Once in a Life

It was quite a party. The whole neighborhood had gathered. I saw people I had never met before. Well, because I was the new kid on the block. And let's face it not the most popular one.

But I should start at the beginning.

I graduated in the mid-sixties with an associate's degree in business. You know, one of those nothing degrees, marginally more useful than philosophy. Luckily, I had what my grandmother called chutzpah, so I landed on my feet. For twenty years I, along with a small army of lawyers and a very good malpractice policy, have kept a bunch of plastic surgeons out of trouble. Not that they'd come and say thank you, but I have successfully re-negotiated my salary each year. And last year I bought a house.

Right, that one. The one with all the pretty wildflowers and natural vegetation. For some reason my neighbors were not enchanted with my landscaping sense. Ach, never mind, it should grow on them.

My little house had two bedrooms. I knocked down the wall between the two - Tawanda! Man, that was liberating. Then spent thousands of dollars having a professional make it into one bedroom, a walk-in closet and a dream bath. Gary was cute. I used to clock out on time when he was working at the house. That man knew how to fill out a t-shirt. But he was married. Sigh. A girl can dream, though, can't she?

So, here we were. Twenty or so of my closest neighbors. It was a clear night and Halley was supposed to pass overhead. There was beer and wine and hard stuff. Margy from across the street had made cheese puffs - more puff than chees, if you asked me. Josy down the street brought ...I had no idea what it was. It was white and a bit slimy and I seemed to have been the only one to try it. I guess the others knew. Josy gave me a big smile when I slopped some on my plate. Oh, well. I didn't die of it. Sylivia from a block over made this thing called "The Next Best Thing To Robert Redford." She wasn't kidding. Chocolate and whipped cream on a salty pretzel crust. Groan. I might just put in a standing order for that stuff.

The guys were all gathered on one side and the women on the other end of the table. Truth be told, I would have rather listened in on the guys talking about golf and football and hockey, even though I know nothing about sport. Because the women were talking about babies, diapers, teething and preschool. It made me kind-a sick.

So, with a full cup of scotch and half a plate of Robert Redford, I wandered off.

Here at the edge of our small town the light pollution was not bad. I could see more stars and lights than I had ever seen before. It was nice out there. I briefly toyed with the idea of getting a dog. It would be good for me to come out and take a walk. But what would I do with the thing when I got cold? So, I decided to think on that a little longer.

I don't know, maybe it was all the Robert Redford. Maybe it was the red-sized Solo cup of scotch, but I was quite content just watching the velvet sky, contemplating the magic of the twinkling lights and the universe in general.

Until ...

Wow! A spark had separated from the comet. Didn't anyone see that? Was I the only one? There! I couldn't point, having my hands full of Robert Redford and scotch.

Oh, God! What a heavenly combination.

Sorry, I digress.

I silently watched the spark weave its own course. It should have disintegrated in the heat. Should have been absorbed in Halley's tail. But it wasn't. It, like a leaf in autumn, gently fluttered away from the comet. I couldn't keep my eyes off it. For once I forgot about the sweets on the slowly softening Chinette plate. No, I did not forget about my half-full cup of scotch.

I sipped. I watched. I sipped, I squinted. I sipped. I closed one eye. It was coming closer and closer. At one point I glanced to my right. The table was gone, my neighbors had packed up for the night. I was the only one, along with some crickets, left on the meadow.

A flash. Quickly extinguished. I blinked. I blinked again. Was it gone. Did I lose it? Where did it go?

I was about to get up and go home, when I heard something, a light humming, like a well-behaved vacuum cleaner. I turned, looked up, left, right.

There.

A ball. As it came closer, I could see that it was bigger than a beachball, but smaller than my Fiat 500. It reflected some of the streetlights, but duller. Part of me knew that I was probably a bit drunk on sugar and alcohol, part of me did not want to miss a second. I sat back down on the now damp grass.

The ball split open.

A light approached. It was not a form. Not a green Martian with eight legs and insect eyes. No, it was a light. It floated. Toward me. As if it had known all along that I had been watching.

I stared. I forgot to breathe.

It ... I'm not kidding you. I know you're not going to believe me. I know you're going to think I should just move to New Mexico and join all those other people. But it's true.

It touched me.

I cried. For the first time in my life I let my doubts go, recognized my strengths and needs. I felt that whatever was touching me would hold me and make me stronger. For once in my life, I felt whole. I grabbed it with both hands and took it home.

But I had to let it go eventually. It was not mine to keep.

But each night I have dreamed of it. I've conjured it before I fall asleep, hoping to lose myself in its warmth and be once again, cradled gently while I sleep.

I've dreamed of its sweet kiss. A silken breath across my cheek. Light as a feather's touch, capturing the summer breeze. How it aroused my half-forgotten dreams and eased my intimate needs. I've whimpered and hoped for more.

I've dreamed of our play. How it gave me the moon and stars, showed me how to soar and fly and always caught me before I landed. How we balanced on moonbeams, rushed to catch a shooting star and hitched rides on lightning bolts.

I've dreamed of its whispers, its words of praise and delight, its sweet promises of ever after.

And I dream that tonight it will not fade away at dawn.