Daydreams

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “See you, Christian,” Monica said, smiling at him. As Sayler and Monica stood watching Christian drive away, Monica asked, “Is he on the way to super-skank’s house?”

  “Yeah,” Sayler said. “Why don’t you just walk up to him, throw your arms around his neck, confess your undying love, and steal him away from her?”

  Monica rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right,” Monica said. “Now what’s this about a hot coma guy?”

  Sayler didn’t press her friend any more about Christian. Bo Booker was too good a tidbit to keep hidden. “You will not believe what happened today, Monie! You will not believe it!”

  Monie’s gaze followed Christian’s car until it disappeared around the corner. With a heavy sigh, she smiled and said, “Okay. I’ll bite. What happened?”

  Hours later, after Sayler had called her mother and asked permission to stay at Monica’s house awhile, after both girls had giggled and blushed and dreamed over the story of Sayler Christy and how she met the dashing Bo Booker. Hours later, Sayler lay on the grass in Monica’s backyard, gazing up into the summer night sky.

  “You can’t imagine him, Monie,” Sayler sighed. “Seriously. You are going to have to find a reason to come to the Center this week and get a look at him. You won’t believe him! I still can’t believe how nice he was to me. After all, I’m just a goofy candy striper.”

  “You’re a beautiful young woman, Sayler,” Monica reminded her, pointing to the sky as a falling star streaked across it. “You should go for him.”

  “What?” Sayler said, sitting up and staring at her friend, mouth agape.

  “You should go for him,” Monica repeated. “You’re old enough.”

  Sayler breathed a laugh of disbelief. “Yeah, right. You haven’t seen this guy. I mean, he’s like…he’s like a man.”

  “Well, we start at the U come September. Are you still planning to date high school boys when you start college?” Monica teased.

  “Of course not!” Sayler exclaimed. “But I bet even the U doesn’t have any guys like this. And besides, he’s got to be at least mid-twenties. He already runs a business.”

  “Maybe he just looks old,” Monica offered. “I mean, look at Christian. He looks way older than the twenty-one he really is.”

  “Maybe,” Sayler said, a momentary flicker of hope passing over her. She shook her head then and added, “No. This guy is older. You can tell.”

  “Why don’t you just walk up to him, throw your arms around his neck, confess your undying love, and—” Monica quoted Sayler’s advice to her.

  “Okay, okay. I get it,” Sayler said. To Monica’s way of thinking, it would be as hard for her to confess her love for Christian as it would be for Sayler to flirt with a man like Bo Booker.

  “Still, I can’t wait to see him,” Monica giggled. “Should I meet you at the front desk tomorrow…before lunch?”

  “Yeah!” Sayler exclaimed. “Then we could sort of casually pass by his room on our way out!” Both girls giggled with delight in their conspiracy. “Of course, you won’t get a very good or very long look at him. But believe me, it doesn’t take much.”

  *

  Monica was impressed by Bo Booker’s appearance. In fact, she was more than impressed; she was dumbfounded for nearly forty-five seconds. Sayler had reveled at the way her friend’s mouth dropped open at the sight of him. Furthermore, Sayler had never looked forward to her work at the Center the way she did for the next week. The prospect of spending time with Bo Booker was the most motivating force Sayler had ever experienced.

  Each day after her lunch hour and before his, Sayler would enter Bo Booker’s room to find him smiling, seemingly anxious for her to arrive. Each day for six days, she talked with him, asking him questions about his work, his family, and his life. Always, however, she avoided any inquiry about his social life, whether or not he had a girlfriend. She preferred to pretend that he did not, that he was quite unattached and free. That made it easier to daydream about belonging to him herself. Oh sure, she knew daydreams were only that—dreams people made up during the day to entertain themselves. Still, Bo Booker was the perfect subject matter for daydreaming, and Sayler relished every one. And there were many. Sayler would find herself staring up at the sky, but instead of seeing the summer blue, she saw herself on the arm of Bo Booker. Instead of hearing the stories of library excitement when Monica was speaking to her, often Sayler could almost imagine being kissed by Bo Booker—almost feel his lips pressed to hers, almost feel what it would be like to be held in his strong arms.

  In truth, Sayler’s daydreams of Bo Booker were distracting her to an almost detrimental measure. She seemed unable to get him out of her mind, kept trying to think of ways she might manage to secretly take his picture so she could ever and always have his image with her. When she was with him, she felt as if heaven hovered all around her. When she wasn’t with him, she felt anxious, sad, and somewhat desperate. Monica never said anything, but Sayler knew her friend felt the infatuation with Bo Booker was worrisome. He’d be gone in another week—gone forever—and the thought always caused a deep and uncomfortable ache to begin in Sayler’s chest.

  Still, she had determined to enjoy the time she did have in his company. She knew she was too young for him, after all. She wasn’t stupid enough to think her daydreams, any of them, could actually play out in reality. Yet why not enjoy his wonderful existence while she could? That way she’d always have him, always have their moments together, forever have her memories of Bo Booker.

  And so it seemed to Sayler that any daydreams, any memories made with Bo Booker, could be nothing but fabulous. However, eight days into Bo’s stay at the Center, Sayler found herself gaining the very information she didn’t want any knowledge of.

  Bo was sitting in a chair opposite Sayler. She’d come to his room just after her lunch break as she had been doing since his arrival. They were playing a card game on his food tray, and Sayler had bested Bo three out of four times.

  “Forget it,” he said, tossing his cards onto the tray and leaning back in his chair. He linked his hands behind his head and stretched, unconsciously boasting a set of brilliant biceps at the hem of his T-shirt sleeves. “You’ve got me beat. I guess I’m getting old—losing my touch when it comes to fast games.”

  “I think you were just letting me win,” Sayler said, gathering up the cards and returning them to their box.

  “Nope. You beat me fair and square,” he assured her. Sayler gasped when he suddenly reached out and tugged at one of her apron pockets. “What do you keep in these anyway?” he asked.

  It was a playful gesture, and Sayler smiled. “Oh, just the tools of my trade…and a few secrets.”

  Bo chuckled. “Really?” he asked, skeptical. “Show me.”

  “I can’t,” Sayler teased. “It’s against the candy striper’s code.”

  “Oh, come on,” he said. “Show me. Show me some of your candy stripper secrets.”

  “Candy striper secrets,” she corrected. For some reason, she loved the way he always intentionally misspoke the term. “And…and I might get fired if I get caught.”

  “Just show me,” he said, lowering his voice. “I won’t tell anybody.”

  “Okay…but it’s pretty shocking,” she teased, her eyes widening dramatically. Bo smiled and Sayler did too. It always caused her heart to flutter wildly when he smiled because of something she said or did.

  “Very well,” she began. “I just hope you can handle it.”

  “I’ll try,” Bo chuckled.

  Carefully and very dramatically, Sayler reached into one of the many pockets in her apron. She withdrew a small package of tissues and laid it on the food tray between them.

  “Tissues,” she said.

  “Wow,” Bo said, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

  Sayler held up an index finger and said, “But wait…there’s more.” She reached into another pocket and withdrew a small notepad and a pen. These she also laid on the tray between them.

/>   “Whew!” Bo breathed. “I don’t know how much more I can take.”

  Sayler giggled and reached into another pocket. She placed her cell phone on the tray next to the tissues and paper and pen.

  “Hmm,” Bo said, picking up the phone. “A personal item. This is more interesting.”

  “You think that’s interesting?” Sayler asked. “Take a look at this!” She reached into another pocket and dramatically let five cinnamon-flavored lollipops drop onto the tray.

  “Contraband? Nice!” Bo chuckled. “May I?” he asked, taking one of the lollipops.

  “Of course,” Sayler said. She smiled as she watched him remove the wrapping and put the lollipop in his mouth.

  Bo smiled then. It was a mischievous sort of smile. His eyes seemed to twinkle with a rascally light. He lowered his voice as he said, “Do you keep your secret coma-patient lip balm in one of those pockets?”

  Sayler giggled. Reaching into one of the pockets, she produced the small jar of lip balm she had received from Denay the day Bo arrived at the Center. “I do,” she told him, setting the small jar on the tray between them as well.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have your driver’s license in one of those pockets, would you?” Bo asked.

  “Yeah,” Sayler said, reaching into a pocket and producing the small credit card carrier she used as a wallet. “Why?” she asked.

  Bo motioned with one hand that she should hand him the small wallet. Handing him the object, Sayler grimaced, horrified at the fact he would see her driver’s license photo. Taken two years earlier, Sayler was certain she looked all of ten years old in it. It would serve only to remind Bo how young she was.

  She watched, disappointed as Bo indeed removed her license from the credit card case, smiling as he looked at it.

  “So you’re already eighteen,” he said, returning her license to the wallet and handing it back to her.

  “Yes,” she said. She felt ashamed somehow of being so young.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said. He still spoke more quietly, still had a devilish twinkle in his eye. Picking up the jar of lip balm, he held it out to her. “My lips are feeling a little chapped today.”

  “Well, you’re welcome to it,” Sayler said, nodding at him, giving him permission to use the lip balm.

  “Why don’t you do it for me?” he said, grinning at her.

  “What…what do you mean?” she asked. Her heart was already pounding madly. She thought it might break clean through her chest. She felt overheated, trembly.

  “Do it for me,” he said. “Open it up, smear it on your finger, and—”

  “You’re a teaser,” Sayler said, smiling at him.

  “You’re a chicken,” he said, smiling back.

  “I-I’m not a chicken,” Sayler stammered.

  “Then help a convalescing soul out…and do it for me,” he whispered.

  Sayler glanced over her shoulder, fearful Denay or Fabiana or even her grandpa might be standing behind her.

  She looked back at him, his beautiful eyes smoldering with a daring mischief.

  “Fine,” she told him as she removed the lid from the small jar. “I am not a chicken.” She rubbed her finger in the salve and then looked back at him. “Okay, then…come here,” she said, holding her finger out toward him.

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said, smiling. “Put it on your lips, and then put it on mine.”

  “What?” Sayler laughed. When he only raised his eyebrows, a gesture of daring, she said, “Whatever.” She traced her lips with her finger, spreading the lip balm on her own lips before reapplying the salve to her finger from the jar. “Okay…here,” she said, holding her index finger out toward him again.

  But Bo simply shook his head. Smiling, he whispered, “That’s not what I meant.” Pointing to her mouth he said, “You’ve got it on your lips…now put it on mine.”

  Understanding washed over Sayler like a hot, southern rain. Was he actually implying that she should kiss him? He was! She could tell by the alluring grin on his face, by the twinkle in his eyes. A warm blush flooded her cheeks, and goose bumps broke over her flesh in wonderful waves.

  “You are a teaser, Mr. Booker,” she said, giggling. She wiped the extra lip balm on her finger onto her apron, leaving the little jar on the tray in case he really did need it later.

  “And you are a chicken, miss candy stripper,” he chuckled.

  “Fine,” Sayler said, her body trembling from head to toe with delight at his flirting. “I’ve emptied the secrets of my pockets. How about you?”

  Bo had been leaning toward her, beguilingly leaning toward her, but he sat straight in his chair once more.

  “What’s a guy have to do to get some lip balm around here, huh?” he asked, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans. He tossed his wallet onto the tray at his side.

  Ignoring his completely tantalizing flirting, Sayler picked up the wallet and opened it. His driver’s license was visible at once, and she quickly put her mathematic skills to good use.

  “Hmm. You’re only twenty-two,” she said. “I thought you were older.”

  “Thanks…I think,” he said.

  “Two hundred in twenties,” she mumbled. “You’re either a tightwad or a spendthrift.”

  “Take a guess,” he chuckled.

  “Maybe…maybe just prepared,” she said, smiling at him.

  “Three credit cards, four business cards…oh, and here’s yours. ‘Booker Architecture and Contracting,’” she read. “Sounds so serious.”

  “It better be,” he sighed. “I went year-round and got my degree in three years flat.”

  “Wow,” Sayler said. “How did you afford that?” When he paused, she realized she’d asked a very personal question and began to apologize. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I admit it. My dad paid for what the scholarships and my own savings didn’t.”

  “I’m starting at the U in the fall,” Sayler mumbled. “It’s kind of freaking me…” she paused again when she came across a photograph of a woman while shuffling through Bo’s business cards. The woman in the photograph was a very glamorous, very beautiful blonde. “Oh,” Sayler said, as her heart crashed to the pit of her stomach. “Who’s this?” she asked. Somehow, during all her daydreaming of Bo Booker, somehow she managed to pretend the lethally handsome, very charming man didn’t have any special woman in his life. As the beautiful blonde stared back at her from the photo, she realized he must.

  “That’s Pamela,” he said. “She was my girlfriend for a while.”

  Sayler’s chest began to ache, feel sick. A sensation akin to indigestion welled up between her stomach and throat.

  “But not anymore?” Sayler asked.

  “Nope. Not for a while. Guess I should clean my wallet out more often,” he said, taking the photo from her and studying it for a moment before handing it back to her.

  “Do…do you have a picture of your current girlfriend in here?” Sayler asked. She felt as if the life was draining out of her, as if she’d never be completely happy again.

  “Nope,” he answered.

  “Why not?” Sayler asked. Suddenly she was very curious as to what kind of a woman could snare Bo Booker. The blonde was stunning! Her appearance made Sayler feel plain and dowdy.

  “I don’t have a girlfriend…so I don’t have a picture,” he told her. He startled her then with his own question. “Do you have a picture of your boyfriend on you?”

  Sayler shrugged. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she answered simply.

  “Why not?” he asked. She looked at him. His eyes were not filled with mischief; rather, he frowned and seemed quite serious.

  Sayler shrugged again. “I just…just don’t know anybody right now who…who…”

  “You just haven’t learned to use that little lip-balm ploy of yours to your advantage yet.” His face softened, and he playfully winked at her.

  “That’s your lip-balm ploy,
not mine,” she reminded him. She smiled again and handed his wallet to him. He didn’t have a girlfriend. She decided then and there to pretend he never would. With a heavy sigh, she stood and made ready to leave him. “I better get going,” she said. “The kids will think I’ve gotten fired or something.”

  He stood too, smiling at her. “Well, my lips are still feeling a bit chapped. You sure you don’t want to help me out?”

  “You’re a teaser, Mr. Booker,” she said, trying to ignore the delighted thrill traveling through her.

  Unexpectedly then, Bo reached out and slowly ran his thumb over her lips. He winked at her, running the thumb slowly over his own lips then.

  “I guess that’ll have to do,” he said with a wink, “since you’re such a chicken.”

  Sayler blushed and smiled at him. How could she not? He was adorable!

  “I’ll see you later,” she told him.

  “Tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday, and I’m usually off,” she said.

  “But…” he prodded.

  “But I’m coming in later in the evening to spend some time with the kids.”

  “So I’ll see you tomorrow,” he told her. It was a demand, not a question, and it flattered her.

  “Maybe,” she giggled as she turned and rather bounced out of the room.

  Bo Booker shook his head. He ran one hand down from his temples over his face to his chin, rubbing nervously at his whiskery five-o’clock shadow. He had to get out! He had to get out of the rehab center and back to reality—reality where teenage girls fresh out of high school were just that, and not dangerously enticing.

  Opening his wallet, he removed the photo of Pamela and tossed it into the waste basket at the side of his bed. What a mess that relationship had been! He closed his eyes, trying to forget the gorgeous blonde who had made his life a living nightmare with her obsessive possessiveness. He thought of the contrast between Pamela and the sweet candy striper keeping him company for a couple of hours each day. It was like comparing glue and cake frosting! Cyanide and sugar!

  Yet Sayler was only eighteen years old. Legally pursuable, yes. Her driver’s license attested to it. Still, she was young, her entire life stretching out like a grand adventure before her. And Bo knew he was old in her eyes. Maybe not too old, for she’d inferred that at “only twenty-two,” she thought him somewhat youthful. But old all the same.