A Name (edit 3)

Nora’s finger stopped on a name amid the filled M pages of her little address book. The gray lines of the entry were scuffed. Particles of graphite spread out sideways like shadows under each letter.
The address was for a tiny studio apartment on the ground level of a building that no longer existed. They pinned a sheet over the window so that no one could look in from across the alley at the twin bed in the corner.
Nora placed the little white book on her lap. She leaned away from the couch cushion and put her elbows on each page and her face in her hands. Headlights peeked through the venetian blinds over the window as a car passed by. Lines of light ran across the room for a moment. Between her hands, Nora could just make out the writing under the shadow of her arm.
The letters were written in cursive. Nora had fallen in love with her own peculiar loops and lines one summer. She said her hand danced across the page. She liked the feel of it. She had applied for her marriage license in cursive. She was asked to fill out the forms again in print.
Nora looked up at the picture frames above the fireplace of her parents and friends. She leaned back against the couch. She picked up the book. Her fingers tightened around the cover.
Taped on the studio wall was a string of photo booth pictures. Her hand had trembled in the air. She tried several times to get her nail under the tape to peel it from the wall. She placed the pictures in the little book. They must have slipped out on the bus.
Nora freed one hand from the book. She picked up the napkin where Marshall had scribbled his number. After dinner they had walked around. They passed an empty lot.
“Are you alright?” Marshall asked.
“Fine” she said. She looked down at the sidewalk.
Marshall was a nice man. He had a good job. He had his own house. He was sweet. And he liked her. And many people liked him.
At her door, she tiptoed to kiss him, stretching more than she needed. She opened her eyes and found herself above his eye level. She lowered her heels to the ground.
Nora pressed the napkin to the page of the book with her thumb. Another car drove by. The lines of light moved across the walls and ceiling. She closed her eyes. The studio’s ceiling leaked. When it rained, the water would seep through to every floor and form cracks in the paint and drip into mugs and jars they had placed around the room. But they didn’t care. They lay in bed and watched the water flow through different lines to converge at a point and drip to the floor.
She picked up a pencil from the couch. She turned it upside down and pressed it to the page. She scratched it side to side and brushed away the eraser dust with the side of her palm.