ONCE UPON ANOTHER TIME

by McQuestion, Rosary

  Laura squinted while staring at the man. “Come on let’s walk up there and find out if it’s him.”

  “What!” My response came out like a spontaneous sneeze. “No, no, I can’t.”

  “Why not?’

  “Why should I?”

  “Because, well…who knows, maybe you two will hit it off. Besides, don’t you want to find out if he looks like the guy in your dream?”

  “I’m a total disaster. I’ve got these ratty old jeans on and my ‘Hiking at Bear Mountain’ T-shirt, and I’m having a really bad hair day.”

  Laura cocked her head to one side. “Do you want to be alone for the rest of your life?”

  I thought back to the pages of the book, the clues Matt kept giving me. I knew he wanted me to read the book for a purpose. He wanted me to compare myself with the protagonist. If I didn’t stop dealing with issues of the past, I’d end up alone, forever! However, I was terrified. For most people the word “terrified” conjured up such things as going to the dentist, having open-heart surgery, or flying in a plane when you have a fear of heights with a double whammy of claustrophobia. However, for me, terrified translated into the fear of letting go of who I’d become. What if I don’t like the new me? I stared at the tall man standing outside the storefront window and tried to swallow past the lump in my throat. “Okay, fine,” I said softly.

  “Good,” said Laura. “Just pretend we’re shopping, and don’t stare at him; we don’t want to look conspicuous. I still don’t know if it’s him.”

  We casually made our way toward the front of the store when I became panic-stricken. “Where’s Nicholas?” I stopped and spun around in a dizzying three-sixty, frantically scanning the store.

  “Hey Mom, look! It doesn’t have a back on it!”

  Nicholas looped a pair of red lacy thongs high above his head like a cowboy whirling a lasso. The tall handsome man Laura and I were stalking, casually glanced into the store, as Nicholas’s antics caused a commotion of laughter from the customers. I turned and crouched behind a rack of silk pajamas, while motioning for Nicholas to stop playing with the panties.

  “So much for remaining inconspicuous,” Laura said, when she suddenly blurted out, “Hey, it’s him!” She nudged me to get up from my crouching position. “I’ll get Nicholas and keep him occupied,” she said, while you walk out into the mall. Remember, the object is to draw his attention so he notices you. Make it look natural like a chance encounter. Sort of like the first time you met him, even though you were zonked out of your mind and don’t remember.”

  I gave a robotic nod. With head held high, I tried to muster bravery, but with each step I took, I felt as though I was making my way to the gallows. My courage waned and finally collapsed. My heart pounded as I took cover behind a three-dimensional jungle display with the words “Get in touch with your wild side,” scrawled across the top in hot pink.

  I glanced over my shoulder at Laura with Nicholas in tow. With lips pursed into a tight knot, Laura waved her hands at me as if she were shooing hens from a coop. I pushed back the thick overlay of simulated animal skin underwear that hung from a cardboard cutout that looked like a coconut tree, to spy on the man. I didn’t have the slightest idea how I’d pull off another chance encounter. Besides, what would I say to him?

  Hello, remember me? I’m the incoherent, babbling idiot who crashed into you at that upscale restaurant last weekend. Yes, yes, that was I, the one doing the impersonation of that Baywatch fellow from years ago who was sprawled across the floor of that burger place.

  “May I help you,” crowed a voice to my right.

  My eyes traveled upward to see Cruella De Vil incarnate. The woman’s eyebrows were knitted so high, they looked as if someone had stitched them to her hairline.

  “Um, well…I was interested in this leopard print bustier. However, I’m more of a zebra print person,” I said, and scurried out the door. That’s when I realized I’d lost track of the man.

  I pushed my way through a maze of shoppers and then I saw him and unexpectedly found myself in a time warp. It was the Christmas of eighty-two. Yes, I still believed. And yes, Santa had delivered the single most important request I had whispered in his ear at the J.C. Penny store. It was the most handsome doll that had ever rolled off an assembly line, perfect smile, rugged square jaw, dark hair, and a deep bronze complexion--Party Time Ken.

  I edged my way toward him, yanking on my T-shirt and smoothing my hair, when all at once, my sneakers screeched, as I came to an abrupt halt. Some little tart had thrown herself at him, lacing her slender arms around his neck. She was dressed in a sexy white skin-tight top and seductive little pink skirt short enough to show off her toned tanned legs and narrow hips. Her wavy auburn hair spilled down her bare back to stop right above her tiny waist. She looked like a jeweled necklace draped over his chest.

  This was a bad idea. I swung around to walk away but instead crashed into a revolving display of vintage old books next to a kiosk in the center aisle. The racket drew attention. I peeked over my shoulder to see Ken looking my way. He did look like the guy in my dream!

  I quickly stumbled to my hands and knees to pick the books up off the floor, when there in front of me was “Love Spirit.” Opened to a page that spoke of the protagonist dreaming about the beautiful spirit, and that he was desperate to find her.

  “Oops, I forgot to move that. Sorry,” a boy said, lisping his Ss.

  A tall, lanky teenager with black spiked hair and a complexion like red raspberry preserves stood over me.

  “Sorry ma’am, I’ll get those.” His toothy grin flashed a set of metal braces.

  “No entiendo,” I said, trying to ignore the teen.

  The man at the mall definitely looked like the man in my dream. Just like the protagonist in the novel who glimpsed the beautiful spirit and how he desperately searched for her, I was desperately searching for Matt. It was as if Matt wanted me to find that man for some particular reason. That’s why I’d seen him in my dream.

  I got to my feet and looked around. The man was gone, but I glimpsed an image of Matt in the crowd. His smile was brilliant, his warm amber eyes twinkled mischievously, as if hiding a secret, and then he vanished.

  Twelve

  “Wake up sleepyhead,” Matt whispered in my ear, while feeling his breath on my neck. “You’ll find me when you look into his eyes,” he said, while running his fingers lightly over my arm, tickling me. “Aubrey, I love you.”

  A shrill sound jarred me fully awake. I rolled on my side and snaked an arm out from under the sheet. Through eyes of mere slits, I fumbled for the phone on the night table. The duvet, neatly folded at the foot of my bed the night before was disheveled and hung over onto the floor.

  “Hello,” I mumbled, as my eyes fell closed.

  “Aubrey, why are you still at home? We’re supposed to be prepping for this morning’s meeting with Fendworth.”

  Laura! My eyes snapped open to glance at the clock on the night table. I fought to get out from under the sheet that was tangled around my leg.

  “My God, I’ve overslept.”

  “Aubrey!”

  “I’m sorry. That never happens. You know that.” I lost the battle with the sheet and fell out of bed. My body hit the hardwood floor with a thud.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” I moaned.

  I got to my feet, ran to my dresser, and pulled the drawer open. Grabbing at my underwear, I flung them in the air frantically trying to find the right day of the week.

  Laura sighed dramatically. “I’ll cover for you. But hurry!”

  “Thanks Laura, I owe you one.”

  Dialing the phone to call my mother to come watch Nicholas, I raced to the closet, yanked my navy pinstripe suit off the hanger, and stepped into my skirt. With the phone cradled between my shoulder and chin, I wrestled with the zipper on my skirt, when my mother picked up on the third ring.

  * * * *

  Screeching tires and blaring car horns from o
ther motorists did little to faze me, as I broke all records while navigating around city streets to cut through downtown rush hour traffic. As I sped the car up the spiraling path at the Arcade parking garage the tires squealed at every turn. The two-block sprint to the office building had my heart flip-flopping in my chest, as I shot through the double doors.

  I quickly negotiated my way around the crowd at the elevator. Impatiently, I jammed my thumb into the button looking as if I were punching out Morse code, when my head began to buzz with voices, thoughts, whatever. It was as if “Inside Edition” had invaded my mind.

  “Bastard, I know he’s sleeping with her…” “Hmm need an excuse…” “Damn underwear creeping up my…” “Yummy, yummy…” “That promotion better be mine or…”

  “SHUT THE HELL UP!”

  Heads swiveled in my direction. I gave a quick look around at the faces staring back at me. Dammit! I needed some kind of cure and at that point, I wasn’t above consulting with a witchdoctor. I’d thought about ramming my head into a wall to jiggle my brain back into place, but I was afraid I’d give myself a concussion.

  The elevator door opened and the crowd rushed in, moving in one solid mass like a giant centipede. I pulled my compact from my purse to see how bad my hair looked from jogging two blocks in humid weather. My frizzed-out hair had puffed higher than a pan of Jiffy Pop.

  Third floor, fifth floor, seventh floor--with each stop, I anxiously checked my watch. My body fidgeted nervously, like I was doing the “bathroom dance” that marks an impending bladder explosion. The dance you do after drinking six cups of coffee and getting stuck in rush hour traffic. However, it was just nicotine craving.

  Nine, ten, eleven, I counted in my head while concentrating on the red-lighted numbers overhead. When the door finally opened to the twelfth floor, it was almost as miraculous as the parting of the Red Sea.

  I quickly stepped forward to exit the elevator, when the spiky heel on my just-out-of-the-box navy pumps wedged itself inside the elevator’s metal threshold. A barge-like woman almost trampled me from behind as she moved forward, while a collective sigh erupted from the crowd of people stuck on the elevator.

  I slipped my foot out of the shoe, grabbed hold of it with both hands and yanked hard. The upper part of my shoe snapped off from the heel, slipped out of my hands, and sailed through the air and into the lobby to meet the forehead of our tall, gangling office boy. As his tailbone made contact with the sleek hardwood floor, the box of shredded paper he carried shot upward. The red and blue shreds became airborne and scattered over the floor like confetti at a presidential election, which caused Mrs. Steadman, our biggest client, to lose her balance and screech like a banshee. Her flailing arms caught the shirt of the UPS man carrying a tower of boxes and brought him to the floor with her, which led to three people sprawled-eagle across the lobby.

  I hobbled into the boardroom holding my briefcase to my chest along with the broken shoe. My face felt flushed, my hair a frizzy, tousled mess. The eight faces around the table gazed curiously at me, as if I were an alien boarding the mother ship. Trying to avoid eye contact, I breathed a sigh of relief that Fendworth had not yet arrived and quickly took a seat next to Laura. Like clockwork, a jumbled mess of voices surfaced in my head.

  “He’ll never make partner…” “Is that a spot on my…” “Looks like she’s finally lost her mind…"

  Maybe I had.

  Thirteen

  I stood at the counter in the break room and stirred hazelnut creamer into a steaming cup of coffee, while daydreaming about the man at the mall who looked like the man in my dream. I tapped the swizzle stick to the lip of the mug and wondered if I’d ever see him again, when a warm hand crept up my back. I flinched and banged my knee against the bottom cabinet door.

  “Hey, are we feeling just a little jumpy?”

  I turned around and was face to face with Neil Masters. His ruffled chestnut hair and cute boyish grin made him look much younger than his thirty-eight years.

  “You really do need to relax,” he said as he began to massage my shoulder, when his fingers slid down to rub my arm.

  “Stop it,” I said, pushing his hand away.

  Neil’s like a hotdog. No matter how many tasty condiments you pile on, it’s still made with meat substitutes.

  “I was thinking you really should reconsider my offer to take you to dinner,” he said.

  Did I mention his obsession of bedding women?

  “When was the last time you read the company handbook?” I asked. “There are rules you know.”

  “Rules?” he questioned, while tapping a finger to his chin, when his gaze traveled from my face down to my stocking feet. “Isn’t there something in that handbook that addresses proper business attire, like footwear?”

  “Yes, well, my morning didn’t exactly start off on a positive note.”

  His eyes sparkled as he flashed a set of fluorescent white teeth. “Maybe there’s something I can do to help improve on your less than perfect morning,” he said seductively.

  “You mean like applying for work at another law office?”

  I turned my back on him and walked out. My sarcasm left a bad taste in my mouth.

  Back in my office, I swiveled in my chair to face the window. Two pigeons waddled across the ledge. One bowed his head to the other. While blowing out his neck feathers, he came close to the outer edge of the ledge. I thought back to what happened at the mall, and my own precarious situation. I didn’t know if I’d ever get the chance to talk to Matt about everything I’d kept bottled inside me. I had no control over the paranormal, and with the quickness of Matt’s comings and goings, it seemed like he didn’t either.

  Did Matt really intend for me to meet that one man in particular, or was it just a coincidence? Something I conjured up in my mind. A misinterpretation of the clues he’d left me. I had to believe he played a part in it. Otherwise, why would I have seen Matt materialize just at that very moment? And what are the chances I’d knock into a spinner rack and have that one special book fall at my feet? With what I perceived to be another clue, something Matt was trying to tell me.

  Thoughts about Matt playing matchmaker, gave way to watching the two pigeons on the ledge outside my window, their beaks now locked together, their heads bobbing up and down in unison. Twelve stories up and they looked like they were fighting. Their little feet struggled to grip the outer edge of the ledge.

  Without warning, my head began to spin. I grabbed the arms of my chair and held on tight, as if I were on the Grinder Gearworks ride in the Gotham City section of Magic Mountain. My heart beat rapidly. While taking gulping breaths, a sudden bright light whitewashed my office, transforming it into a beautiful place edged with long stretches of beach lifting at points into dramatic bluffs. A place held in time, with windswept picket fences and shingled Victorian farmhouses and saltboxes weathered gray by sea winds. I could see Old Harbor on the lower eastern shore where ferries from the mainland arrive and fishing boats moor. The place I was looking at was Block Island, the day Matt died.

  It was early morning. I saw myself lying in bed asleep at the quaint bed & breakfast we stayed at, when the ringing of a phone jarred me awake. The bed sheets beside me were rumpled. But where was Matt? I threw on a cotton robe and glanced out the window, barely able to see the harbor as low-lining wisps of fog drifted above the water like spirits circling a graveyard. Matt’s voice was coming from the bathroom, the door ajar. As I slowly pushed it open, I saw the toothbrush in his hand and his cell phone to his ear.

  “What?” he said into the phone, as he blew out a breath of frustration. “Okay, okay!” Agitated, he flipped his phone closed. With his palms flat on the sink, his shoulders hunched, he first stared down into the drain, before lifting his head to look at me with a mournful expression. I’d seen that look umpteen times.

  It had been going on for almost a year that things came up like emergency calls from a client just as we’d sit down to dinner, or he’d call to t
ell me he’d be a little late for dinner and not make it home until ten at night. There were weekends that came and went with Matt not at home, special occasions with friends and relatives that he missed, and on and on it went until we even started to miss our sacred “date nights.” If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. Work seemed to become his life--his priority.

  He’d tried to justify his actions by telling me things like “Now that we have a baby coming, and we’ll want to continue to grow our family, I need to do everything I can to make a name for myself at the firm.” Or, “Honey, I’m doing this for us, for our baby, I’m just asking you to be understanding of that.”

  So there I stood looking at the expression on his face, the one that says, let her down gently.

  “Babe,” said Matt, as he put his toothbrush down and slipped his phone into the pocket of his jogging pants. “You know how much I love you don’t you?”

  I folded my arms across my chest and glared at him. I knew what was coming.

  “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I have to be back at the office tomorrow.”

  “Matt, we’ve been here one day. You promised we’d have this time to ourselves. I don’t get it,” I said as I ran a hand through my tangled hair, “why do you make promises you can never keep? It’s always about work. When is it going to me about me! About the son, we’re going to have! When Matt, when?”

  I was pregnant and cranky and was tired of being the martyr I’d always been when it came to his precious job. There were times I had felt invisible and other times when I felt angry at myself because I was just as guilty of being career-driven, and I had no room to talk. We’d become two people that represented the old cliché of “ships passing in the night.” But that weekend, I was really trying to make an effort and I thought he was, too.

  “Come on babe, don’t be like that,” he said as he tried to slip his hands around my bulging waist.

  I pushed his hands away. “Just leave alone,” I said and turned away from him.