I was in a home gardening center with my sister and he was going to arrive soon. He would not be alone; he'd be accompanied by old acquaintances. He was being eased back into this type of setting following an undefined absence. He knew I would be there but I knew there were no plans for us to meet face to face.
From afar, I watched him sit down with the others at a round table for 6. His silky premature gray hair framed his beautiful aging blue eyes, eyes that looked even softer than they had the last time I'd looked directly into them. Of those sitting at the table, only one face was distinguishable, a female I did not recognize but who seemed to be teary-eyed as she watched him sitting among the apparently reconvened group.
I broke away from my stare and returned to what I was doing. A short while later, my sister told me he was no longer at the center but had left something for me. I approached the shelves where the item had been placed and found a card. But it was more than a standard Hallmark greeting. There were a few pages of varying sized and textures, and the last page included a small primitive wooden cut-out of the word America. It was painted in a cream color and had what looked to be a dozen very small red and blue stars sprinkled on the upper half of the letters. Intended for me, and what I interpreted to be a statement about the future of our country, he had written, "The best is yet to come."
All the warmth and fondness I held for him that had subsided through the years swelled again inside of me. I felt no absence and I felt no longing. I felt only peace.
We met over 20 years ago and he pursued me with great interest. I accepted a dinner invitation and he turned out to be Prince Charming. He was the perfect first date, the perfect first kiss, and the perfect gentleman. He was also the perfect father. And I was the perfect mother. We each had children from marriages that had ended. After a few months of dating, an ill-timed twist of fate changed the direction of our relationship and we parted ways. We casually reconnected a few times in the years that followed; friends reuniting and realizing the connection was still there. I recall writing to him finally and telling him that our relationship reminded me of those Sondheim lyrics in "Send in the Clowns." We exchanged fond-friends Christmas cards for the next couple of years and then contact quietly slipped away.
I have not talked to him for over 10 years and, ironically, never got a photo of him. But there is a photo of him now -- on Facebook. Still handsome, debonair, and relaxed, his has aged gracefully. He looks a bit sad but mostly content. His Facebook friends include his now grown children who were always the light of his life, and his most recent comment is about freedom.
Induced by his photograph and by his last comment, the scene in the garden center was a dream I had last night. There was so much detail and context in my dream that Jackson Browne lyrics come to mind: "And we'll fill in the missing colors in each other's paint-by-number dreams." My subconscious worked quickly and with great liberty to fill in numerous familiarity gaps that have widened over time. With those liberties came many inaccuracies; there is no sign in real life of debilitation or a need to reorient to settings of any kind. He's simply older. He continues to thrive from his grown children, which is where my life has led me, too. We are living happily ever after, apart.
Since some relationships are better left where they ended, I have no plans to either "friend" or "poke" my former Prince Charming on Facebook. I'm just going to try to be better prepared for my next virtual episode of "This Is Your Life."
Comments