My Dream Date

My Dream Date

We glide in silence.

My father had always taught the significance of self-reflection. Every day for ten minutes of silence, I would reflect and meditate on the good in my life and how I learned from each moment. I remember him saying. Reflect on the good times. Reflect on the good that also comes out of the bad. Know the worth of life experience. Know the worth of reflections in silence.

The scarlet walls glow in dim lighting. His thoughts are palpable. Does she like to dance? I can hear him wonder. It’s my favorite, I muse as I picture us dancing.

I had participated in ballet performances in high school, and my jazz-oriented dance team had placed first senior year in a competition. My older brother had presented me with lilies in a golden-colored vase. It had rained that day so I remember stepping outside feeling victorious as the fresh air blew the scent of lilies into my nose.

He has dark hair. I know he is handsome and about 5’10”. I cannot see his face. His warmth is unmistakable. The lounge smells like lilies and a cool breeze stirs the scent in small waves. The moon and the sun tap boldly through the scarlet walls as the walls glow. The chandeliers gracefully dangle teardrops of frozen jewel-like rain. Even his thoughts wafer like the smell of the lilies. I feel comfortable. The silence glides smoothly along with our movement, and suddenly I find myself at a glass table with marble candles that flicker emeralds and rubies.

My first boyfriend in college had presented me with a necklace accented with rubies and emeralds for Christmas. He was my first love, and the fire in my heart toward him was nothing but unmistakable adoration. He was unconditional in his love toward me. No matter how much I felt I messed up, he always stressed forgiveness. On both sides. I was going to marry him at the end of college, I told myself that Valentine’s day. But he passed in a car crash senior year. I told myself I needed someone like him. Someone unconditional in love, generous, kind, and good. I needed a good person, a good man.

Suddenly, a violin sears through the air.

My parents’ 40th anniversary involved hiring a professional violinist to play at a small catered gathering at their house. . . They had been together because they recognized the intrinsic worth they each possessed. They valued love above circumstances whether it be financial, health, or drastic mistakes in managing conflict.

He speaks. A glass of Merlot?

My first Valentine’s date with my college boyfriend involved him ordering a glass of Merlot at my favorite Mediterranean restaurant. I drank from his same glass, and fell in love with the taste. Merlot always reminded me of true love.

My favorite, I say. I see his smile. His teeth and lips are subtle, and his eyes suddenly peer from his blurred features. Warm, dark, and glistening like the rain from the chandeliers.

Dark hands from a veiled waiter pour Merlot into glasses veined with gold.

What a beautiful place, I say.

We clink our glasses and the glasses hover as we withdraw our touch from their heated skin. The golden veins shimmer as the glasses eventually return to the table.

You’re beautiful, he states.

The violin sears the air yet again. But what was his name? I wonder. Merlot skims my throat and dances in my stomach. My eyes tear and diamonds cascade into my lap.

We know each other, but I don’t know your name. What is it?

It’s –

Brrrinnnnggg!!!!

My eyes shoot open, and my heart pounds as I lie in bed clutching my blanket, alarm clock yelling.

What was his name?