I’m sitting there in my new found spot and from the corner of my eye, I see someone approaching. My stomach does a flip, because for a moment there, I think it might be Desmond.
I put my book away in anticipation, but as he gets closer, I realize that it’s not Desmond. Who is this and why is he walking toward me?
The guy walks straight up to the bench I’m sitting on, and in a deep baritone voice asks, ”Do you mind?” Indicating that he’d like to sit down.
“No,” I say, although I do mind. I can’t understand why he chose this bench when there are plenty of empty benches in the park.
“Thanks,” he says before sitting.
I’m feeling nervous, because here I am in a near empty park with some strange guy.
He sits and I scan him with the corner of my eyes.
I am afraid for no reason. He has done nothing to threaten me.
I check out his arms. He has tattoos all up and down his arm. Could he be a gang member, a thief or an ex-con? I know I’m being biased, but like I said before, I have an over active imagination.
I take a chance and get a good look at him. He has a nice face. He’s actually quite handsome. There’s just the tattoos. I sit there afraid to stay, but also afraid to get up and leave in case that offends him in some way.
I take a chance and quickly stand, only he follows suit. “Uh…” he says as if he has something that he’d really like to say, but he is too nervous. I know that feeling well.
“Well, have a good day…” I say in a shaky nervous voice.
“Uh…I’m sorry, but you seem really familiar,” the guy says, effectively stopping me from leaving.
“Uh…my name is Wendell…Wendell Harding,” he says offering his hand for me to shake.
I hesitate, but figure there’s no harm in giving him my first name. “I’m…Athena,” I say.
“No way! I knew that I recognized you! You’re Athena Sparks. You wrote ‘Lonely Girl’!” Wendell says; his voice full of excitement over his discovery.
Now I’m no longer afraid. It’s funny what being recognized for your work will do to you. It makes you totally let down your guard. “You’ve read my book?”
“Of course! It’s incredible. I saw your picture on the dust cover. You’re even prettier in person!”
“But it’s only been recently released. How did you discover it so soon?” I ask.
“Oh, I’m an avid reader! If it’s out there, I try to make a point to read it.”
I’m impressed and intrigued. Who is this tattooed man who reads?
Wendell seems to disappear into his own world for a moment. “Oh man! I can’t believe it! I’ve actually met the actual author of a book I love!” He reminds me of a child who has gotten what he really wanted for Christmas. The only thing that’s missing is the jumping up and down.
I’m flattered. Someone actually read and enjoyed my book.
“I’m working on my second book now…part two of ‘Lonely Girl’.”
“Oh I can’t wait! It was amazing how well you captured Ebony’s internal struggle in the first book. I cannot wait to see how she figures it all out.”
To my surprise I find myself openly chatting now. “I always thought the book would fall more into the ‘chic lit’ category. I never thought that a man would actually enjoy it and get anything out of it.” I say wondering if Wendell might be homosexual.
He seems to pick up on my thoughts. “No, believe me…I’m not gay. ..not that there’s anything wrong with it. And you really did a great job of making your characters accessible to everyone. As a male, I could also relate to Ebony…and your male characters are so well thought out. A lot of female authors create these shallow dense males, but you really added a lot of depth to your characters.”
“Well, it’s good to have such great male feedback,” I say, then without thinking I add, “I might have to have you read the first few chapters of the next book.”
Wendell smiles. “I would be honored.”
“Who are some of your favorite authors,” I ask.
“Oh, I read such a variety of books that it’s hard for me to limit my favorites down to just a few. But I love anything by Jack Sims, Amanda Beasley, D.W. Craig and Carmen Weems.”
“I love Carmen Weems! She’s my absolute favorite. And that biography that she wrote about her brother…in-cre-di-ble!”
“Are you kidding me? Her absolute best book was her very first. It was pure and innocent. I couldn’t put it down.”
“Yeah, you got me on that one. I’ve reread it at least 3 times!”
Wendell laughs. “Now that you have me thinking about it, I may have to pull it out again when I get home.”
“Oh…there’s this other author. His name is at the tip of my tongue, but he is a must read.”
“Describe his work. I may know who you’re talking about.”
“He is really great at writing stories about his growing up. Dang… my favorite book by him was…what was it…’Archie’s’…something.”
“You’re talking about C.D. Burns. The book is ‘Archie’s Psalm’.”
“Oh God…yes! Wasn’t that one incredible!’
“That one hit really close to home. It reminded me of my own childhood,” Wendell reveals.
“I heard that he has other books out there that have not been officially released.”
“I heard that too. I read his story online and apparently he had an agent that tried to make him write gangster literature, so he fired her. That’s too bad too, because he’s such a great writer and I hate that thug literature that’s out.”
“Oh God yes! It’s like a bad rap video.”
Wendell laughs in total agreement.
“I thought it was just me,” he says when he’s finally able to stop laughing enough to speak.
“No, not just you,” I say.
“Oh man!” Wendell says, trying to calm himself after another burst of laughter. “Oh! It’s so rare to find great conversation,” Wendell says.
Great conversation? I think to myself. No one has ever said that I offered great conversation, yet here I am having a full blown discussion with a man I don’t even know.
Before I have time to think, I say the unexpected, “Um…I was about to head home for lunch. Would you like to join me?”
“Sure. I’d love too! I could never turn down an invitation from my new writing idol.”
As we walk to my house, I begin to regret inviting Wendell over. Just because we shared a good conversation, doesn’t mean that he is safe to be around. Writing idol, is what he called me. What if he’s a stalker?
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