Philip's Mill

The paperclip sat by Philip’s side. Silent and motionless much like his mind. He stroked the computer keys with his fingers and gazed at the computer screen in front of him. Much of his life had become regimented and he wasn’t sure how long it had been exactly since his last stroke. The mornings saw him grind his coffee first thing, which he'd subsequently brew after a few pull-ups on the front porch and a short shower. Doctor Wells recommended Philip keep a diet free of caffeine, but Philip saw no other reason to get up in the morning than to smell and taste the varied flavors of his favorite brew. His bathroom walls stood out in a bright yellow, and Phil enjoyed speaking to them as if they were an entity that imbued a sweet summer joy that the rest of his apartment lacked. Now and then Philip considered his successful writing career as a youth, and how he might write and be published again somehow. These thoughts were always singled out as the kind that were dangerous and destructive to his mental health, by his friends, doctor, and family. But something inside Philip, this particular afternoon, had changed. He no longer wanted to fear the disappointment he felt would come with trying to write. So he didn’t want to try, he just wanted to write and accept the limitations of his poor memory and slowed cognitive function.

“Dear Sandra”

He began to write.

“I miss you, and I want you to come home. I’m feeling more like myself than ever and I really miss you. If you’d consider seeing me again I can assure you that I will let you speak and I won’t cut you off.

All my love,
Bill”

He began to tense up, feeling a new kind of uneasiness in his stomach.

I hate writing.

He stood and walked into the kitchen, slowly to enjoy the giant red rug under his toes. He felt misdirected. Philip was a sorrowful man. He took a banana from the counter and began to peel it as he headed back toward the computer chair. He sat and erased the last line.

Sandra and Bill had been apart for more than two years. Bill’s letters always went unread and Sandra had been in three relationships since they parted. She never thought about Bill and even went so far as to consider that he had never existed in the first place. Bill deemed Sandra a goddess, however, and realized that his only place in life was beside her.

Philip arranged his feet under his butt, to sit more closely to the screen. He felt drawn into his story already, which went far beyond his comprehension. He was surprised at his ability to find the keys and type steadily and without error.

“The mill where we first met is still standing.”

Philip pictured Bill in his mind.

... a bald man with a long mouth, hairy arms and plenty of pounds around the waist. Bill wanted to meet Sandra again, at the mill outside of town, to revisit the early days of their short-lived romance. The circumstances in which Bill and Sandra met were highly improbable, and for that very reason they had jumped into a series of escapades together which treaded upon both of their moral codes; but religious precedence went by the wayside as soon as they felt the magnetism of love. Sandra saw Bill as a gift to her for reaching out to her family again, in hopes of healing deep personal wounds. Bill saw Sandra as a reason to live and become a better man. They lived not far from each other in Malchese, New Hampshire when life granted them the unlikely meeting. Sandra was driving toward her father’s home one evening and discovered a new route to take. When she pulled off to the side of the road to get a better look at a bird that had been injured, she noticed a small sign in the field next to her.

“Old Mill 5 Miles”

She got back in the car and drove in the direction of the faded arrow. Bill was already at the Mill, scouting out the area for mushrooms, which he was never successful in finding. Sandra however, found a cluster near a pile of hay on the west side of the mill creek, and laughed heartily when she realized the stranger on the other side of the meadow had the intentions of finding that same cluster, but was carrying an empty bag. Bill made his way toward her without notice. His body led by his downturned head, eye-grazing the landscape.

“Hello there.” Sandra said, startling him.

“Why hello.” He chuckled and then quickly gained composure. It didn’t take long for his eyes to adjust to the light and take in Sandra’s fine figure. “Nice day.”

“For mushroom hunting, oh yes, perfect.” She raised up her arms declaring her skill in finding the fungal wonders.

“No way, and I’ve been looking for how long?” Bill held the clear freezer bag he carried up to his face, and peered through it meeting Sandra’s smiling eyes. He felt instantly enamored and yet perplexed by this woman. “You’ve been here before.”

“Just discovered it! When was this place built?”

They both looked toward the high gray stones where the sun was meeting the roof of the mill.

“It is old. I used to come here when I was a child, when the wheel was working. It’s a haunting thing to be here again.”

“I’m Sandra. What’s your name.”

“Bill. Bill Phillips.”

They took eachother by the hand and shared a beautiful Morel salad that evening ...

Philip stretched his arms out to his sides. He took a deep breath and caught the end of a yawn. His coffee was tasting a little cold now after having written for a half an hour, but it tasted better than ever. Bill and Sandra. Philip and Bill and Sandra. There was a new reason for Phil to get up in the morning, and it was something that could last, if he let it. All it would take is his computer chair and a mind to let the world around him surrender to the things inside.