I woke early and went about my morning rituals. Since my pottering about did not involve my being in emotional stress, her radar was silent, allowing her to turtle back under the covers for a couple more hours of sleep.
I prepared breakfast for myself and pondered the events of the last twenty-four hours. I sensed movement deep in my psyche, spurred by images, both physical and mental, starting to blend like a stereopticon. There was so much more involved here than was evident at the surface; I was just unable to pin it down for examination.
My wife came down as usual, dressed for work. I stood and embraced her, offering her our morning’s first kiss. She asked how I was coping with the aftermath, to which I answered, “Surprisingly well.”
During the minutes we had before work I told her, again, about the photograph and how it affected me. I told her I felt a pull to visit the place where the picture had been taken. A place that was an anchor point fixing my dream to the physical world. She listened to all I had to say, and then suggested that I take some of my vacation time to go there. Maybe I could find the end of thirty years of nightmares.
I said, “I have the time, but what about you? I didn't think you had that much time accumulated.”
She replied, “You, my darling, were not listening. I said YOU should go, not me. I would be a distraction, wanting to go antiquing or seeing the seashore and eating fresh lobster. Those are things we can do at another time. This is something you need to do by yourself. I will be here when you return, waiting to hear of your discoveries. Now, you make the arrangements; I am headed to work. I’ll speak to you this evening to go over your plans.”
She kissed me again and we went to unlock the scooter she rides to work. With a last kiss, she rode away in a cloud of blue smoke. I watched her figure getting smaller, until she turned off the street two blocks away. The trust and freedom my wife accords me is amazing, and unusual in our respective circles of friends.
I went to the computer and pulled up my skype account to check with Rosalie. We speak nearly everyday about various poems and the authors we are following, our own writings and her paintings. She was online so I called her and set up the video chat. She answered in her cheerful friendly manner.
I cut through the usual pleasantries, saying, “The stone wall in the picture you took, where exactly is it?”
She said, “It’s in a small park near Wolcott, just a few miles from here. Why?”
I told her about the events of the night before; well, not all the events, but the pertinent ones about the picture and the nightmare. I told her of my wife’s urging my search for answers and an end to my torment.
I asked her for suggestions for accommodations. She gave me information about inns and B&Bs in the area. Like most Facebookers would, she suggested we meet face to face over coffee. I said that sounded like quite a treat, and would inform her of the timing.
Online ticketing showed a non-stop flight from Chicago O’Hare to Hartford, CT. The round trip would only cost about four hundred dollars. I was able to book a rental car at the same time. All that was left to do was arrange to use some of my vacation time.
I work for a gear manufacturing company. I am not known to take much time away from work. In fact, it is not unusual for me to have four or five days of unspent vacation at the turn of the yearly schedule. I am senior on shift in my department and can usually get the time I need; such was the case this time.
I called the Chimney Crest Manor in Bristol and booked one of the available rooms for at least three nights, and then skyped Rosalie and told her the details of my itinerary. We agreed to meet at a coffee shop near the Manor to become acquainted with the flesh and blood counterparts of known on-line personas. Having firmed up my schedule, I signed off, saying we would meet soon.
My wife is a real trooper. She knows things about me that even I don't know. I really wanted to thank her for her loving support, so I reserved a table at “Hour Time”, an upscale restaurant that she likes.
The planning and arrangements had taken the whole of the day; I had just finished packing when I heard her scooter putting onto the property. She came into the house and announced her arrival in her usual manner. She yelled, “Hey Ricky, I’m hooommm!”
I met and gathered her into my arms, capturing her lips with mine. I put every erg of love I possessed into that kiss. She returned the passion in full measure and my body rose to the occasion. I backed off enough to look into her eyes. I said, “This is really fun, but you have to get ready to go. Dress for a nice dinner, and please be ready by 7:30.” She gave me a speculative look and left to prepare herself.
“What,” I asked her retreating back, “no questions?”
She looked around, and smiling, said, “I trust you… and I like surprises.”
