Tomatoes

I sit on the ground with my back against the tallest tree I can find behind Robbie's house. Night's clouds roll in covering stars that have had barely a moment to shine. I become dreary, but I fight sleep as hard as I can. I soon feel a light mist falling from above. It transforms into light sprinkles and I have to reposition myself so I am directly under a large branch. The rain drops should keep me awake for a while.

A flash of white blinds me for a second. I rub my eyes and blink hard a few times. The flash happens once more. My eyelids fall shut even though I am still alert. Another flash and this time I feel a cool breeze encompass my body. Images of Robbie fan out like a hand of cards in poker. My subconscious tells me to pick one. I mentally point to one towards the middle-right. Another shock of light makes me dizzy enough to lose focus.

The next occurrence plays like a movie for me. I see myself running away from Robbie's house in my black dress. I am sweaty, tight-fisted, and drenched from tears. In a blur, the movie backs up to Robbie's house. I see smoke of all different colors pooling outside in swirling formations. It dances in almost a liquid formation, following my running self. Quite like a bad television signal, static and white noise deafen me. Now my inner dream-movie plays in broken pieces.

I never knew I paid for cable in my brain.

"Time is fragile." Robbie's voice breaks through. The only clear picture I see now is the continuous smoke billowing outside, blanketing the earth. His voice is garbled like a bad radio transmission, "Time is. . .is frag. . .fragile. Ste-ste-Stephanie, you must . . .Lorna visits Bessie alone. S-s-stop h-h-her. Use your powers . . .see each path. You can see the future. Lorna is . . ."

I feel a force pull Robbie's voice from my mind and I am back to square one, viewing images lined up. I mentally chose another. I see Bessie in a doctor's office. She is having a consultation done on facelifts and her best option. Then I see Lorna. She pulls a dark hood over her head and approaches Robbie's billboard. She calls for him. Her voice sounds different. When Robbie climbs down, Lorna takes her hood off.

She is no longer Lorna.

She is me.

"Hey, hey!" Strong arms violently shake me from my faux-sleep. "Hey, wake up Pinky."

I scream. It is pouring now and Robbie is standing over me with a deep maroon umbrella protecting us. As I am drenched, it's probably been storming for at least an hour. He extends a hand and helps me off the ground.

"Do I dare ask?" He shouts over the thunder. "Come in, will ya?"

As I stand in the entryway of his home, Robbie runs to his bathroom. He emerges with a body-sized towel and drapes it around my shoulders. The heat from my blushing warms me up quite nicely. I could run a whole street full of electricity with this embarrassment. Robbie taps his foot and rubs his chin in thought. I have no idea what my alibi is for falling asleep under his tree. I pull the towel tighter around my arms. Anything I say from here on in must be a lie. If I tell him I was protecting him from Lorna, I could ultimately end up in a nuthouse. If I say . . . wait, just like in the present – er –future, I can tell him I fainted. This did nothing but cause concern. This shouldn't cause any huge ripples in my lifeline.

Robbie asks, "Were you going for a late night swim?"

"No, I fainted." I'm a horrible liar. I turn-

"My, your pale. Let me fix you some soup."

-I turn pale. Since I rarely lie, Robbie knows nothing of this. I follow him into the kitchen. His marble countertops surprise me. He also has very expensive pots, pans, and cutlery. I am very impressed by his wide array of spices delicately hung on a wooden spice rack nailed to the wall. It looked more like art than cooking needs.

I speak up, "I fainted outside. Sorry, I can just go home."

"You aren't going home in this. That storm outside is said to be worse overnight and hopefully taper out in the early morning. You can sleep in my orange chair. If you peep about this to anyone, I will never talk to you again." He places a pot of tomato soup on the stove and turns the dials. His home already smells like fresh basil and a hint of garlic. I watch as he stirs in a few spices and adds a few chunks of roasted red pepper in there as well.

I smile and say, "I won't tell anyone. It sure smells nice in here. As a side note, you can't rat me out for passing out in your yard. I had a rough day. So, is this the dinner I missed out on?"

He looks up from the stove and replies, "Yes. I like to take condensed soups and add my own twist. I love cooking other dishes, too. By the way, I have some clothes you can borrow if yours are still soaked."

The voice in my head reminds me to be careful of my actions. Though I ultimately want to be with Robbie, I cannot rush or force this. I watch him spoon some of the soup into a bowl and he places it in front of me. I hear him mumble that he hopes I enjoy it.

Damn. Robbie is such a good cook.