Page 34 of The Write Off

“Did you just say ‘elevensies?’”

“Logan,” I laugh, looking up at him. “You act like you’ve never read The Lord Of The Rings.”

“I haven’t.”

“What?” I had assumed Logan didn’t get my Middle Earth jokes because he has a terrible sense of humor, not because he didn’t understand them. “You never read them in grade school?”

“I told you. I’ve never been into fantasy novels. They weren’t required reading in school and I never had any desire to pick them up on my own. Truthfully, I meant to watch the movie, but I’ve just never gotten around to it.”

“You haven’t seen any of them?” The Lord Of The Rings movies were a staple of my childhood. I’ve watched the extended editions so many times I can practically recite them.

“I take it that means there’s more than one?”

I can’t. I just can’t.

“You’re killing me, Carmichael. Yes, there are three of them. Each one an award-winning cinematic masterpiece in its own right.”

We reach an intersection and wait for the light to turn green. I shift from foot to foot trying to keep my toes from freezing and deciding that sneakers were a poor choice in this cold.

“Why fantasy?” Logan’s facing me on the sidewalk, his hands in the pockets of his long wool coat.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s obviously your favorite genre. You write it, you read it, and you watch it. I just want to know why you prefer it to stories that take place in the real world.”

I feel my eyebrows inch closer to my hairline underneath my knit hat.

“Have you taken a good look at the real world lately? It’s awful,” I snort.

Why fantasy? I mean, why oxygen? Why gravity? I search his expression for any hint of condescension but only find what looks like genuine curiosity.

“It’s just my favorite,” I say with a shrug. “Why do you like to read…wait, what do you read other than your dinosaur erotica?”

“I still don’t think that exists.”

“I promise you it does, but that’s not the point. What do you read for fun? Instruction manuals?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “I enjoy mystery novels. Detective stories, usually. I’ve always enjoyed puzzles and a good whodunnit makes you feel like you’re working the case right along with the protagonist. I like following the clues and trying to reach the right conclusion before the culprit is revealed.”

I picture Logan sitting stiffly in a straight back chair, frowning at a beaten up paperback. A notebook and pen rest within arm’s reach on the table in front of him, ready to record his thoughts and suspicions. The image makes me bite back a grin.

“It’s my favorite novel structure,” he continues. “A crime or some kind of perplexing event occurs. The protagonist takes on the role of solving the mystery. There are rules that must be followed, like each suspect must have a motive and an opportunity for committing the crime. Suspects are interviewed, clues are gathered. All the while, with every new piece of evidence, every twist and turn, the audience is kept in suspense until the satisfying conclusion. There needs to be a balance of stakes and intrigue. It can be beautiful when done properly.”

Neither of us realize that the light has turned green until people start pushing past us to cross the street. When we start walking again, I feel like someone poured lead in my cross-trainers. How does Logan do that? Just say how he feels without fear of judgment, meanwhile I’m dodging questions with evasive maneuvers that rival the best fighter pilots alive.

I operate on the policy that everyone around me is on a need-to-know basis. But why? What would I lose by being more open with my feelings? Maybe the better question is what could I gain?

“I guess I’ve never been much of a rule follower.” I keep my eyes on the pavement ahead of me as I speak. “When I was in preschool, my teacher told my parents that I went out of my way to color outside the lines. And when all the other four-year-olds were drawing boring brown bears and lions, I was making mine green and purple. I was told I had an overactive imagination, but I never understood why that was a bad thing.”

I’m not one who opens up easily and talking to Logan about my childhood feels very personal.

“So fantasy allowed you to put that imagination to work?” he asks when I don’t continue.

It did so much more than that.

“It gave me the freedom to do whatever I wanted. There were no rules to follow unless I made them. No boundaries, no limitations. People can travel through space and time, animals can talk to the dead, and trees can see the future. Women can be warriors and children can rule empires. It doesn’t matter how fantastical or unrealistic the idea is: If you can think it, you can make it real on the page.”

“You’re not rejecting reality.” His smile makes my knees weak. “You’re just creating your own.”

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