Second Chance ...The heart mourns people and places and returns to them in dreams...

johnjgeddes (75)in #fiction • 7 years ago (edited)

Sometimes goodbye is a second chance.
—Shinedown

She despises me, but keeps visiting my dreams—I'm talking about Brooke Wiltshire, party girl, who goes clubbing with friends and is the opposite of me.

I'm the type who loves rain and Thirties music and quiet nights with books.

But she, on the other hand, is more outgoing and I 'm convinced she exists just to torment me.

I’d like nothing better than to forget her—consign to oblivion and get on with my life. But her name keeps being mentioned by colleagues, and what’s worse, she shows up uninvited in my dreams.

My obsession is exacerbated because I have no photos of her—if I kept pictures, it might diminish her mystery—but instead, my mind idealizes her portrait, painting out the shadows.

I dread bedtime, because if I don’t picture her face, I can’t sleep—but if I do, I can’t get her out of my mind.

I’m beset by approach-avoidance nightmares where my nights are filed with gloom and misery, with the only consolation—I get to see Brooke.

By the end of the long week I’m exhausted. It’s a Friday, and it’s raining. I love the moodiness of the day.

My last lecture ends at two o’clock, so I spend a leisurely couple of hours browsing vintage records at my favorite collectibles store called Second Chance. Fay Lilith is the owner and over the past few years we’ve become friends.

Something about the store makes me feel mellow and peaceful—I suppose it’s like the glow a glass of wine lights in me, and in my vulnerable state, I end up confiding all my secrets to Fay.

It’s ironic how she fulfills the role of bartender-confidante. Instead of booze, she purveys the warm, nostalgia of the past—but it has the same effect—I feel blissful and talkative and end up confessing all.

“Sounds like you have a love-hate relationship with this girl,” Fay laughs softly. “You need to do something though—this has gone on far too long. I’m a matchmaker, you know.”

“Oh no—no blind dates, Fay—way too awkward.”

“Don’t worry, Casanova—I didn’t say I’d set you up.”

“Well then, how does this matchmaking thing work?”

She hedges a bit. “Let’s just say you have to be open to the possibility.”

“Look, I’m open—I’m an unlocked door. Hell, I’m a yawning chasm of need. I just don’t think it’ll happen for me, that’s all.”

Her eyes narrow. “But you’re open to the prospect, right?”

“Sure, I am. I pray all the time for things I don’t get—like for this rainstorm to end, so I can go home and commiserate with my four walls.”

There’s a smirk on her face. “Um, Have you looked outside?”

The sun is shining, glinting off the rain-soaked streets.

My jaw drops. “Well, I’ll be…”

She gazes out the window. “I see a rainbow in the sky,” she smiles.

I grin ruefully, pay for my purchase, and walk home under sunny skies.

Later that afternoon a colleague phones from York University. “Hey, Sean—the old gang’s getting together for drinks tonight. Why not drop by?”

I jump at the offer. I mean, what do I have to lose besides another night of staring at walls watching the lone wolf moon circle the house in silence?

We end up getting together at The Duke of Kent—all my former work colleagues are there. I feel nostalgic for that other world I inhabited before Brooke began haunting me.

I’m talking to Carly, and her face suddenly lights up as she spots someone behind me. “Hey Girl—glad you could make it—sit down here with us.”

The girl squeezes in next to me. “Brooke, I’d like you to meet Sean Langdon—he used to work with me before he moved to U of T.”

I turn and stare into Brooke Wiltshire’s surprised face. My heart stops and I steel myself for a rebuff, but she just shakes her head and laughs, “Small world—he used to work with me.”

Carly’s jaw drops. “You’re kidding—you two know each other?”

“We go back a ways,” I smile ruefully.

“Well then, I’ll let you two catch up. Besides, Marnie’s giving me desperate looks. Seems she needs to be rescued from that boring Harold Adams. Have fun, Guys!”

And with that, she’s off to the other side of the bar, leaving Brooke and I marooned in an awkward silence.

“I had no idea you knew Carly,” I say lamely—just making small talk to fill the void.

“I had no idea who you knew,” she laughs, as the waitress appears to take her order.

“Can I buy you a drink?” I ask.

“Cab sav will be fine, thanks.”

“Well then, I guess I’ll have another,” I smile.

She shrugs off her coat, and then sits back in the bench looking at me. “How have you been, Sean?”

She whispers the words, and it pains me to recall how much I miss her voice.

I want to say I’ve been fine, but can’t—I can’t give her just painted air—all the tears I can’t weep—truths I can’t speak—all the words that catch in my throat.

“It’s been rough,” I finally manage to croak.

Her eyes grow huge and moist. “Thank you for that, Sean—for being honest. It’s been hard for me as well.”

I’m thinking she’s referring to difficulties adjusting to her new teaching assignment. I fully expected her to launch into some cathartic plaint of campus politics, but she doesn’t. She just stares at me as my insides groan like a folded accordion.

“I miss you, Brooke,” I say. I’m shocked that I admit it, and regret the words the moment they’re out of my mouth.

I don’t know why I’m confessing, but I am—unable I suppose to dissemble any longer. Maybe emotional stress and the booze are acting like a kind of truth serum, but I no longer care—I’ve lived a lie for too long.

Brooke turns her head away, completely averting her gaze, and I feel a fool. From this confession there’ll be no turning back.

I wait in agony for her to respond—I’m not sure if I embarrassed her too much, or if she’ll simply get up and leave, but after an agonizing few minutes, she turns back to face me, tears in her eyes.

“

You hurt me Sean—we hurt each other. It took me a long time to see what damage was done, or if I could even recover.”

I want to die. “I’m so sorry, Brooke.”

“You know, I haven’t been able to sleep. Every night I see your face.”

My heart starts pounding and I feel light-headed. I wait for my breathing to slow so I can reply.

“You see me at night? That’s incredible—that’s what’s been happening to me.”

“I know you think I’m a party girl—I’m not. I don’t know why I even came here tonight—probably because someone suggested I was becoming too closed off in my life.”

There's a moment of shared recognition when I stare into her eyes, so I figure there’s no point in playing safe now.

“I don’t know why I hurt you, Brooke—I love you—I always have.”

Next thing I know, she’s in my arms—neither of us caring what others think. I’m soothing her, and stroking her soft blonde hair.

I don’t know if it was Fate or a happy coincidence, but that chance meeting changed our lives.

Brooke is still in my dreams but I sleep well now at nights.

I found the best way to love someone is to enter into their sufferings—and the best way to tell them is to enter into their dreams.

And Fay was right—you have to be open to the possibilities of second chances.