A Girl Went to Boise

The alarm went off before the sun even came up. Sleep was restless last night. “He won’t show,” she thought to herself. A part of her just wanted to roll over and fall back asleep, save herself the embarrassment. “He won’t show, but I’ll go anyways, when will I get this chance again?”

She emerged from the shower just as the sun was coming up. It’s not something she’s used to in southern California where the sun is early and plenty, but here in Boise, Idaho, the sun rises an hour later and it’s cold, a dry cold that takes a long time to warm up. It would be 80 later that day, but for now she settled for a tee shirt and fitted leather jacket. She applied her favorite shade of eye shadow around her lower lids, it really accentuated her hazel-eyes, brining out an almost turquoise green. Yet she felt her face was too round, it’s something which has always bothered her given her naturally athletic frame. “I know I’ll fix it some day, but what if he is put off by it?” She turns to show her profile, “he won’t show anyways, and this is not why I am here.”

This was true of course. She came to Idaho to visit a friend, this was just the more convenient (note free) destination to fly into. It had been many years since they last talked, and she hadn’t exactly made a great impression after they stopped. She admired him, a former mentor, but she also knew she held deeper feelings even if not exactly based on a strong understanding. Anyways, things were different now, and she was ready to show that. Of course, there was always the very good chance he won’t show. It’s not like she texted him, no she elected to share an open invitation on her blog. She can’t be certain, but it seems likely that he’s been reading again. “I mean, who else is clicking on posts with a French VPN?” She assured herself of this just as many times as she assured herself it was wishful thinking, just bots or someone else. She continued to try and explain it, “it’s a brand new site, it’s not like readership has grown yet and it’s not even for that purpose.” Yet here she was making the same mistakes, or was she? She couldn’t be sure. All she knew is she wanted to clear the air here in Boise, Idaho, to be forgiven for her past transgressions, and whatever happened after that is fair game, even if it meant he would truly never speak to her again. It was a risk she was prepared to take.

The coffee shop was the sort of boho-chic transplant spot where coffee costs more than the average wage of the waitstaff. She ordered a matcha latte, but the barista had heard mocha instead. She accepted it without complaint. Ever since landing yesterday, nothing had gone to plan. Her rental car had poor brakes, and had to be exchanged after a two hour ordeal. The razor broke in the shower, and tired of sitting in construction-traffic, she walked a mile to a pharmacy to replace it. Even the hotel made a mistake with the key card. It just felt like the universe was trying to signal a mistake.

The universe wasn’t wrong either, because as ten minutes passed became twenty minutes became thirty minutes, it was clear he wasn’t going to show. And he didn’t. She thought back to yesterday, wondering if that was him in the silver BMW SUV. “It couldn’t be, I mean who would follow someone from an airport, I didn’t see him around the mostly quiet terminal.” Yet that face captured in her rearview mirror looked almost just like him, or perhaps that was wishful thinking too. Then another thought entered her head, “imagine if it was him, imagine that if this were in reverse and I followed him from an airport, imagine the thoughts he would think, he’d think I was proper nuts.” And he’d be right, if she had done that.

Her thoughts then wandered back many years to the film premiere in New York. She dropped a drawing off at his assistant’s hotel at his request. She knew he wasn’t staying there, she only stuck around to meet her friends for dinner and drinks. In fact she was with a childhood friend the whole time— she didn’t want to go alone. Of course she knew where he was staying, he was staying in a much fancier hotel with the other above-line crew members, the important people. A friend was attending the premiere, and she knew where that was too, that’s also how she knew about the hotel. She steered clear of both out of respect. “If he wanted to meet, he would have taken the drawing in person,”
she assured herself. Many years later she would move to Los Angeles, and by mistake in a google search, she discovered his address under recent results, something related to some neighborhood group. They lived in the same zip code the whole time! She felt so guilty knowing this, mortified, she didn’t want to know this. But she did, and in spite of knowing this, in spite of only being a mile apart, to this day she has never once gone near that house, she doesn’t even remember the address, just that it was in the hills. Around the same time, when he poked his head into the restaurant she was eating at, likely in response to her posts about it on social media, she didn’t leave her table. He came back in again, it felt like a test, she didn’t get up. No, there were certain lines you don’t ever cross, for as bad as she desired his attention and as bad as she wished she was at dinner with him, it had to be his call. “I am never going to piss him off again if I can help it,” she thought, agreeably. Yet here she was, grabbing her things from her seat at this coffee shop, wondering if he did follow her from the airport, and still didn’t show up, she somehow knew they would never speak again. The thought hit her deep in the stomach, that sort of knot which can only be released by a good cry. When she returned to her hotel, that’s exactly what she did before heading out to the real reason for her visit.

****

“Why the fuck is she coming here,” he wondered, staring at the screen. Screens were a safe way to interact, he liked that, this sort of anonymous voyeurism which didn’t lead to any consequences. This was a place where he was in control, he likes it this way. He wasn’t even sure why he does it, he probably couldn’t even explain it to himself, curiosity one supposes. It had been years since she had even mentioned him in those passing ways, many years on from the sad, desperate attempts for his attention. If he thought she was a bit nuts back in the days of the premiere, the early days of Los Angeles definitely solidified it for him. Yet he still found himself curious. She claims she has changed. “I’ve heard that before,” he thought. Sobriety under her belt, spiritual calmness, a more level head, a stable career, sure some things had changed, but even if she has changed, how could he possibly trust it? He stared at the open invite, and decided not to click on it. Nope, not going to take that bait, “she’s probably sitting at her computer refreshing the screen,” he imagined.

As the days came closer to her date of travel, he found himself wondering more about the purpose of it. “Surely it’s not by accident she is coming here, she doesn’t need a free flight, she flies business class and could easily afford a direct flight to Sun Valley, she’s clearly fishing for an interaction.” He saw she posted a drawing, harkening back to the days of his last film. Of course he hadn’t clicked on the link but here she had now publicly intuited the location and time. It was certainly creative, that’s always something she had going for herself. Yet, what good would meeting do? What would they even talk about? On some level he also assumed it was beyond the mere professional reason that she wanted to meet, and whether attractive or not, this was absolutely not something he would entertain during her visit, no matter how suggestive she was being on the other end of the screen. While he isn’t wrong about that desire, it’s also not a line she would cross unless he opened the door to it. But, he knew “I can’t do anything for this girl.” So the matter was settled before she even took flight.

It had been years of course since projects once active in development, talked about in the trades, had dried up. There was no point to staying in Los Angeles any more, and besides it was a good thing to perhaps be nearer to family. Why pay the exorbitant cost of living in Los Angeles when you could ski half the year and have your money go much further. It was a decent tradeoff, and one many would make in the years following during the pandemic. But he was not like
those other Californians, those much hated outsiders Idahoans loved to hate, no this was once home and now it is again. “Who told her I moved here,” he wondered. He’s always wondered who was telling her things. Then he assumed that maybe she looked it up. But he’s super private, how would she even find that? He supposed if there was a will, there was a way. Of course, she hadn’t done any such thing, but it didn’t stop the thought from entering his mind.

As she practically live-tweeted her travels down to her car rental, it was as if she wanted to be followed. It’s a small city, and an even smaller airport. Sure it made international travel difficult, if not downright annoying compared to the convenience of LA, but it was easy to get in and out of. One rental car lot with one road leading in and out. There was a large gas station on the corner, it could provide a decent vantage point. There was curiosity there, even if no intention to follow through. Just another another screen to stare though, only this time it would be a bit more risky because through this screen, this windshield, she could stare back…

Whether he ever acted on the impulse or not is anyone’s guess. She of course came back to Boise again after a brief stay in Sun Valley. This practically annoyed him, as she set out another place to meet. “She didn’t get the hint the first time?” She did, but it was harmless to try again. It wasn’t anything she wouldn’t normally have done that morning, other than inviting him. Over the week she posted constantly about her stay, much of it lonely and some of it downright negative. “Well if she hates this place so much maybe she won’t come back.” But oh no, she liked it in the end, or did she— she went back to Sun Valley early and posted constantly about how much happier she was there, two and a half hours away. “Far enough she won’t ask to meet a third time,” he thought. In the end she did like Boise, and since returning to Los Angeles, she has even missed it. He didn’t know that of course, nor did he really care. He decided then and there he would no longer read her posts. “I do hope she writes that novel, in fact she should focus on that instead of trying to get my attention again. I won’t distract her any more.”

****

So she did set out to write that novel. And on November 26, 2025 she completed her outline and even set out work concurrently on a Sci-Fi novella off the encouragement of a friend in literary management. With every word she writes, she still thinks of his encouragement and advice. With every dream she imagines in her head, she hopes that he may be apart of it. If she could give back to him, she would without hesitation. There is nothing she wouldn’t do for him, and if that makes her nuts, then so be it. So as her home emptied out on Thanksgiving, two months to the date from that sad Saturday morning in Boise, the house smelling like fresh lemon Lysol and Pledge, her back aching from cooking all day, she opened her computer to sit down and write this post that almost no one will read just for the love of writing, a love she owes to him. So with each word, each manuscript page bringing her closer to that dream, she holds out hope. To be a dreamer is perhaps somewhat nuts. No sane person would get on a one-way flight to Los Angeles without a job in place, change careers and still return to the page years later. She has, and she has in a way where she feels compelled to do so. She does so as a changed person with a renewed focus and maturity that she never had before and that’s why she knows this time is different.