Following Me(9)

From the perfect location, Devon could see the entire Chicago skyline in the reflection of the structure. She crossed her arms and stared up at it, wondering what she would see if she saw her own reflection. Would she see herself rounded and distorted like the city line was in some places or would she appear whole and perfect?

A part of her hoped to see herself rounded and distorted like she felt, but as she approached, she saw her reflection was like any other mirror—a lie.

“Want me to take your picture?” Garrett offered.

Breaking her out of her silent reverie, she shook her head. “No, thanks.”

She didn’t want any pictures of her by The Bean. It reflected the skyline, and that itself was the masterpiece. Her image would only obscure the view.

“Are you sure?” he asked, extending his hand for her iPhone.

Devon pulled it out of his reach. “No, really, I don’t want to be in any pictures.”

“Come on, everyone wants their picture taken with The Bean. I even have Bean pictures. Don’t you want to show your friends or post it on Facebook?” Garrett asked with a smile though it was clear he wasn’t really joking.

“I appreciate it, but no pictures for me. I’m not on Facebook anymore, so I don’t have anywhere to upload them,” she told him, tucking her phone into her pocket.

“How do you survive? Hadley lives on there. Half the time, I can’t even reach her through her Facebook daze.”

Devon shrugged. She’d had to shut it down, at least temporarily. If she were to check in, it could show her location, and she didn’t want to accidentally make a mistake. It wasn’t like she could rig Facebook into saying she was in both Paris and St. Louis at the same time. She was no genius with computers, and even if she were, she was pretty sure it was illegal.

“I’m living in the present,” she told Garrett, which was true. She didn’t even want to think about the past.

“It’s the best place to live.” Garrett just stared at her with the same curious expression on his face.

The whole conversation had triggered something within her. She felt like if she didn’t get her feelings out right then and there, she would lose it. Digging into her purse, Devon pulled out her notebook. She grabbed her favorite pen, stalked over to a park bench, and immediately started writing down bits and pieces of whatever came to her mind.

Garrett followed and sat down next to her, peering over her shoulder. “What are you writing?”

Moving the notebook out of his view, she murmured, “Nothing.”

“Looks like something. I don’t know many people who carry notebooks around with them.”

“Me neither.” She continued to jot down ideas as they flowed through her.

“Is it like a journal?” he asked, trying to read what she was writing.

She scooted down the bench. “Just give me a second.”

She wrote one last line and then shut the notebook. Garrett was staring at her intently, and she made a point of not looking at him.

“So, not to pry or anything,” he said, obviously prying, “but who just whips out a book in public and starts writing?”

He laughed at her, and she couldn’t hold it in as she laughed softly with him. He had a point.

“I can’t help it sometimes. The words are just there.” She stuffed the notebook back into her bag and stood.

“Are you going to tell me what you wrote?”

“Nope,” Devon said, turning away from The Bean.

“Is it like a journal or a diary? Is that why I can’t read it?”

“No. I don’t talk about my writing. Sorry,” she said. “Is that a garden? Can we walk through?”

“Sure,” Garrett said, “but don’t think you can change the subject so easily.”

“It’s not a big deal. Just forget about it.” She walked briskly in the direction of the garden.

She hated when people asked questions about her writing. It was deeply personal. She kind of hated herself for the compulsive habit, but she had been doing it since she was a kid. She was good at it, but she didn’t share well with others.

“It’s kind of a big deal to you, isn’t it?” Garrett asked as they walked into the garden.

“Not really,” she said, biting her lip.

“Then, you can tell me about it,” he said smoothly.

Devon stopped and shook her head. She knew he was just being nice, but he was meddling into things she didn’t want him near. She needed to change the course of the conversation. Any question he asked about her was going to be one question too many.

Bending down, she took a series of photos of a purple flower in bloom. It was better than answering Garrett’s questions. He might be trying to get to know her, but she wasn’t ready to open up to anyone anytime soon.

“Hey, sorry,” he muttered.

She glanced up at him as his hand brushed through his dark brown hair. He actually looked sheepish.

“I didn’t mean to get in your business. I didn’t know it would be so private.”

Devon slowly stood. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”

“Afraid your writing sucks? I know that’s why I don’t show anyone anything I’ve ever written,” he told her.

“No, it’s not that,” she said. Writing came very natural to her. “I just don’t like to show people.”