Pieces of Dreams

I tried to concentrate on surfing the Internet to see what kind of sales some of the other travel agencies were offering when the bell chimed over the door. I looked up and a thirtyish, good-looking man walked in. He was tall, about Taylor’s height, maybe six-two or so. He was dressed casually in one of those nylon designer jogging suits, looking ready to hang out for a minute. His dark brown skin glistened with a slight sheen of perspiration. He was pleasant enough to look at—more than once—which I did, and I caught a glint of light bouncing off the third finger of his left hand.

“Hi. How can I help you?”

He walked farther into the office, cautious, and looked around as if trying to determine if we were alone. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his electric blue windbreaker. My antennae went up, and I instantly wished I’d taken Marva up on her offer to go to lunch. I stood—ready for anything, bumping the back of my knees against the chair, my hand near the phone.

He cleared his throat. “I hope so.” He gave me a shy smile. “I, uh, wanted to book a flight to Chicago.”

Chicago. I almost said it out loud in relief. My pulse slowed down just a notch. “Of course. Why don’t you have a seat and tell me your plans?” I indicated the chair next to my desk.

He eased into the chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

“When were you planning to leave?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Short notice.” I started to give him my standard speech about the advantages of booking well in advance, but something told me that this trip was a last minute decision, that stopping in was on impulse. His next comment confirmed my conclusion.

“I’ve debated about going for almost a month.”

“A month? Why did you wait so long?”

He shrugged slightly. “Wasn’t sure if it was the best thing to do.”

“Book early, or take the trip?” I teased, which got a chuckle out of him. I kept typing.

“Take the trip.”

My right eyebrow arched in question. “Oh. So, what made you finally decide to go ahead with it?”

“Funny thing is, I’m still not sure.”

At that point I didn’t know whether to be curious or annoyed. I hoped he didn’t think he was going to get a refund if he changed his mind.

“Is there a problem?”

He didn’t answer.

“You are aware that this ticket is nonrefundable?”

“Yes. I know.” He stood up, walked across the room to the rack of brochures, and picked up one detailing the wonders of Hawaii. “Went here on my honeymoon,” he said, almost to himself.

I watched him for a moment threading along the crossroads of decision, and then I saw something in his eyes, a momentary flicker as if he’d seen something pleasant, and he smiled again. Just a little.

“I hear it’s beautiful.”

“More like heaven on earth,” he said.

His body seemed to relax and let go, then, as if the strain of carrying a burden had finally been removed, the tension flowed from him on a tide of expelled air, leaving him open and receptive. All of a sudden I realized he wasn’t out to give me a hard time but was really battling with his decision about the trip.

“Will your wife need a ticket as well?”

His head snapped in my direction, as if realizing he wasn’t alone.

“No. She doesn’t like to fly.”

“Is it business or pleasure?”

He inhaled deeply, his chest expanding, then blew out a long breath. “It’s a college reunion.”

I smiled, wondering what that was like. I’d never gone any further than business school, to get my agency certificate. Couldn’t see any college reunions in my future.

“That sounds like fun. How many years has it been?”

“Ten.” He turned toward me.

“I’d think you’d want to go. A lot happens to people in ten years. You can joke about folks who’ve gone bald, gotten pot bellies, and wound up with the wrong wives.” I laughed lightly at the images.

His dark eyes suddenly locked with mine, and my heart knocked. What had I said?

“That’s part of the problem,” he said out of nowhere.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Neither do I.”

He was quiet for a while as he absently fingered the brochures, looking around the office, but not really seeing. I thought that would be all he’d reveal. But then, like a young thief eager to make a confession, he let the words pour out of him.

“I just know that going back may resurrect some things that are best left buried.”

My “situation” tapped me on the shoulder again. “Then…why go?”

“That’s what I’ve asked myself these past weeks. But if I don’t go, too many questions will be left unanswered. I’ll never really know if I made the right decision.”

“Made the right decision—you mean about your job, where you decided to live…?”

Slowly he shook his head. “No. About the woman I chose to marry.”

“Oh,” was all I could summon in response. His confession surprised me in its bold honesty and its reflection of my life, and something inside of me needed to know if there was a solution to my own quandary. Maybe he had it, this stranger.

I looked at him for a moment. His face was gone. In its place was my own, staring back at me, waiting. In the blink of an eye what began as a benign conversation suddenly took a serious twist. What could I say to him, to this man who felt the need to share a part of himself with a total stranger, to one who wouldn’t be judgmental? Perhaps that’s what made it easy.

“I think I understand,” slipped across my lips.

“You do?” He sounded mystified, and absently sat down opposite me.

I nodded, thoughtful. “I’m sort of at a crossroads myself. And have probably asked the same questions as you.” I leaned forward on the desk and clasped my hands, staring at them for a moment. I looked at him, and our gazes connected in that inexplicable split second when you realize that a chance meeting has the potential to change you future.

He fingered his wedding band.