I.R.

It had been a while since Paula's last short story. Now it was time to get back to work. Nonetheless the beginning is always the hardest thing. Once you’ve had a break for too long, you’d feel alien to the things that you once loved. Talents don’t go, but they get buried in the basement, if they remain untouched for too long. Other than that she realized that her confidence to write fiction had disappeared almost completely. Whom does she write for other than herself? Stephen King calls that person the "Ideal Reader". Paula knew where her I.R. had disappeared to and therefore she started packing her bags to go to Lübeck.

When knocking on I.R.'s door, she heard him say "Come in."

The door squeaked as she opened it. She smelt freedom, tranquility and solitude, but also some tension.

"Hello”, she murmured.

I.R. was sitting by his desk whilst scribbling something onto paper. He still looked beautiful as ever, but the loneliness that was floating in that room made him appear somewhat misanthropic and anxious.

“I knew you’d come back crawling one day” he said.

“I am not crawling.”

“You would, though.”

She smiled. No matter what, he was the only one she would admit everything to. Despite of her honesty toward the entire world, there were a lot of more that only he would ask her and he was also the only one to ever hear the answers.
Awkward silence was hanging in the air for a moment, making the room grow even bigger than it already seemed to be; at least big enough for two entities to share their ideology.

“You know things haven’t been easy for me” she suddenly sobbed.

“Neither for me. You needed some space, so I granted you that.” He carried on scribbling words down. That was when she noticed a pile of paper next to him on the desk.

“What are those?”

I.R. looked at her and smiled for the first time since her arrival. “Well”, he started “these are ideas still locked up in the back of your head.”

“Locked up?”

“Yeah, with me inside.”

The moment she approached him, he got nervous and stopped writing. It felt like he was not used to her being close to him anymore, which sort of confused her, as if a shield had suddenly appeared between them.

“Don’t”, he said.

“How can I open the door?”

“You can’t.”

There were traces of fear and desperation spread on his face, guided by an encouraging smile.

“Only I can open it”, he said quietly.

He turned back to his writing and pretended she was not there at all. She was still standing there in despair, unable to get closer to him, unable to put her hand on his shoulder. They first met when they were eleven and used to be inseparable since. Now was the first time ever she felt that that connection had been cut off. It was all a matter of trust; trust leading towards confidence, will and plenty of hard work - teamwork, in order to rebuild that broken connection.

“You’ve just read what Stephen King wrote. Sort out your tool box now and get started.”

Her heart began to fill itself with bliss and hope, resembling the happiness of a child in its mother’s arms.

“So you’re still my I.R.?”

He gestured at the pile of paper on his desk and started to laugh, as if that question was ridiculous. Hearing that laughter meant everything to her, because it signified that everything was going to be ok in the end and that her second chance was definitely granted.

“Well, first revitalize your language, sort out your grammar and work on your style. They are appalling. The bystanders and Laurie’s Cottage Pie are good stories, but they need a hell of a lot of polishing and you know it. I can’t open the door for you if you don’t start putting your shoulder to the wheel.”

There was a long pause between them again. Though, this time the silence had brought them back together, as the tension had finally dissolved.

“Will you forgive me?” she asked. A trace of insecurity and guilty conscience was still evident in her eyes, as if fearing that he would carry on resenting her for what she had done.

He laughed. “You are writing this now. You’re gonna make me forgive you anyway! Have I got a choice? But honestly…” he paused and then looked at her in earnest. “Don’t you know me at all?”