Imagination is the eye of the soul.
- J. Joubert
12.
She draws near the open door. Then closer. He's still snoring. Now inches from the threshold, she cranes her neck a bit to the left and sees him under the covers. He's sound asleep. She watches him for a long minute, taking note of his clothes tossed on her bed as well. Then backing up, she quietly closes the door behind her. But when she turns from it, it opens. Again.
When he awakens, the evening's events come flooding back. His eyes flit over to the door, and he sees that once again, it's open. Wide open. Certain that he had closed it last night, he stares at the open space. But there is nothing to see. Nor hear. Yet the open door appears to mock him as he stares at it some more. Flinging off the covers, he moves quickly to it, his hand almost touching it.
"Harry?" Less than a foot away from him, she stands there wearing the clothes she slept in.
He stands there, frozen, clad only in rumpled T shirt and boxers. Blue, in fact. Dark blue with little white polka dots on them.
Her eyes fixate on the spots as if mesmerised. Finally, she pulls her gaze from them.
" I…er…was trying to close the door." He says, his hand now finally on the door frame.
"I know. I was, too." She says, still not looking at him. "But I had. Already. I don't quite understan..."
"It's not hung right. That's why it keeps swinging open."
"Oh." She says. "I'll l just give you some ..."and she turns completely away from him.
He closes the door, and this time he listens for the latch to make contact with the jamb. Only minutes later, he's knocking on the recalcitrant door again. "Ruth?"
"Come in," she immediately answers.
"Sorry." He says, walking in the room, dressed in trousers and T shirt, the rest of his clothes draped over one arm. He drops them on one of the chairs nearby.
"You haven't anything to be sorry about." She says. "Actually, I should apologize to you for … Harry, exactly how did I wind up in your…bed? And you...in mine?"
He smiles then. "Well, when I returned, you were sound asleep over there." He points to the small table in the room. " I tried. Really, I did. But you seemed to want to sleep here." He smiles at he memory as his eyes shift to the bed.
"I...I hardly remember. I do know... I was ...really tired. I'm so sorry. "
"Don't be. In fact, it made the whole wretched evening bearable."
She looks down for a moment but she's smiling. Then she goes over to the dresser, picking up the binder."Oh. Right. Here."
"What is it?" He asks as she hands it to him.
"Your speech."
He opens it and sees that it is filled with writing, every bit of white space filled including the margins.
"I jotted down a few –"
"Ruth." He says, looking up at her again. "You must have worked on this for hours."
"I did. I mean, I wanted to. And this way you can choose what you think would work best. For your speech."
He closes the binder. "No wonder you were so tired. Did you even get to eat last night?"
She doesn't answer. "I was going to order breakfast. Now. Actually."
"So that a no." He shakes his head.
"I was ...I became involved in writing the speech."
He moves closer. "What am I going to do with you?
"Do?"
"You know what I mean." He says softly.
Picking up the menu, she says. "Pancakes. I feel like pancakes. And a nice cup of t... No. . . Coffee for a change." She says, sitting down in the chair near the table. She begins to study the menu anew.
"Ruth."
"Pancakes, Harry?" She says, her eyes still on the menu. "Do you want Pancakes?" With bacon? Streaky bacon?"
"Ruth. " He says in the silkiest of tones.
She glances up.
His expression is as soft as his voice. "Thank you for everything." And he places a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"It was nothing." She says quietly.
"It's everything. Everything. For saying yes. Coming here. Being here. With me. Everything,"
She bites her lip and nods, not quite looking at him. "It's been... entirely my pleasure. Really." She adds, briefly looking at him, her eyes luminous. Neither says anything else for a moment. Finally, she says. "Breakfast? We do have some walking to do before your speech, you know."
"Walking?"
"Remember?" She says. "I wanted to show you something today?"
"Oh, Right. " He says, unable to quite muster up much enthusiasm. But at the look on her face, he immediately pulls his face into a smile. "I'm sure whatever you have planned will be good."
She nods. "I think you'll find it interesting. Perhaps even memorable. And it's not too far."
"Now you've piqued my interest."
"Good." She smiles. "So...Pancakes? Coffee?"
"Yes. Please. "
"Anything else?"
He runs his hand across her shoulder and down her arm a bit before sitting down next to her. She pulls her chair a bit closer to him. And heads bent down, they study the menu together.
"So, no hints? Nothing?"
"I think that you will appreciate it more this way." She says cryptically, leading the way once outside the Plaza.
"But...?"
"Just trust me. "
He smiles, then. "I do."
He follows her as she heads for the west side of Central Park. There are horse drawn carriages there, and she admires them but passes them by. She passes by the modern take on them, too: bicycle rickshaws expertly weaving in and out of traffic carrying its passengers. She stops and points in the distance to a light colored building.
"That's the Dakota." She says. "An apartment complex quite famous in its own right. Look at its high gables." She continues to points to the building as she goes on. "Built in the 1880's, it's a blend of German Gothic, French, Renaissance and Victorian architecture as well." She takes a breath. "And not only is its history quite interesting, its architect, Henry Janeway Hardenbergh, might sound familiar to you, too."
"Isn't that...?
"Yes, the one and the same. He did the Plaza, too."
"That is interesting. Are we going there?" He asks, looking directly ahead to the large beige colored building.
"No." She says. "But the Dakota does play an important part in our destination."
"Ruth. You tease. "
"Well...I think you will appreciate our trip better this way. If you discover it for yourself, that is." She smiles at him.
"Ah. I'm more intrigued now than ever."
"Good." She says. Then taking his arm, she leads him into the more than 800 acres of parkland including waterways, bridges and thousands of trees, some hundreds of years old. Many of these are elms. As they continue on the path, they take note of all the trees, now bare, on either side of them. Joggers, dog walkers and those simply out for a stroll, pass them; some nod at them as they go by. Harry pulls his coat around him and looks toward Ruth. She doesn't appear to be cold at all. Continuing to lead the way, she walks the path resolutely; he following close behind. Finally, she slows; there's a small sign ahead. Close by is a cluster of benches and an open area of some kind with an oval mosaic in the middle and something placed on top of it. There are people quietly milling around the area as well. She slips away from Harry for a moment, drawing closer to the sign. He joins her a moment later.
STRAWBERRY FIELDS
He lifts his gaze to the Dakota, straight ahead looming in the background. Then he looks over to her. "Yes. Of course."
She nods back. Their eyes drop to the center of the open area to the mosaic. They approach slowly, almost reverently, taking note of the red rose, its bud still tightly furled, placed next to the inscription.
Imagine.
His hand finding hers, they stand there. Together.
And imagine.
Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today...
Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace...
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one
Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one
J. Lennon. 1940-1980