"How could you? I knew how you said you valued your time and privacy and though I was dying to talk about other things, I kept it professional just out of respect for you."

"Thank you," Jason responded, taking two mugs to the table, moving his computer and note book aside, surprised at what Emily was saying while noticing how green her eyes were, how her olive skin glowed in the sun pouring in the window, how her petite body seemed to be containing a vibrant energy that radiated and washed over him causing a twitching in his cock, surprising him with how attracted he was feeling to this young woman and liking how she spoke with such energy.

When Emily moved to sit down, her leg brushed his thigh and Jason tried ignoring the accidental touch but noted how a subtle bolt went through him. He tried ignoring what he felt but was surprised that such a tiny touch awakened something deep in him, somehow reminding him what it felt like to have a woman next to him, someone so pretty and lively and how long it had been since he made love to a woman and how resigned he was that he would never have a love life. But that slight touch and how animated Emily was explaining her suddenly coming to his cabin made Jason's mind spin with conflicting feelings.

Jason poured coffee into Emily's mug and to his, brought over his honey bowl then asked, "Would you like cinnamon in your coffee?"

"Wow! You like cinnamon too," she said. "That's so cool. I love cinnamon in my coffee."

Again, Jason had to chuckle at her enthusiastic response while he got his little jar of cinnamon and placed it on the table with a spoon.

"I know I'm probably upsetting your life by suddenly showing up like this," Emily said, adding the cinnamon but no honey. "But well, you write a lot about following your dreams and passions, that's one of the themes in your poems that I loved and I wrote a lot about that, also, your ideas and feelings about destiny, very complex but fascinating, how you think everything is random, things just happen."

Jason enjoyed hearing how thoroughly Emily had studied his poetry and how impressed he had been with her insights when they corresponded, but now she was in his kitchen, showing up out of the blue, acknowledging upsetting his life with her sudden appearance. At the same time, he kept looking at her slender body, her breasts more revealed as she leaned back in her chair, her nipples poking as he realized she wasn't wearing a bra.

"Yes, destiny and randomness are big themes of mine," Jason said. "And you're right I do write a lot about how I followed my dreams, that's one of the reasons I'm here in the woods."

"Yes, I know," Emily said, looking at Jason over the rim of her coffee mug. "And that's one of the reasons I'm here."

"What are you saying?" Jason asked, sipping his coffee, glancing at the empty bird feeder, then back at Emily. He glanced over at Oscar sniffing her back pack and computer case. "Are you saying you're following a dream?"

"Damn this is hard for me," Emily said. "But when I found myself fantasizing about you after writing all afternoon and sometimes late into the night and getting wet, having to masturbate, I couldn't stand it any more. I knew I wanted to fuck you."

Stunned, Jason didn't know how to respond to Emily's blunt and direct words but gasped at the conflicting feelings rising. Her honesty touched him, excited him as he acknowledged how sexy she was, how surprised to suddenly be seeing her, never having any idea that the woman who had been so professional and focused on her study of his work was so enticing. It never occurred to him, but now, after suddenly showing up and explaining why she was here, he wasn't sure what to do or say. All he knew was he was struggling to keep his erection from getting harder, feeling his arousal growing while realizing Emily was young and vulnerable and it would be wrong for him to let anything happen. She's young enough to be my daughter. He would have to control the situation and not let anything complicate his life.