Coming Apart Part Two

To be in love is merely to be in a state of perpetual anesthesia—
to mistake an ordinary young woman for a goddess.
—H.L. Mencken

I was in the rooftop terrace bar of the Park Hotel either talking to myself or communing with a ghost.

The beautiful woman before me with huge dark eyes claimed to be Astrid Simpson, a character from my novels.

I was trying to convince myself it must be a prank—my book shepherd, Melody Bride, must have hired and coached an actress to play the part.

The problem was my instincts told me otherwise. I knew in my heart that the lovely wraith before me was the goddess of my dreams

“I know who you look like,” I told her, “but for all I know Melody put you up to this—hired an actress or model to stimulate my imagination.”

“Is it working?” she smiled seductively.

“Oh yeah, you’re certainly stimulating—that’s for sure.”

“Well, that’s encouraging,” she whispered, putting her hand on mine. “See? I’m flesh and blood, not some astral deity you can’t touch.”

My breathing eased and heart slowed down.

“I’ve got to hand it to Melody—she’s used a lot of tricks to inspire me in the past, but about the only thing that would top this is being camped out with you in the Land of Nod.”

She sighed and gazed out at the chill Toronto evening. “That would be heavenly—the two of us out in the desert alone under the stars.”

I downed my whiskey sour and motioned to the waiter to drop another round. “What are you drinking?” I asked.

“Why, Yellow Tail Shiraz, of course, Silly—it’s what we always drink.”

I nodded sagely. Melody deserves a raise for this prank, I mused.

“Okay,” I sighed at last, “What does she expect us to do—some role playing?”

“We could try that, or just talk and see where that leads.”

I had a very good idea where that might lead, and I wasn’t adverse to the possibility at all.

“You know, if Melody didn’t have my SUV, we could go back to my penthouse apartment—the view’s almost as good from there.”

“I know,” she laughed softly. We watched the sunset Sunday evening and it was breath-taking—purple, black and red, the colors of a bruise, you said.”

My blood froze. I did watch the sunset from my rooftop terrace, but alone. I never mentioned it to anyone, and I did recall observing how the colors reminded me of a bruise.

“That’s very good—how did you do that? I can’t recall mentioning anything to Melody.”

She sipped at her Shiraz and shook her head sadly. “Poor, Jay—you still don’t believe do you? I was there with you, lying beside you—as I do every night…lying there, listening to your breath, watching you while you sleep.”

“This is crazy!” I blurted out. “You’re not real.”

She looked hurt. “Tell me something—did you create me, or discover me?”

I stared at her blankly. My mind raced but I was at a total loss for words. She was right—I didn’t invent her. She was always there.

“You know it, don’t you? I’m the girl of your dreams, right?”

I blinked at her in wonderment, but found myself nodding mutely.

I stared out the window, looking through my pale reflection at her reflection in the glass.

How could I be so unaware?

I shook my head as if trying to clear the haze and when I turned back, I was staring into the bemused eyes of Melody. Astrid was gone.

“Dreaming up another story?” Melody giggled.

I was so happy to see her I reached out and grabbed her hand. “Don’t ever leave me alone again,” I pleaded.

A pained look crossed her face. “I’m sorry, Jay. I didn’t think I’d be that long—but the rain and the traffic…”

“It’s okay,” I reassured her, “Let’s go home—you drive.”

It was a somber ride home. I wanted to confide in Melody, but what could I say—that Astrid Simpson stepped off the page and into my life?

What do you do when the girl of your dreams appears before you, and it scares you half to death?

It was awkward in my condo—Melody asking if I was all right, and me struggling with asking her to spend the night.

In the end, I did what I always do—sent her off with a peck on the cheek into the night.

And as for me, I also did what I always do—I went to bed knowing the girl of my dreams would be lying beside me…

Going on adventures with me, or lying there, listening to my breath—and no doubt, watching me while I slept.”

© 2017, John J Geddes. All rights reserved


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