Dream Girl

I walked into the party bearing gifts, glad-handing everyone, happy to see you, the house looks great, how are the wife and kids? All the while, I was looking around, searching for my objective without being obvious. Not seeing her, my disappointment increased. Then, suddenly, there she was, emerging from who cares where, gliding into the room with quiet grace. Her face was as lovely as I had remembered. It wasn't the face of a fashion model or a movie star, just a face that I wanted to cradle between my hands to kiss those pretty lips. No pancake makeup, no drawn-on eyebrows, no weird colors of lipstick. Her hair was black and straight, so simple and pure, fitting her perfectly.

She smiled at me and said hello, offering a friendly hug which I returned for a short time, hoping she wouldn't hear my thoughts when we touched. Throughout the evening, my ears were scanning to hear her voice, my eyes passing from speaker to speaker but taking a mental snapshot whenever they slid past her location in the room. I really wasn't staring at her. Did you think I was? That's so funny that you would think that. No one noticed, no one said a word or cast a suspicious glance.

She was forbidden fruit. I could never tell anyone how I felt about her. There was no law against what I was thinking, no immorality, and my thoughts were the same as the thoughts of men throughout the ages who desired a pretty girl who they could never possess. But if I ever told anyone about my secret desires, and word got back to the people who surrounded her, things would not go well for me. So no, not really interested in you in THAT way. You're just a friend who mingles with my other friends. Nice to see you again, hope to see you another time, good night.

I couldn't help thinking about her on the long drive home. I remembered the stories I had been told about her nightmarish childhood, how she had been mistreated and abused and abandoned, how she had almost given up hope before being rescued by kind strangers. I knew that she had mental problems as a result, and once again I fantasized about helping her and talking with her and holding her until her tears had all run out and she had forgotten about the horrors of the past. Mostly I wanted to connect with her mind, to learn what kind of mental strength a person might have to be able to live through such things and still go on with life.

Finally at home, my last thoughts of the evening were with her. I remembered looking at childhood photos of her and thinking that she would be a pretty lady when she grew up. I remembered the weekend I rode with her in a two-person carnival ride. She sat in front of me and scrunched back against me, warm and friendly. That was the day where I realized that she had grown up and become that pretty lady, and a very desirable pretty lady at that. I got into bed, turned off the light, and decided to dismiss any further thoughts of her from my mind. We would never be together, and I could never talk to her or anyone else about my feelings.

As I was about to drift off to sleep, something blocked the light from the hallway. Through widened eyes I saw a silhouette approaching my bed. "Scoot over," she said. "I'm cold."

It was her.

I moved over, lifting the covers, and she slid between the sheets. In the dim light I could see the shape of her face. It was just as I remembered it from a photo someone had posted after the party. She had been reading messages on her smartphone, her face expressionless. But just as certain people are described as having a "bitchy resting face," her face was the opposite, "beauty resting face" possibly. Her lips had been slightly parted, the corners turning up naturally, a fitting subject for a da Vinci portrait. It was the same expression she had now, but now she seemed to be happier.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. "I thought you were flying back home."

"I changed my mind," she replied. "I wanted to be with you, so I followed you home. No one knows that I'm here."

She snuggled closer, resting her head on my chest, her arm across my belly. Her hand began to move downward.

"You don't mind?" she asked.

"I want it if you do," I replied. "I've wanted this ever since we were on that carnival ride."

"I remember that," she laughed. "I remember wishing that you had been sitting in front of me, so I could put my arms around you. Maybe this ride will be more enjoyable for both of us."

The next few hours were a blur in my mind. I recall the fragrance of her body, the feel of her skin against mine, her hair falling on my stomach, and the soft moaning sounds of her pleasure, and mine. When it was over, we lay in each other's arms, smiling and content.

"So, will you be heading back to the airport now?" I asked, smoothing down her pretty hair.

"I cashed in my ticket," she replied. "I want to stay here with you."

"Really? For how long?"

"Forever," she said, locking eyes with me. "I love you, and I never want to leave you, ever."

"I love you too, but what if people find out?" I asked, running my finger around her lovely full lips.

"They won't," she smiled. "No one will ever find me here."

"I think you're right," I replied, "I understand now. But it's morning now, time for me to get up."

"Okay, I will see you tonight then," she said, sliding out of bed.

"Tonight and every night for the rest of my life," I said.

I sat up in bed as she evaporated, her body merging into the shadows on the floor, walls, and ceiling.

She lives with me to this day, beloved and cherished. She rides with me in the empty passenger seat of my car, makes comments about the merchandise as I walk through the grocery store alone, and directs my attention toward the beauty that I might have missed as I wander through life on my own.

She lives forever, beautiful and intelligent and timeless, in the silent safety of my mind.