Richard Edison wakes up the same way he always awakens after dreaming about his ex-girlfriend Juliet Zeboskey—frustrated. It's the same basic dream every time. He and Juliet meet up somewhere, then begin to make-out. Things get hot and heavy, reach a certain point, then it all comes crashing down when something intrudes or, as in this last dream, Juliet simply walks away. "We can't do this," she says. "I'm married and so are you."
Yes, both of them are married and have been for a long time, Juliet since Ford was president, Richard since during the final years of Reagan's presidency. What's unique about these dreams is that they take place in the present but he and Juliet don't look a day older than they did when they met at a college mixer on a snowy, blustery night in January 1969. This latest dream was the most vivid yet. Juliet wore the wool, charcoal dress he remembers so well and some commercial scent he never knew but loved—so deliciously fragrant he could smell it in his sleep.
Now it's a little after six in the morning. He looks over at Robyn, still sleeping, blissfully unaware of her husband's somnolent adventures, including this last one. Both are in their late sixties, both retired. Richard knows he's a lucky guy. He's got good health, a loving wife, kids, grown and prospering, and sound finances. And yet he sometimes longs for those innocent yesterdays with Juliet. His dreams, however vivid and wonderful, haven't given him any illusions of what she looks like today. He's seen her on Facebook, seen aging's normal handiwork, the sags and wrinkles and extra pounds. Of course, he's no young Adonis himself, with his own weight gain, his aches and pains, enlarged prostate and balding pate. At least Juliet still has her hair.
So now what? Another night gone, another dream dreamed and another debate whether he should attempt to contact his first love, the once "cute as a button," Juliet Zeboskey, now Juliet Laghari, married with kids and grandkids and who, if the images and scribblings on her Facebook page are to be believed, happy as punch, giving Richard nary a thought. To her, he's probably no more than a footnote in her life. At best.
He knows what he should do: put the dreams behind him and drop these silly ideas of connecting with Juliet. If he did contact her and Robyn ever found out, look out! Robyn gets cranky if he even mentions the name of a past girlfriend. And yet, Paul Simon's words ring in his head like a clarion call:
A time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence
A time of confidences
What a time it is indeed when you're young and in love for the first time, your emotions soaring above the clouds. Those trips, those incredible trips they took to New York and Colorado and those beach resorts from New Jersey to Nag's Head, tanning their young, nubile bodies during the day and making love at night. There was that great rock concert, three wonderful days of peace and music. No, not the iconic Woodstock, but the one at the Atlantic City Race Track two weeks before those half-million descended on Max Yasgur's farm. He still recalls a few of the acts—Iron Butterfly, Jefferson Airplane, The Mothers of Invention, Canned Heat, Paul Butterfield Blues Band, The Byrds.
They stayed together into their last year of college, talked of future plans, then stopped talking about them. Neither were ready for serious commitment. And so, they drifted apart, went their own way, met other people.
Sporadic contact followed, a few phone calls and then email—only one exchange to be exact—initiated by Richard. They updated each other on the present, leaving the past alone. But it had been awhile—they had traded that lone email at the turn of the millennium. Since then, when some special anniversary of their relationship rolls around, Richard contends himself with reading Juliet's old letters and cards, turning to her Facebook page or, if he's lucky, dreaming.
But this last dream gives Richard a sense of urgency he never had before. He feels the time is right—if the time can ever be right to contact an old flame when you're both married. He and Juliet are empty-nesters, each with grown kids, and each facing the gateway to their seventies, what could be the last decade of their lives. Cheating on Robyn is out of the question. But would it be cheating to message Juliet through Facebook? He thinks not. Robyn wouldn't like it, but then Robyn wouldn't have to know. He gives himself a couple days to think about it, then goes ahead:
Hi Juliet. Hope all is well. To be honest, I've peeked into your Facebook page and it looks as if all is indeed well. Same here. Like you, I'm retired and my kids are out of the house. Robyn and I are empty nesters, just like you and Bradley. Can't believe that two decades have passed since that last email. Would love to hear from you if you are so inclined.
Richard doesn't rate his chances of her responding too high. Why would she? She seems quite content with her life as it is. More important, she doesn't seem to dwell on the past like he does. He keeps his expectations low, a surefire way to avoid major disappointment. But then, hours later, he gets this:
Hi Richard. Great hearing from you. Yes, I'm retired and enjoying life. If you've been following me on Facebook, you already know that we've got four grandkids, two from Shawna and two from Samantha. Our son Vic hasn't yet married and Laura, our other daughter, is still trying. I'm curious—what made you decide to contact me at this time? Is it because next month will mark the fiftieth anniversary of that rock concert at Atlantic City? What a fabulous trip that was! And I don't mean just the concert. Feel free to respond. By the way, since you were honest enough to tell me about seeing my Facebook page, it's only right that I confess to seeing yours, even before you messaged me.
Juliet's "confession" comes as a pleasant surprise. Richard once thought there was no way in hell she cared enough to bother. Should he tell her that it was his dream that prompted him to message her and not the concert? It might scare her away. On the other hand, what's he got to lose? He's curious what her reaction might be.
Juliet - Thanks for that quick reply. I've been thinking about that concert but a recent dream about you is the real catalyst for my message. We were making out somewhere—can't place the venue—and you were wearing that wool charcoal dress, the same dress you wore the night we met. I've dreamed about you before, but this one was particularly vivid. Even in my sleep, I could smell the perfume you always wore. I hope this doesn't scare you off.
Richard - I don't scare that easy. Okay, another confession. You've been in my dreams also through the years. Their theme is similar to the one you describe in that we're together for a brief moment and then we're not. It's like those rock songs that fade at the end. There's no abrupt ending, just a fade-out. A peculiar thing about these dreams is that we're forever young, twenty-year old college kids, but the dreams take place in recent times. Does that mean I long for my long-lost youth? Anyway, if you'd like to get together sometime for a chat over coffee, I'm game. But we need to be discreet. I don't know about your spouse, but mine wouldn't like the idea of me meeting up with an old boyfriend, however innocent. He'd no doubt call it a form of cheating. As you know, he's from India where women can be severely restricted, reduced to near servitude in some Indian cultures. That's hardly the case with me (I wouldn't have stayed married all these years if it was). That said, I can see his point of view. However, I'd be okay with it if the roles were reversed, if Bradley wanted to connect with an old flame, provided, of course, if I thought there was nothing more to it than two people meeting as old friends and nothing more.
Juliet - Robyn wouldn't take it too well either. If I was upfront about it, I'd get no Brownie points for honesty, just a mouthful of accusations. You're right—discretion's the word.
*****
Juliet's married life to Bradley Laghari has hardly been one of servitude. Before her retirement, she worked as an IT specialist for the State earning good money. In addition to raising four kids, she wrote novels on the side, even had one published in e-form by a small Canadian press. She's also published short stories on Amazon and other sites under a nom de plume. Retirement allows her to write even more these days. She's reasonably happy, reasonably fulfilled—reasonably being the key word. She still loves her husband. She also resents him at times. He's shed some of the cultural folkways and ideas of his Indian upbringing, but not all of them. He can be possessive, at times too possessive. He sometimes draws his tight reign a little TOO tight. He wants to know where she's going, who she's meeting and when she'll return. "You want a damn itinerary?" she once snapped.
On this early Tuesday afternoon, she tells him she's going shopping. She wants to tell him the truth but knows the argument that would surely follow. Actually, it's partly true. She buys a pair of shoes at DSW, then heads over to Long Green Creamery, known for their delicious coffee and homemade ice cream. It's located on rural Wilford Road, about a dozen miles from her home. Richard had suggested it because it's one of their old stomping grounds. Hot summer nights would often find them at Long Green, sitting inside Richard's '67 Dodge Dart convertible, sharing a cone or malted shake.
Pulling into the parking lot in her white Honda CR-V, she notices that the building hasn't changed much. It's got the same red, steep slanted roof, with the three gables in front and the French vanilla stucco walls. She pulls down her visor mirror and primps, the same as she did as a young woman. Richard already knows that her shoulder-length, dirty-blond hair is streaked with silver and that she's put on a few pounds. She hopes the yellow and blue, knee-length dress she wears doesn't make her look fat in his eyes. She was once so petite, standing five-foot two, with the "cutest butt," Richard used to say. Her butt has thickened with the years, along with her hips and once slender legs. From her Facebook pics, Richard must have noticed that her overbite is gone, thanks to braces which she got in her early thirties. "My only physical improvement," she chuckles to herself.
