Harvest Moon. Sharon Struth

the first soft pluck of a guitar string, she shut her eyes and let the music dance inside her mind. Notes now moved at a faster tempo than his last version, a more uplifting sound. She detected some added parts, a place where the melody dipped, but wasn’t down for long before soaring back to the inspiring tune.

      When the last note played, she opened her eyes, blinking to adjust to the sun peeking through the slats of her window blinds. Over a month ago, he’d asked for her help with song lyrics. She liked how he remembered when she’d shared about an eleventh grade poetry contest win, but never dreamed he’d ask her to tap into those skills.

      She went to her e-mail inbox, to a folder marked “Eclectic Expressions.” Every piece of their shared correspondence was saved here, like treasured notes from a lover. If Emily knew, she’d surely launch into a lecture about how keeping these virtual letters was pathetic, especially when actual men roamed the earth.

      Veronica searched through them until she found an e-mail with the subject “Lyrics Part 2,” where she’d asked what inspired him to write this particular piece in the first place. She reread his reply… My song is about hope.

      She leaned back in her chair and played the song again, optimism obvious in each gentle note. His music lifted her spirits and made her crave more information about the man behind the music. What did he hope for, though? In the time spent crushing on him like a fifteen-year-old, she rarely gave much thought to his real life.

      She closed the old e-mail, the words for his song still out of reach, and replied to this morning’s letter.

      To: [email protected]

      From: [email protected]

      Subject: Our Second Argument

      How quickly men forget. Our first argument was a rather lengthy discussion over the best Beatle’s song, one ending in a draw.

      Sorry, but now I can’t get that Elvis image out of my head. I will forever believe I’m e-mailing a man dressed in an Elvis jumpsuit, bejeweled and dazzling. Still wearing those sideburns long?

      What can I say about “Song 32?” You are truly gifted. These latest changes have taken the piece to new heights. After hearing other music you’ve written, I’m beginning to get a sense of your musical voice. You’re very talented.

      Why haven’t you signed with a record label yet?

      I haven’t forgotten your request for lyrics, and I’m giving them their due consideration… The creative muse cannot be forced.

      Now, on the matter of our SECOND argument, when you watch this video clip, you may agree that I have won this worst music video battle. Or maybe it’s another draw….

      Etta

      After a quick search, she found Olivia Newton John’s song, “Let’s Get Physical,” and inserted the link at the e-mail’s bottom. An unexpected smile traced her lips, thinking about his reaction. She hit send, wondering where he was right now. Having his morning coffee? In another time zone, like the west coast, and still asleep?

      Her smile disappeared. Visions of this man—whose face she’d never seen—appeared in her mind: him having coffee with his spouse before work, or lying in bed with his wife or girlfriend. Had she gone so insane that real opportunities slipped past her while caught up in a fantasy man?

      Like the moment when the stranger’s stunning blue eyes met her gaze in that stuck elevator. As if a switch flipped inside her, desire she’d buried after her rape had worked to the surface, in hindsight the very reason she’d scurried away so quickly once they got out.

      Veronica’s computer pinged. Ry had replied, much faster than usual.

      To: [email protected]

      From: [email protected]

      Subject: My Music

      I knew I shouldn’t have told you about the Elvis outfit…lol!

      Gee, where were you when I was in my early twenties? That kind of morale boost would’ve made me indulge in real considerations of a music career. Thank you so much for your kind words. It means everything to me that you like the piece.

      Fondly,

      Ry

      … It means everything to me that you like the piece.

      Mixed emotions seized her, an equal balance of romanticisms for him and fear of the unknown. If the Internet camouflage were lifted with Ry, she’d feel scared, like she had on the elevator floor with Mr. Blue Eyes.

      Scared of what, though? The man on the elevator hadn’t wanted to hurt her. There had been moments his soft gaze showed kindness. She swallowed, reminded how she’d been mistaken about such indications before.

      She exited the e-mail program, but the fears pinning her down for far too long still lingered.