Finally deciding he was ready to look around, Arthur took a deep breath, filling his lungs, and letting it out. He could hear from somewhere nearby the soft, lilting sounds of a daydreamy song, as the singer just barely breathed the words,
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"Each day through my window, I watch her as she passes by..." ["Just My Imagination," The Temptations, you tu . be /1g3e3cgktZU ]
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He looked up to see the gramophone-looking thing—what he remembered as Eliza calling a 'record player'—spinning its track on a little table off to the side.
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"I say to myself, 'You're such a lucky guy...'"
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When he looked around, he realized he was in a hallway—the walls were decked with vertical boards resembling pine halfway up, then they were cream plaster the rest of the way. And he lifted his eyes to see his own reflection in a large mirror that was mounted on the wall opposite him.
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"'To have a girl like her is truly a dream come true...'"
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He took a brief moment to look himself over. For the time being, he seemed to be closer to his age in reality, maybe a bit older. His hair was just a bit longer than he usually kept it; it was parted down the middle, and it had a haphazard, sort of feathered quality to it—almost what he'd call shaggy.
He wore a long-sleeved button-down with the top few buttons undone and open. The collar was stiff, coming to two dramatic triangular points on either side, and he was almost blinded by the pattern of big, bubbly brown and burnt orange flowers all over it. The shirt itself was tight; but it was nothing compared to the glaring white jeans it was tucked into, that, as he looked down, he realized flared out a bit at the bottom of each leg.
He finally looked back up into the mirror and shook his head with a sigh through his nose.
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"'Out of all the fellas in the world, she belongs to you...'"
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He looked down at a side table to his right, and when he saw a newspaper lying there, he took it between his thumb and first finger and pulled it closer.
July 14, 1972, it read near the top.
"Figures," he whispered under his breath.
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"But it was just my imagination…running away with me… It was just my imagination, running away with me."
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Replacing the newspaper to the tabletop, his gaze was snagged by the several framed photos lining it. His breathing caught, and his eyes started to dart back and forth between them when he saw all the photos they held.
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"Soon! Soon we'll be married, and raise a family…"
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There were Isaac and Hope, no more than fifteen and twelve, each on horseback and in cowboy hats, with big smiles on their faces.
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"A cozy little home out in the country, with two children, maybe three…"
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In all the rest of the photos, Isaac and Hope were younger. There was one of Isaac taking his first steps towards the camera, walking between his mother's open legs where she sat on the floor right behind him. And though she was a little blurry in the background of the photo, Arthur could clearly see the ecstatic joy on her face—she was looking down at Isaac with her hands outstretched in the air, obviously having just let go of his little fingers. And Isaac's own pudgy face as he looked up at his father was filled with all the overwhelming beauty that came of mingled enthusiasm, uncertainty, courage, pride, trust, and love.
Arthur felt his eyes well up and his throat tighten at the sight, though he couldn't hold back his smile. It was an expression on his young son's face that he remembered so vividly from reality.
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"I tell you, I...can visualize it all…"
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There was one of Hope as a toddler in loose golden curls, holding up the stem of a fluffy seeded dandelion blossom, to share her wish with the person behind the camera. The look in her knitted brows signaled her concern that the wish indeed be shared. And the next photo in the same frame was one of Hope as a little girl in curly pigtails, with a smudgy mess of watermelon all over her lips, cheeks, and chin, holding up her treasured slice to once again share with whomever was behind the camera.
There was one of Isaac and Hope, about five and two, sitting together in a bathtub full to the brim with bubbles and soap suds. Arthur had to chuckle at that one. And the thought occurred to him that however old Isaac was in this time, he wasn't yet old enough to insist his mother take that photograph down.
Another photo caught Hope and Isaac in bathing suits. With her eyes shut tight, a mischievous smile on her mouth, and her face turned, Hope was holding up a water hose and spraying Isaac until he was drenched. Isaac had a none-to-pleased expression on his mouth and an 'I'm gonna get you for that' gleam in his eye.
And yet another photo was a portrait of the four of them standing out in the wilderness together, holding up the several fish they'd caught, with their free arms around each other and bright, warm smiles on their faces.
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"This couldn't be a dream, for too real it all seems."
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Just then he heard a rustling somewhere nearby, and the low rumble of carefree chatter approaching.
"Ma, Pa, we're goin' out ridin'!" he heard Isaac call, in a voice that was just barely beginning to drop.
And like a blurry flash of lightning, he and Hope were quickly brushing one after the other right past him down the hall. Before Arthur knew it, he was looking at their backs as they headed for the front door.
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"But it was just my imagination…running away with me…"
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"Wait, wait!" he heard someone call after them, and his heart nearly stopped for a moment, finally beginning to thump hard in his chest at the familiar voice. "Wait for me!" she called.
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"Tell you, it was just my imagination…running away with me…"
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And like the jarring clap of thunder after lightning, there she appeared beside him. Pressing a quick kiss to his cheek with a, "Beat ya outside!" and briskly frolicking off after their children.
All in the matter of moments, but it was enough time for him to get a brief glimpse of her new ensemble.
She was in a long, airy gown that actually somewhat resembled some of the country frocks he'd known her to wear in reality—deep burgundy with a pattern of scattered little flowers from top to bottom. And she wore an open, cream-colored, crocheted vest draped over it—the bodice of it was short, but the tassels that dangled freely from it were long. Her lovely long blonde hair was parted down the middle, and she wore not a single speck of makeup—she didn't need it.
His movements stuttering after the fleeting sight of their children, after the feeling of her lips so briefly meeting his skin, Arthur could only watch helplessly as she passed him, following the children and heading outdoors with them. But he found himself slowly following as well, after all three of them, one step at a time towards the amber light that spilled from the open doorway.
And when he pushed the door open wider, he saw all three of them, mounting their respective horses and riding them with smiles all about the green grounds of their home, with the marigold light of the setting sun shining behind them.
From where he stood in the door, he could still hear the same song from the record player as another singer belted out the desperate yearning of his heart,
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"Every night, on my knees, I pray, 'Dear Lord, hear my plea. Don't ever let another take her love from me. Oh, I will surely die...'"
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Isaac and Hope were already on their horses riding around when Eliza climbed up on Samson. Arthur watched her as she walked up to him in her cowboy boots and pulled herself up onto his bare back, swinging her leg over and taking him by the hair of his mane.
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"Her love is...heavenly. When her arms enfold me, I hear a tender rhapsody. But in reality, she doesn't even know me..."
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Eliza first took Samson at a giddy trot, weaving him back and forth between Isaac and Hope and their horses. And when she nudged him with her heels to pick up the pace, the breeze lifted her golden hair behind her. Arthur simply stood there at the threshold and watched her.
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"Just my imagination, once again, running away with me..."
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Watched as she grinned and laughed, as she took joy in the experience of her children growing, growing up good and strong and kind. As she relished and took part in their own joy. Watched as she threw her arms up, gripping Samson with only her legs and leaning back far to let out a long, loud, carefree and wild whoop.
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"Tell you, it was just my imagination...running away with me..."
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Arthur was wholly stolen away by the sight of her. Wholly enraptured by everything he knew Eliza to be. By everything she was.
For a moment, all that existed was his eyes watching her, and both their hearts beating in their chests.
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"No, no, I can't forget her. Just my imagination, once again, running away with me..."
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Arthur watched as Eliza let Samson slow to a stop, sat up again, and smiled radiantly, her wispy blonde hair catching the sun and settling about her shoulders. He felt down deep in his bones that she was in the middle of turning to look at him with a smile.
But before she turned all the way, the world faded from around him, crossfading with another new world that was coming into view.
He could still just make out the sound of the last lines of the song playing on the record player in the world that was fading away.
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"Just my imagination...running away with me..."
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Seeing that he was yet again in another hallway, he leaned forward to brace himself on a side table he saw there in front of him and closed his eyes.
But it wasn't long before he heard humming from a distance—a voice there was no mistaking—and he opened his eyes.
.
Hi there,
To all readers: unless something changes, in exactly 3 chapters, you'll have an explanation for your questions and ponderings. :) We'll still have some chapters after that.
To Paige, Allison, and the other guest reviewer: thank you so, so much for your kind reviews! I can't tell you how excited and grateful I am that you've read the two other works in the series and have made it here! The finish of this work will be the big finish for the whole series and will extremely meaningful for me. I hope it will be special to you too.
To Ariana, thank you so, so much for your kind and encouraging review as well!
I'm so, so deeply thankful for each of my readers. Thank you for being here.
Love to all,
Rosie