A Mid-Summer Day’s Dream

I was in a vile humor.  It had been another awful day in an awful week, when the pressures at work and the pressures at home had collided. My usually-great boss and my usually-loving husband had picked the same week to get into foul moods, and my always-aggravating children had been….aggravating.  The higher my stress level rose, the more things seemed to go wrong.  No one cared how hard I tried.  I felt unloved and unappreciated.

Just before noontime the phone rang. 

“Good morning. This is Samantha,” I snarled into the phone.

“Hi, Samantha.” A warm, creamy voice. “This is Robert.”

“Robert?” Who the hell was Robert?   “I’m sorry, I can’t place you.”

“Samantha, it’s Robert.”  The mellow voice was familiar.  “You know who I am, Samantha.  Relax, and let yourself feel.”

The scary thing was, I suddenly did know who it was.  It was Robert.  But Robert didn’t exist.  Not in real life.

Twenty-five years ago, newly but not blissfully married, I was waitressing at Howard Johnson’s.  Several nights a week, an attractive single man came in for dinner.  He was six feet tall, with wind-blown blonde hair.  He drove a red sports car with an un-pronounceable foreign name.  He was always pleasant and friendly. But his biggest attraction was his smile.  When he looked into my eyes, thanking me for his pistachio ice cream cone, I knew that I was a very special and attractive woman.  His smile jangled my nerves and made me feel alive. 

I didn’t know anything about him, except that he was a private pilot—not a bad career for a dashing stranger.

My life was not happy at that time. I was married to an egocentric, inflexible man, whose anger was easily aroused. So it was understandable that I began to fantasize about my smiling Galahad.

He became Robert, a handsome pilot, providentially rich, and wildly in love with me. I endowed Robert with every virtue and no faults.  What’s the sense of having an imaginary lover with faults?  He was infallibly kind, considerate, loving—and smiling.  He was always there when I needed cheering up.

Now I was married to a much more loving husband, but no marriage is perfect, and no one lives such a great life that they never need cheering up.  I still pulled Robert out and visited with him from time to time.  Robert would come by in his sports car as I lay in bed at night. We’d drive to the airport, and fly off to some exotic location, usually a Caribbean Resort.  All the while, Robert was telling me how wonderful I was.  He’d gently caress back, and kiss my lips.

Most of the time I fell asleep before we arrived at our romantic destination.  In fact, in all of the years I depended on Robert for consolation, we never made it to bed together.

Robert would also show up on rough days at work.  He’d stand behind my chair, giving me a backrub or a pep talk before I went in to speak with the boss.  Or he’d show up with flowers when I was especially miserable.  I envisioned the bright red and yellow blooms on my desk, and my spirits rose.

For almost half my life, Robert had lived in my imagination.  I wasn’t prepared for him to suddenly jump out of fantasy, and call me on real time.

“What do you mean, it’s Robert?” I said warily.  “It can’t be Robert.”

“Samantha, you’re having a rough time,” the warm, familiar voice continued.  “I thought we should go away and spend some time together.  Someplace warm and sunny.  St Croix, maybe.”

This incursion of imagination into reality had gone far enough.

“Look, Robert, or whoever, this is crazy,” I said sternly.  “I can’t go away to St. Croix with you.  I’m a married woman.  Besides, you don’t exist.”

“Samantha, com’on. You know that I respect your marriage.” Robert sounded so earnest.   “That doesn’t have anything to do with us. I really think it would be good for you to get away.”

“Robert, this is ridiculous.” Whoever was behind this prank, they knew too much, including just how delicious a week in St. Croix sounded.  “Go away.  I’ll conjure you up tonight, in bed.  You know, pretending.  I can’t talk to you on the phone, at work, in real life.”

“You’re right,” Robert agreed.  “We can’t talk on the phone while you’re at work.  Look, it’s lunchtime.  Why don’t you meet me for lunch?”

Oh, yeah, I’d look great, sitting in a restaurant talking to an imaginary man. This was too absurd.  “I’ll pass, thank you.”

Robert—or whoever it was, wouldn’t give up.  “Samantha, trust me on this.  You know I’ve always been there when you needed me.  I’d never do anything that would cause you harm.  This is the only time I’ve asked you to do something for me.  Please meet me for lunch.  You have to eat lunch.  And you don’t have any plans.  You left your lunch at home on the table this morning.”

This was getting spooky. I had, when the phone rang, been cursing myself for forgetting my lunch, and trying to figure out whether I would get lunch from the unappetizing greasy spoon or the expensive deli. 

I didn’t know what to say.

Robert took my bewilderment for consent.  “Meet me at Howard Johnson’s.  You can go now.  Your secretary is taking a late lunch today.”

“They tore down the Howard Johnson’s,” I managed to tell him.  “It’s Joe’s Steakhouse now.”

“See you there in about ten minutes,” Robert said before he hung up.

It’s hard to describe my feelings.  I knew there had to be some simple explanation. I just couldn’t imagine what it was.  Without considering the absurdity of it, I found myself telling Sue Ellen, my secretary,  that I was going out for lunch. 

“Okay,” she told me.  “I was planning to take a late lunch anyway.”

I looked at her narrowly, but could see nothing in her expression that indicated complicity.

As I drove the few miles to where HoJo’s had been, I tried to sort things out.  It was no use.  This was something completely out of my realm.  It’s absurd, I kept telling myself.  And yet I was smiling at the prospect of seeing Robert again, even if I was about to make a complete ass of myself, having lunch with an imaginary man.

I pulled into the parking lot and nearly smashed the blue Chevy pulling out.  Joe’s Steakhouse had disappeared without a trace, and there was Howard Johnson’s, sitting there as it had for thirty years (but hadn’t for the last five).  Whoa! This was much worse than phantom phone calls.  I was afraid to get out of my car, and sat staring at the restaurant until Robert pulled up beside me in his red sports car.  And smiled at me.

In person Robert was every bit as devastating as he’d been in my dreams.  He hadn’t aged, as I had.  His smile twinkled in his blue eyes; the wind ruffled his blonde hair.  His casual sports shirt and khakis did nothing to disguise his brawny frame.

When he opened my door I got out of the car.  He walked me up the sidewalk and into the restaurant. It did not surprise me to see Natalie and Barbara working.  They had worked lunches at Hojo’s for years.  They didn’t recognize me.  It seemed they didn’t even see me—even though I was real, and they were part of the fantasy.  If it was a fantasy.  At this point, I no longer had any idea.

“Please tell me what the hell is going on,” I demanded of my escort, as soon as we were seated across from each other in the turquoise booth.

“Let’s order first,” Robert said, opening the menu.  “You’ll feel better with something in your stomach.”

His prosaic manner convinced me to open the menu, which was as unchanged as the building and the staff.  I ordered a hot fudge sundae with maple walnut ice cream, whipped cream, and nuts.

“Extra nuts, please,” I told Natalie. If I was experiencing a fantasy, I might as well take advantage of the fact, and eat something I hadn’t permitted myself in real life for decades.  Robert had a chicken pot pie.  I remembered it had been one of his favorites.

As soon as Natalie left the table I was prepared to exact the explanation he owed me.  But Robert forestalled me, taking my hands in his, and smiling into my eyes in a way that still melted my bones, no matter if he, or I, or the whole world had gone crazy.

“Samantha, think back on the past twenty-five years.”  His blue eyes stared into mine. “In all that time, have I ever disappointed you?  Why do you think I would hurt you now?”

“Just tell me,” I begged.  “Is this real, or am I dreaming?  I’m dreaming, right?  One of those dreams that seem really, really real?”  That was the only possible explanation for what I was experiencing.

“Well, strictly speaking, you’re not dreaming,” Robert tried to explain. “The thing is, thanks to my twenty-five years of perfect service, I’ve been granted a few favors.” He smiled.  “They let me set things up the way I wanted for a little while.”

“Who let you set things up?  What are you talking about?  Service to who?

“Samantha, calm down.  It’s okay.” He soothed me with his voice, and took my hand is his.  “This is a good thing.  It’s my reward for looking after you so well.  For always being available when you need me—and for disappearing when you don’t need me.  Today I can have happen what I will.” 

Natalie appeared, with Roberts piping hot pot pie, and my gooey sundae.  I grabbed a spoon and took a bite of ice cream and chocolate sauce.  It tasted real!

Robert smiled at my obvious pleasure and continued.

“You have no way of knowing, but things like this happen all the time,” he continued.  “Imagination is an interesting thing.  Remember what Shakespeare said? ‘There is nothing neither good nor bad, but thinking makes it so.’”. 

He took a bite of his chicken pot pie.  So apparitions eat, I thought.

“Don’t you see?” Robert went on.  “If you imagine me, then I exist.  You created me. Not in the everyday realm, where you live.  But I do exist.  Pragmatists think their reality is the only world.  And yet that can’t account for so much—things like creativity, intuition…and how about what folks call ‘divine inspiration’?”

“So, you’re trying to tell me that you live in a parallel universe that I’ve stumbled into?”  I scoffed.  At least I tried to scoff.  My vaunted pragmatism, which had always served me so well, was having a tough time of it.  Even so, I did feel calmer.  No doubt the soothing effects of the Hot Fudge Sundae.

“Well, it’s not quite like that, but anyway, Samantha, it doesn’t matter.”  Robert waved his hand in impatience. “The point is that, for today, I get to set things up the way I want.  Like I told you, it’s my reward for my exemplary work.  But it only works if you agree.  Everything hinges on the relationship we’ve developed over twenty-five years.  Not much point rewarding someone for his outstanding work if his protégé doesn’t even trust him,” he explained reasonably.

“I do trust you,” I assured him.  “In my imagination, where you belong!  I just can’t deal with you suddenly appearing in real life!” 

“Samantha, look around you.”  Robert indicated the perfectly restored restaurant, Barbara and Natalie, himself.  “Is this real life?”

It was definitely surreal.  But the Hot Fudge Sundae tasted every bit as good as if it were real.  “What does that make me?  A figment of my own imagination?”

“It doesn’t make you anything,” he said patiently.  “You’re you. You know that I love you. Why is it so strange that I would want to spend some time with you?  Guess where we’re going after lunch?” he added, with that special Robert smile.

“I am going back to my office,” I told him, “and you are going back to where ever it is that you hang out when I’m not daydreaming.”

Robert smiled at me.  That smile.  As if I hadn’t spoken he asked me again.  “Guess?  I’ll give you a clue. What was the happiest day we ever spent together?”

I wanted to point out that, technically, we had never spent a day together, but I knew right away the time he meant.  I couldn’t help smiling.  It had been one of my earliest fantasies when our imaginary love was just beginning to flourish. 

“That day at the beach…..when you gave me the ring….it was on my…oh, shit, Robert, no, don’t make this crazier!”

“Relax, my love.”  He took my hand again.  “Live the moment again.  You’re right, it was on your lunch hour. We snuck away, just the two of us, to lie on a blanket, way up near the beach grass.  I’ve never been happier than I was the day you accepted that ring.”  He sounded so much like a real lover that I was entranced.

“I figured it was a happy memory for you, too,” he continued.  “So I thought we’d go back to the beach, and recapture that mood—relive those remarkably wonderful feelings.”

I wasn’t about to go to the beach with this ghost.

“Listen, Robert, or whoever you are,” I said. “a.) that was not a real event. I imagined it; b.) even if it had been real, history is history and you can never go back; and c.) I need to get back to real life in the real world, so thank you very much for this charming interlude, or whatever it was.” Frustration made me nasty.  “Guess you’ll have to go back to “them”—whoever they are—and tell them you’ve failed.  And thanks a lot for getting me so fucked up that I will never be able to fanaticize about you again.  I’d be afraid I was going out of my mind.” I was almost in tears.

I started to stand up, but Robert grabbed my hand.  Gently.  His touch was so soft, so soothing.  He didn’t say anything.  He just looked deep into my eyes.  And smiled at me. 

We left HoJo’s and drove to the beach in his red sports car.

It was a perfect mid-summer day.  The weather was hot, but there was a breeze.  The beach was sparsely populated, even though it would normally have been full of screaming kids and their attendant mommies.  I realized that, instead of my professional work outfit, I was wearing a sleek bikini—and I didn’t look bad in it, either.  That was when I gave in completely and let reality slide away.  What’s so great about reality, anyway?

We lay on the beach, as if we were young lovers, laughing at silly jokes, and flirting.  I let the warm sand dribble through my fingers and enjoyed the sounds of the surf, and the gulls calling on the breeze. 

I agreed to go to St. Croix.  After all, why shouldn’t I?  I’d never been to San Croix.  I’d let Robert figure out all of the little details—my husband, my kids, my boss, and such trifles.  For the first time in weeks, I felt perfectly relaxed and content.

It was Robert who broke the spell.   “Time to get you back to work.”

WORK!  Oh, shit!  Who knew how long I had been gone?  And where were my clothes, anyway?  I jumped up and looked around frantically.

“Hey, what’s the matter?”  Robert had stood up, too.  “Relax.  Everything is under control.  By the time you get back to the office, you look just fine.” 

He shook out the blanket, and walked me to the parking lot—and there was my car, last seen at HoJo’s.  I didn’t question it.  It seemed perfectly logical that it should be there. 

Robert gave me a tender good-bye kiss and sent me on my way.

I drove back to work, passing Howard Johnson’s…..No wait….it was Joe’s Steak House.  About the same time, I realized I was dressed in my office clothes.  The drive back seemed to take no time at all. 

When I walked back into the office, Sue Ellen said, “That was a fast lunch.” 

I looked at my watch.  It was 12:10.  How was it possible?  I was still full from the Hot Fudge Sundae—and had nuts stuck in my teeth to prove it! 

“Wait a minute,” Sue Ellen said.  “You’ve got sand or something on your cheek.” She brushed it off. “How did that get there?” she wondered.

“I…was looking for something in my trunk,” I prevaricated. “I must have brushed up against a beach chair.” I headed back to the safety of my cubicle.

I had no idea what had transpired, but I noticed a huge shift in my mood.  Suddenly my boss was a fine man, and of course I would be able to get the job he wanted done.  My husband was a sweetie, whom I loved dearly.  And my kids—they really were great kids. Okay, not perfect. In fact, downright annoying at times. (Whatever had happened, it hadn’t made me completely insane!)

As I sat at my desk, trying to figure out just what had happened, an email message flashed up on my screen. 

Sender: ROBERT. 

Not knowing what to expect, I opened the message.

“Life is never just as it seems, but rather made up of a culmination of all of our hopes, dreams, experiences, knowledge and love.  It is more important to feel than to understand, to experience than to know.   

Do not waste time analyzing–bask in the good feelings.

We will go to St. Croix tonight–your time. I’ll come by in my sports car, we’ll drive to the airport, and fly off to our romantic destination–while you lie safe in your bed.”

Yes, we would.  Indeed we would.