The Good Old Days

I wake with a start and find myself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. I blink and rub my eyes. Where am I?

My attention turns to the wallpaper decorated with delicate wild strawberries and the ornate wooden furniture tastefully placed around a bedroom I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen before. A noise brings my gaze to the bed and I startle when I realize I’m not alone. My bedmate rolls over and I suppress a gasp. Todd? I haven’t seen him since I broke up with him the day before I left for college. He was devastated. I was ready for new adventures. What on earth am I doing in bed with him?

I carefully slide my legs out of bed and tiptoe to the bathroom, where I stare at myself in the mirror. I’m wearing a satin nightgown that definitely is not mine. I close the door and sit on the closed toilet seat as I sift through my memories.

It was my 25th birthday yesterday and I was feeling amazing. I had just been offered a new job in London and was so excited for my next adventure. My co-workers had organized a goodbye party at a new restaurant that just opened as a perfect replica of a famous 1950s bar. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling of the warm, wood-paneled room. Behind the bar, men in tuxedos poured fancy drinks and passed them off to waitresses reminiscent of Barbie. 

I remember talking with a cute guy who worked in finance, I think. He invited me to what he called the exclusive private room of the restaurant and I tipsily followed him. Walking in was like being transported back in time. The women wore dresses and heels, with their hair done up, while the men wore suits and smoked cigars. I think there was dancing. Someone handed me a drink, and that’s where my memories end.

I’m shivering when I hear Todd’s footsteps in the other room. “Claire,” he says. “Are you in the bathroom?”

I open the door. “What happened last night?” I demand. “I can’t remember. And I haven’t heard from you in seven years! What is going on?”

He strides forward in just his boxers and wraps his strong arms around my lower back, pulling me close. “We’re here now, so what does it matter?”

“This is nuts,” I say, pulling away from him. But he just pulls me in closer and plants a kiss on my neck.

“I’ve been dreaming of this day since you broke my heart,” he says, his body pressed against mine. “And now we’re here together. I almost can’t believe it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” My panic rises and I knee him hard in the groin. 

He releases his grip as he doubles over. “No use fighting, Claire,” he groans through clenched teeth. “This is our life now.”

I run. Out of the bedroom, through a turquoise living room with an ancient TV and frilly lamps, and out the front door. The warm sun hits my face and I search for any clue to where I am. I seem to be in a suburb but nothing looks familiar. Next door a man in suspenders is washing an antique car in his driveway. 

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” he says cheerily with a wave. On the other side of the house, a woman in heels is hanging laundry on a line. She smiles and waves, seeming about to say something when a little boy I’d guess to be three tugs on her skirt.

“Mommy, I’m hungry,” he says plaintively.

“Okay, Bobby, let’s go get a snack.” She glances back at me and says, “It’s nice to finally meet you, Claire. Would you like to have tea with me this afternoon while Bobby’s down for his nap?

I stare open-mouthed, unable to speak. I plan to be long gone by teatime.

I start jogging down the road. At each intersection I frantically look right and left but every street looks the same. Manicured lawns, red tulips, antique cars, backyard laundry lines, and cookie cutter houses.

My breath is ragged and my head is pounding as I keep running, randomly turning down new streets now, panic rising. I stop to catch my breath and see Todd striding toward me. He has shaved and is wearing a baby blue suit.

“You’re making a fool of yourself running around in your nightgown,” he says with mild disapproval. “Come home and have some coffee and breakfast with me. We’ll talk.” In a wave of exhaustion, I let him steer me toward the house I woke up in, which I’ve somehow passed three times already this morning.

On the kitchen table sits an enamel urn and two plates, each with a fried egg, two slices of bacon, and toast. Todd pours coffee from the urn into two small white cups and places them on matching saucers. He gestures toward the cream and sugar. “Help yourself.”

While he slowly chews on a bite of bacon, I take a sip of black coffee, hoping it will calm my headache. The silence is heavy between us, though Todd doesn’t seem to notice. 

I shiver as sweat drips down my lower back. “Where is my clothing?” I ask, breaking the silence and trying to keep my voice calm.

“Come with me,” he says as he leads the way back into the bedroom. He opens a closet door and I see an assortment of knee-length dresses hanging side by side. A shelf above the dresses features hats adorned with fake flowers and lace. “These are yours,” he says. “Let me know if you prefer different colors.”

“But where are my clothes that I was wearing yesterday?” I ask, yearning for my jeans. 

“You don’t need those anymore,” Todd says. “I’ve disposed of them.”

A bizarre answer, but what I really want is to be out of this flimsy nightgown, so I pick out a dress. I try to ignore him as he stays and watches, a small smile on his face, as I take the nightgown off and pull on the dress. He steps close so I can feel his breath on the back of my neck and reaches for the zipper.

“Let me help you with that. You look so beautiful.”

I push away from him to turn around. “Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Watch your language, young lady,” he says with a smirk. “I don’t allow swearing in this family. I expect you to be a good example for the children. Come back into the kitchen and we’ll talk.”

We sit down at the table and he finally starts talking in between leisurely bites of breakfast. “The great thing about this neighborhood is that it’s so safe. The women take care of the men and children, and the men protect their women and provide for them. No one has to worry about anything.

“I knew we were destined to be together from the start. I could feel it. So when you dumped me to go have your adventures, I was devastated.”

Todd pauses to glance out the window, apparently lost in his memories.

“I spent a year trying to find my way in our old world, but being a white man always seemed to put me at a disadvantage. So I started working toward a different world – one where I would be afforded the respect I deserve.

“So I started to study and experiment with dreams. I gained control of my dreams and started building a new dream world based on the golden age of the 1950s.

“But the real breakthrough came when I met Martin, our next door neighbor. He had been quietly experimenting with ways to hijack consciousness. With my help, he found a way to bring others into our dream worlds. 

“Then all I had to do was find you, plant the idea for your co-workers to take you to our restaurant, and have Tommy lure you into the back room. Smooth as butter.”

He stops talking and takes a sip of his coffee, smiling. “Isn’t this the best coffee? Everything tastes better in my dreams.”

“So I’m asleep?” I say, pinching myself hard.

“Just think of yourself as awake in a new world, embarking on a new and satisfying life with me. I’ll go to work. You’ll stay home to cook and clean and, eventually, take care of the little ones.”

“You have got to be out of your mind!” I say in a low, fierce voice. “There’s no way I’m going to live out your 1950s patriarchal fantasy!”

His satisfied smile makes me want to smash everything in sight. “The thing is, Claire, you don’t have much of a choice, do you? Did you find a way out on your morning jaunt?”

“You sick bastard.”

His expression hardens. “I have been more than patient with you, my dear,” he says in a strained voice. “In a few minutes I’m going to work. I expect a warm welcome when I get home and a home-cooked dinner on the table at 5:30.”

At the doorway, he turns and looks back at me. “You know, you should consider yourself lucky – there are far worse dreams I could place you in.” His lips curl in a cruel smile. “You don’t want to know what kind of sick bastard I really am.”

Then he’s gone and all I’m left with is bile in the back of my throat and my untouched breakfast..