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Even with internet access, I still wasn't drowning in ideas.
Just staring at a blank screen is not inspiring. Now I know what they mean by writer’s block. I sure have the digital equivalent.
I stared blankly at my laptop screen for hours. I had come to find inspiration. I felt like I was on a vacation.
I was tired of going into town. I was bored with the paths I took for my walks and runs. I hated my stay every time I went out of the Lodge. I was antsy in my room. It reminded me I was in a backwater town where I’d never belong.
That afternoon, I was sitting in the so-called great room when I got a call. My mother. I had not been keeping in touch with her. I quickly did the math; I was certain she was back from her trip to the Maldives.
"Hello Mama," I called my mother "Mama.” It was what I had always called her ever since I was a child, and I never thought to call her anything else.
"Trev," she said with so much enthusiasm from the other end of the line. I could tell she had missed me, and I had missed her too. "When are you coming back?" she asked directly.
My mother was not a woman to mince words, she always called a spade a spade. Irrespective of whose feelings she was about to hurt, she would tell the truth. It was one of the traits I loved about her, even though most of the women I had been with thought otherwise.
For my mama, no woman was ever good enough for me. She had complained about every girl she had seen with me. And being that I never regarded them as anything more than flings, my mama's disapproval of them didn't really disturb me.
"Mama, you know I can't come just yet." I sighed. I missed her, I wanted to see her too.
"Still having issues with your creativity?" She sounded concerned.
"Yes, I just can't seem to have a breakthrough. And I've been trying all I can," I lamented.
"You just take your time; it will come to you," she assured me. I couldn't deny that hearing her say those words to me did calm me down a little. I had been putting so much pressure on myself even though I didn't have any other deadline but my own.
"I hope it does sooner than later."
As I was talking to my mama, Lindsey came downstairs. She glanced my way and immediately turned her face away. She never looked at me for more than a few seconds.
Your own fault, you know.
She rustled through a book on the counter, and just then the landline rang. She picked up and got talking to someone. I wasn't paying attention to what she was saying, but she was all smiles as she spoke. I became curious about who was on the other end of the line.
"Who is that?" My mother's voice drew my attention back to her.
"No one important, Mama," I said, looking away from Lindsey, who seemed to be overly enjoying her conversation.
"That's a rude thing to say," she corrected me. "Just because they aren't important to you doesn't make them less important to others. Every human being is unique and valuable."
"I'm sorry, Mama, you’re right. Miss Gibson is the owner of the lodge I'm in.”
"Is she pretty?" Mama's question threw me off guard. I knew she was one to ask unconventional things, but I had not expected her to do the same over the phone.
"Mama!"
"Judging from your reaction I can tell that she is." She giggled, as she knew she had caught me. It was hard hiding things from her. "Put her on the phone, I want to speak to her," she demanded.
I was perplexed. My mother had never asked to speak to any of the ladies I had been with before, but she heard Lindsey's voice at random and suddenly wanted to speak with her?
"I can't do that, Mama, she is very busy." But just as soon as I said so, Lindsey dropped her call and continued rummaging through her book log. I guess she was making an account of all she had made for the week.
"Come on, I won't take much of her time. Please."
I was hoping Lindsey wouldn't say another word, then I could lie and say she was gone. But Lindsey gasped and laughed at something the person on the phone with her had said, and my mother heard her, ruining the lie I was preparing.
"Put her on already," she demanded. Unfortunately, at that very moment, Lindsey hung up her own call.
I felt stupid having to go to Lindsey and say the words, but I knew if I didn't put her on, I wouldn't hear the end of it from my mother. I got up from the couch and walked to the desk, "Hey, uh, my mother wants to speak with you."
