This a story written years ago soon
after a story I wrote for Today’s
Black Woman was published
(see Siren Song (April & May, 1999) at http://www.netreach.net/~abrejcha/siren.htm
. While the editor also loved it as I am a White author sensitive to African
American issues, it was also too long for the magazine and she already made one
exception. But I was busy with other stories and forgot about this one until
Car’s request for stories reminded me. Hope you like this. My
bibliography if interested, is at http://www.netreach.net/~abrejcha/biblio.htm
. Love to Car for this wonderful e-zine!
Dream Lover
I.
Was it a fantasy? Marnie wondered as she lay there, slowly drifting
awake. Or were the dreams a product
of some hidden memories she couldn't touch? She didn't know, but she was having them
more and more often.
They always started the same, with what had actually happened. She had left
That's when the dream always got fuzzy.
She had an image in her mind of a man, clean-shaven and with dark
brown skin the color and texture of smooth milk chocolate. His broad shoulders had been straining
to pry open her car door, and then incredibly gentle hands had reached for her
to pull her clear of the car. Smoke
had danced around them and the brilliant afternoon sun that had suddenly
returned transformed melting snow flakes on his hair into a thousand points of
light, but the back-light left his features deep in the shadows.
She remembered(?) his voice: a warm and gentle bass reassurance that
she would be fine. As tender as his
touch had been as he had brushed the hair out of her eyes and looked down at
her with concern. And she
remembered being carried effortlessly away from the car as flickering orange
light blossomed behind her and the smoke had grown harsh and burning. Then the world had faded. And that's when she always woke up. Alone, as always.
Had it been real? she wondered again. And again.
She had asked when she had recovered in the hospital. She had been fine, they had told
her. A mild concussion and a touch
of smoke inhalation. She had only
been kept overnight before being discharged to the care of her sister. But her mysterious rescuer had been
unknown. No one remembered who had
brought her to the ambulance.
Who had been her savior, and why had he disappeared? His touch had been so tender and caring
that she still shivered at the memory of it -- real or imagined. It had been a longing touch,
somehow. And too loving to have
belonged to a man committed elsewhere.
So why had he disappeared?
Or had it all been a wishful fantasy; a product of her loneliness?
She had to know. She was
afraid of what she might lose by not finding out the truth about that
night. The thought that her dream
might not be real left an empty ache in her breast.
Reluctantly she turned and sat up on the bed. She found herself staring at the image
that was reflected in the full-length mirror that hung on the closet door
across from her. Bad place for a
mirror, she decided. It was too
honest, too early. Her
shoulder-length hair was half-way between a smooth, relaxed ebony wave and an
assertive kinky mess, her grey eyes were troubled and bloodshot, and it would
take a solid coat of make-up to hide the blotchy evidence of the troubled
nights she had passed tossing and turning; afraid to sleep and dream, but
unable to stay awake.
It had been three weeks since the accident and she still couldn't get
it out of her mind.
It was time to stop dreaming and act!
The weekend was here and it was time to act. She had already called the hospital
where she managed the medical records department and arranged for the following
week off, just in case.
#
After a little more preparation, she looked at herself again. Better, now. Some foundation and make-up had restored
her usual milk and coffee complexion, and while her hair still needed some
care, it was clean and a little better styled, and her light grey linen
dress-suit and cream-colored blouse were neatly pressed. But the eyes were no better. The makeup was of necessity too heavy
and only hinted at something hidden.
So, as an afterthought she added a bright red silk scarf her sister
had given her for her birthday. Let
that distract people a bit.
Then she grabbed the small overnight bag she had packed and headed for
the door resolutely. She was not
coming back until she had discovered if the man in her dreams was real. She would start at the hospital, she
decided. And this time she would
talk to everyone from housekeeping and orderlies all the way up to the chief of
the emergency services if she had to.
#
II.
Exiting the
As she pulled into the parking lot of
"Miss, are you all right?" he asked and reached down to help
her up.
She grabbed his hand and got up shakily, head swimming as she tried to
focus and take a damage inventory.
After a moment the world stopped spinning and she let go of the leathery
hand that had helped her.
"I'm fine," she tried to reassure him. "Just some skinned knees and
bruises -- especially to my dignity."
She smiled weakly and brushed her hands off. "My name is Marnie, by the
way." His eyes opened wide for
a brief moment as she introduced herself.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it, miss.
Name's John." He smiled
broadly and lifted his wide-brimmed hat briefly, revealing a bushy white cap of
snowy hair. Then the smile vanished
as his eyes dropped. She saw him
grimace and looked down to wince as she saw her scraped and bloody knees.
"My stockings look terminal, don't they," she grumbled as
she inspected the torn and red-stained nylon. It was strange, but she couldn't feel
any pain.
"You know, I'd feel a whole lot better if you had yourself
checked out, girl." John
studied her carefully. "You
look a mite pale to me. Doc
Thompson's office is just across the street and I'd be happy to take you there
-- and it would be a helluva lot faster than the emergency room. Besides, Doc owes me a few favors."
"No," Marnie protested.
"I'm fine, John.
Really."
"You really should have that looked at," John insisted.
He didn't look like he was going to budge, so Marnie sighed and
nodded. "Okay. You win." But she was touched that a stranger
would be so concerned about her.
"Are you sure it won't be a bother? I can find it myself."
"Don't be silly."
He smiled disarmingly.
"I'd feel a lot better if I knew you got looked after. Besides, Doc could use some company from
a pretty lady like yourself for a change.
All he seems to get a chance to treat are old Geritol-setters like
me."
Marnie smiled. "Not
so bad if they're all like you."
She reached out to touch his arm softly. Even though she had just met him, she
felt safe around him. Totally
against her city-bred instincts. He
was so... fatherly. Not that that
was something she knew much about since her father had died in a car accident
when she was six.
#
Not much later she was led into a spot-less and comfortable waiting
room in a small office adjoining a sprawling rancher that was, as John had
promised, just across the street from the hospital. Mercifully, the music that played in the
background was not the usual predigested elevator-music that cursed most
doctors' offices. Instead, her ears
were caressed by Joe Sample=s piano
musings; a piece from his Ashes to Ashes album.
John went up to the older, heavy-set Hispanic nurse who was sitting at
one end of the room and spoke quietly to her. They obviously knew each other
well. Marnie smiled as she saw John
lay his hand over the nurse's, his thumb stroking her skin lightly as they
spoke. The shy smile that responded
made it clear how they felt about each other.
She felt secure somehow.
Around her, Joe Sample played on softly and she smelled the
distinctive aroma of cedar from the exposed planking of the walls, decorated
with intricate black and white photos of rugged mountains and portraits of
older, character-rich faces. She
turned in her seat as her eyes roamed the walls, studying the pictures one by
one. They were very good. But something about their flavor and
framing spoke of them being very personal, not your usual "stack of
pictures for your office walls" type photos.
"You like 'em?"
She was startled by John's voice right behind her.
"Yes, they're beautiful," she answered.
John's voice took on a clear note of pride. "Bobby took them all himself. Recognize that one?" He pointed to a picture on the far wall.
She studied it for a second, and then realized what he meant, looking
back and forth from the picture to John.
"That's you?" she asked.
"Yup. Ten years
ago. Right after Bobby opened this
office. And before the >change=" He
indicated his white hair with a grin.
"Doc Thompson is your son," she guessed. John nodded. "So that's why the insistence on me
getting seen. Playing
matchmaker?" she asked, teasing him.
He shrugged. "I know
enough medicine to know that you really should get those knees looked after
properly. And I didn't like the way
you were wavering when you got up.
I really meant it when I said that I'd feel better if you got checked
out a bit. It looked like you went
down pretty hard and I wasn't sure if you hit your head or not--"
"You're not answering," she cut him off, smiling.
John sighed. "Well,
as to your suspicion, I'm not saying yes, and I=m not saying no. You'll
see." He smiled
mysteriously. "Now why don't
you go with Sarah there. She'll get
your knees and hands cleaned up and dressed, and then Bobby will make sure
you're okay. Though I suppose he'd
prefer if you call him Bob. Now go,
girl," he waved her towards the nurse.
Marnie shook her head, trying not to laugh as she was led into an
immaculate exam-room and stripped of her stockings. Her little tumble was turning into a big
affair.
But as the nurse briskly proceeded to clean and disinfect her knees,
clucking sympathetically, Marnie had the feeling she had made the right
decision and that she was in good hands.
There was a reassuring air of competence about the nurse. And, looking around the spotless and
neatly organized exam-room, Marnie had the impression that the efficiency
extended to John's son, as well. If
only because she couldn't imagine such a professional nurse working for a poor
doctor.
Sarah was soon done and Marnie was left sitting on a cold exam table,
freshly cleaned knees and hands tingling.
She had scraped her palms a good bit, too.
Before long, she heard the door open and looked up at the man
entering. Absently she noted that
if John had been playing match-maker, he could have done worse. Doc 'Bobby' Thompson was a lean,
rugged-looking man around her age.
His face was a study in sharp angles with a square jaw and high cheek
bones under tight short hair, and his crisp white smock was taut around broad shoulders.
But as he stepped into the room, the late afternoon sun that was
streaming in through the glass caught him briefly from behind and she gasped as
he came towards her.
It was him!
"Marnie?" his rich -- and familiar -- voice inquired. His voice sounded somehow hopeful.
"It is you!" She
felt ridiculous, but she knew she was right. The voice, the way he looked with the
sun back-lighting him; she couldn't
be wrong. "Three weeks ago,
the storm, and the accident. You
pulled me out of my car when I went off the road!" Her heart was racing and she felt
totally dizzy. Please God, let
me not be making a fool of myself! she pleaded silently.
"Yes!" He was
standing right in front of her, hands half-raised for a moment. Then he dropped his arms, looking a
little embarrassed. "You'll
never know how much I've been hoping you'd come back. When Dad said he had found you, I didn't
believe--"
"How did he know who I am?" Marnie interrupted.
"This," Bob answered, reaching into the pocket of his
lab-coat to pull out a small, leather-bound book. "He's probably been bored to tears
with all the talking about you that I've done."
She gasped as she recognized her dream-book, as she had called it, and
she felt herself blushing. On the
cover was the gilt lettering that read simply "Marnie's
Thoughts". She had thought it
had burned up in the car. It was
where she wrote down her little poems and observations. Not quite a diary, but close enough.
"It never mentions more than your first name," he went on to
explain. "But what I read
there..." He stopped
awkwardly. "I'm sorry. I
couldn't help reading it. What you
had written--"
"Is a bunch of rambling nonsense," she cut him off, looking
down as she felt her face burning.
"No!" His voice
was firm and she felt a warm hand cup her chin and lift her face up to his to
look into a pair of warm brown eyes that seemed to pull her into them. "What I read was beautiful. Sensitive poems and dreams. Wishes and thoughts that really hit
home. They made me curse the fact
that I had lost you. The hospital
had no record of any Marnie--"
"My legal name is Margaret Nancy McBride," she offered,
losing herself in his eyes and leaning into his hand helplessly. The subtle scent of a spicy aftershave
blended in with the antiseptic and his hand felt so warm against her face. One of his fingers reached up to caress
her cheek.
"Then I did contact you," he said softly in a voice that
crackled with emotion. "The
hospital had you and one other younger female accident victim listed, who had
first names beginning with the letter M.
I wrote to each of you explaining I wanted to get in touch about the
accident. But I never heard from
either of you."
Vaguely Marnie remembered just such a letter, but it had been a formal
sounding request from a Dr. Thompson and she had put it aside, intending to
answer, but then forgetting. She
had had no idea!
"I was going crazy," he went on. "Reading what you had written... I
wanted to meet you so badly. I had
to leave you with the ambulance because of all the other accidents. It was a really bad pile-up. Two people got killed and there were
thirteen more who were injured.
Some critically. I had my
hands full. I'm also on trauma call
at the hospital and since I was on the scene anyway, I was stuck directing the
rescue units and later, I operated on several of the victims. I didn't get out of the O.R. till late
the next day and had to get some sleep, and when I went to check on you, you
were gone already. And so was
Marion Carson."
He paused with a wistful smile. "It was just dumb luck I got
this," he held up the book.
"One of the nurses gave me your book. They forgot to give you all your
personal belongings. And after reading it... well, I got your addresses from
admissions and wrote you both, but no one answered. I was about to write again,
tomorrow. I couldn't call because
both of you have unlisted numbers."
He stopped, looking almost embarrassed.
She felt like reaching out.
He hadn't deserted her! she thought triumphantly. He had been forced to leave her -- to
save others.
"Did you... think of me at all?" he asked, suddenly sounding
shy. "I know you don=t know
anything about me--"
You are so wrong, she thought as she considered his warm and welcoming office, his father=s pride,
the pictures -- and the memory of his rescue -- and she leaned forward to slip
her arms around his waist to pull him close. His own arms crept around her in response
to hold her warmly. She felt
herself crying helplessly as all the tension poured out of her. His arms tightened around her and she
pressed close against his hard, warm body.
His arms were so solid, so comforting, she realized as she told
him about her constant dreams and nightmare fears that he had been nothing more
than a figment of her imagination.
As she finished, she lifted her head and looked up at him again. His own eyes were moist.
"It seems that I wasn't the only one who was plagued by dreams,"
he said softly.
"Yes, but mine have just come true." Marnie only had time for those words as
his lips descended on hers.
-
end -