THE DATE THAT NEVER WAS
The gentle California sun caresses the air and makes everything look golden. He sits at the table in the patio closest to the ocean, overlooking a glorious vista. His mind, however, is not on the breathtaking beauty all around him. Rather than admire the view, he keeps glancing at his watch.
She should be here any minute.
What if she doesn't show? He shudders inwardly at the thought. No way. She has to come. He is so certain they were meant for each other that she has to feel it, too.
Perhaps she is having trouble finding the place. She didn't strike him as too bright. Not that she needs to be. A girl with so many other endearing qualities can afford to be a little dim at times. It makes her even more adorable. At least, in his eyes. But even she should be capable of understanding simple directions.
Just as he is beginning to feel worried, he catches sight of her. She is approaching his table at a brisk pace.
He can hardly believe how good she looks. Tall and shapely, elegantly dressed to show off her figure, long golden hair glistening in the sun, a happy smile on her pretty face...
He rises to greet her.
Then, just as he reaches out to take her hand, the air around them starts shimmering. Their reality breaks into thousands of golden slivers and dissolves –
...
She stands at the kitchen counter making coffee when her husband enters. He comes up to her from behind, lifts her long blond tresses from the nape of her neck and kisses it.
"Mmm, delicious," he murmurs. "You know, you were again making those cute little noises in your sleep. Were you dreaming?"
"Dreaming?" She turns and looks at him in surprise. "Now that you mention it, I guess I was."
"You guess?" he scoffs gently. "Don't you know for sure?"
"Come on, honey, you know how it is with dreams. Sometimes you remember everything, and other times you don't remember anything, or you think you remember something, and then suddenly you remember nothing, or you think you don't remember, but then you do remember – "
"Okay, okay, I get the idea," he interrupts. "Sweetheart, you know I love it when you talk like this. But it can take a while, and I am really curious to know more about that dream of yours. What was it about?"
"It was... it was... Why, it was about a man!"
"A man? You mean me?"
She thinks for a second, then drops her eyes in embarrassment. "No, honey, I don't think it was you. Let me see. I was on my way to meet with him... He was waiting for me at this gorgeous patio overlooking the ocean..."
"Back up there for a minute! Are you telling me you dreamed of dating some other man?"
"It was just a dream, honey, I swear..."
"Okay, tell me more about this dream man of yours. If you were stepping out on me to be with him, he must've been something special. I bet he was gorgeous. Was he?"
"Gorgeous?" She frowns, trying to remember. "N-no, I don't think so. Very nice looking, but not movie star gorgeous."
"Thank God for small mercies."
"Anyway, why would you think that? You know very well I don't go for those types. They are all show and no substance and too full of themselves to care about anybody else. Who needs them? Only stupid girls go for them, and I am not stupid. You should know. You are not gorgeous, and yet I love you."
"If you love me, then why do you go running to other men in your dreams?"
She rolls her eyes in mild exasperation. "You know, honey, sometimes you can be pretty dense. What difference does it make? I married you, and I love you. Who cares what I dream of?"
"Well, perhaps that dream guy had something I don't."
"Now that I think of it, he and you have a lot in common. The same type. Not drop dead gorgeous but nice looking, a kind face, smiling brown eyes... And very, very sweet."
"You are right, that does sound like me. You certainly have a type, honey."
"Finally! You got it!" She puts her hands on his shoulders. "You don't have to worry about him, Dean. He is not real. You are."
...
In a different kitchen, the woman looks at her husband over the rim of her coffee cup.
"Darling, you were moaning in your sleep. Were you dreaming about that blonde again?"
"What blonde? What are you talking about?"
"Well, how about that! You don't even remember. You told me a long time ago you used to fantasize about a certain blonde."
"Oh, that. Right. That was before I met you. You needn't worry about it."
"I am not worried. You told me that girl wasn't even real. Just someone you had seen on TV. Right?"
He nods.
"No wonder you saw her as the perfect woman. Real people can never be perfect, you know."
He looks his wife in the eyes. "If you remember that, you must also remember me telling you how miserable I had been before I met you. How badly I had been hurt by a brutal breakup. Believe me, falling for an imaginary girl seemed like a good idea at the time."
"I totally get it. It was the safest option. When you are in love with an imaginary person, you can have any kind of relationship with them you want. You'll never get hurt again." She smiles but her eyes are sad. "Sorry you had to settle for a real woman."
"Hey, you are not jealous, are you?" He chuckles. "And who said I settled for you?"
"Well, you couldn't marry your TV blonde except in your fantasies, could you? So, you had to lower your standards and marry me. I know I am very far from perfect, but at least I am real."
He takes her hand in his gently. "And I wouldn't have it any other way. Just remember one thing. She's the one who saw me through that rough patch and helped me keep my sanity. For you."
"What you are saying is, I owe her," she says quietly.
"Yes," he replies. "We all do."
.
To Miss Suzanne Somers, the Chrissy of our dreams,
may she rest in peace.