Her Thirties Part 28
![mary nolan in fur.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmPF9qweHUpCUSNKGL5fSntzm58BiJcPaoCSEPYAKsC3wa/mary%20nolan%20in%20fur.jpg)
We were at Sotto Sotto’s, an exclusive Italian eatery and I was trying to order our dinner and not focus so intently on Marilyn, but it was hard, especially after learning about her mysterious origins.
She seemed to come to me out of nowhere bringing with her all the allure and enchantment of the 1930’s.
Just being with her was like stepping back in time.
She waited patiently until Ernesto, our waiter left, then tilted her head toward me, smiled and clinked her glass with mine. “Now, it’s time for your story.”
I blanched. “But I told you about my pathetic love life,” I protested.
“Not that, Silly—I want to know why you think we’ve met before.”
I was off the hook, but only partially—I mean, how do you tell a girl, especially one you’ve just met, you’ve been making love to her in your dreams?
You get the picture—It’s a delicate situation.
“It’s kind of weird—sort of like your experience—and I also can’t explain it.”
“A man of mystery now—Well, go ahead and try to explain—I’m intrigued.”
“I’ve been having a recurrent dream—about a girl I’ve never met in real life—that is, until the day you walked into the lecture room.”
Her eyes brightened and lips moistened. “How delicious! You dreamt about me before you even met me?”
“Something like that.”
“Oh c’mon, Scott—don’t go all cryptic on me. You started this, so now you’re going to have to give me the details.”
I drained my wine glass. “It all began after I broke up with Sam—uh, Samantha Ellis—she’s a photographer I was dating. We were at a party based on a Thirties theme. Later in the dream, I end up in a backroom and there’s a girl crying. I start to comfort her—and well, we end up kissing.”
“And the girl looked like me?”
“Right. I just put it down to repressed feelings for Sam, but then it happened again. In all, it’s happened three times.”
“Do we kiss each time?”
I nodded.
“So, you’re thinking this is some kind of déjà vu?”
“Something like that—I don’t know—actually, I haven’t a clue.”
“So, I suppose the next thing you’re going to do, is ask me to kiss you—to compare and see if the dream was accurate?”
“No! Do you think I’m making this up as some kind of ruse to seduce you?”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“Well, that’s definitely not the case.”
“Definitely, eh?”
“Yes, definitely.”
“So, you definitely don’t want to kiss me?”
I took a deep breath—I was getting exasperated. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then, you admit you really do want to kiss me?”
I looked at her and suddenly the only thing in the world I wanted to do, was kiss her. But considering what happened when she just touched my hand, it’d be like grabbing hold of a high-tension cable.
“I—I’m sorry. I’m confused. I knew there was no sane way to explain this to you. You must either think I’m mad or some kind of pervert.”
“No,” she smiled, “actually, I think it’s adorable when you get flustered. And I do believe you—it’s consistent with everything else that’s happened lately.”
“Well, that’s good to know—not the part that weird things have been happening to you—but that you believe me—that’s good to know.”
I looked into her eyes and it was then I knew we’d never part.
We were drawn together—two galaxies, spiraling into each other—two worlds colliding, in the depths of some eternal night.
The rest of the evening was a blur.
Later, when we stood outside the bookstore. I kissed her, and again, drank in her coldness.
I say again, because it wasn’t our first kiss—our first meeting took place when our souls migrated and we somehow found each other—and now, I clung to her as if returning to a first love.
The drive home was a fog of memories—images of her face and lips, transparent on the road ahead.
I was drowning again—submerged this time in a tangle of reveries.
She was my dream girl, my silver screen siren.
I tried to picture Sam, but her memory became a cloud of bubbles borne away on the river of time.
Somehow I knew this was what I had been living for and waiting for my whole life. Like Santiago in The Old Man and the Sea, this was the prize that had been eluding me—my shivering, slippery, silvery fish.
Oh, now you make me want to reread Ernest Hemingway.
I don't know though if Marilyn would be happy to be compared to a fish, not even with this special fish.
it's an unusual metaphor to be sure, but one that evokes Scott's associating Marilyn with water imagery and coldness and the silvery gown she wore. She brings to his subconscious mind the fish aspect of the mermaid - the eternal Siren of Silver Screen goddesses and the sea. In Freudian terms, water symbolizes sexuality.
how do you tell a girl, especially one you’ve just met, you’ve been making love to her in your dreams? This is actually weird lol. Nice story can't wait to read the next page. Sometimes things are shown to is in our dreams before it happens it is called vision. Lovely story
thanks, Tutu - yes, dreams are certainly mysterious
Again I awake to this beautiful written continuation that I feel part of. Plus another beautiful pic included. Thanks for making my day brighter. :) a side note my wife @lynncoyle1 wrote her poem and mentioned you in it.
I will check it out - Thanks, Brian :)
A kiss! A couple of kisses. He must definitely be over the moon. 😊
ha ha, thanks, @chiama
An impressive story
thanks, Edward
oke thanks, johngeddes
öpmek istiyor mu? istemiyor musun? kafam karıştı. güzel hikaye. @johngeddes
Thanks, @hanazde Onu öpmek istiyor ama çok agresif görünmek istemiyor
wow...it seems to me that you are a great writer.
keep up with the talent
This post has received a 2.45 % upvote from @boomerang thanks to: @johnjgeddes
A beautiful read, as always. Thank you, John. :)
thanks, @flashfiction
Very intriguing...I am hooked.
Now to go back and read it all. 😊