In the anxiousness of waiting, minutes seem like hours. Sylvia's absence was ten minutes, but in that interval Richard's thoughts traveled many paths that returned him to his starting point. He could not comprehend this mysterious woman, who was neither old nor young; was plain yet alluring; who spoke in provocative phrases that could be interpreted innocently. Why had she deliberately ruined her silk blouse, and why was this plain, older woman's absence stirring him? The questions were beginning to unnerve him.Reason urged him to find an exit; excuse himself and leave. The nagging mystery would not allow it. He would remain to the end, until he found his answers. He raised his drink to his lips, looking for its warming effect to summon his courage. He was about to enter a maze with no knowledge of the ending. Youth was slipping away. Maturity endows courage. A younger man might have backed away.At long last, the bedroom door creaked open. In the semi-darkness, Sylvia slowly emerged. Cypress sat down at her computer—a very old Packard Bell that barely managed to run the internet—and reaching for her backpack. She didn’t have any friends, so she would have to contact her teachers about the work she’d missed. And figure out what kind of excuse she could make as to why she’d been out of class. Maybe I should tell them that I was sick, Cypress thought. Better yet, that my father was in the hospital. Because he yet might be, if he keeps talking himself into a hole. There was not a whole lot else to do. With e-mails sent off to each of her teachers, Cypress spent a little time surfing the net. She couldn’t do much there, either, because she had the slowest connection known to man. Instead she found herself pulling an old romance novel down off her bookshelf and curling up on her bed to read it. Corny and lame, she knew, but there was nothing else to do. Nothing aside from read, and get up occasionally to check and see if her teachers had gotten back to her. Oh, and.
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