THE CAFETERIA  
                          
     The Cafeteria was almost full and the line was long.  Jean
groaned to herself, allowed her shoulders to slump fractionally,
yet joined the line-up anyway.  It inched forward.  She collected
her tray and silverware and began to scan the choices still open.
The juice cooler had a mirrored back and she saw herself in the
mirror.  
     Still good looking at 45, but dull.  Her assessment was without
criticism, without passion, simply objective.  She had lost it
somewhere, she knew, but it didn't seem to matter anymore.  Words
almost broke through to her consciousness but were stopped short.
There was a short moment of a memory of pain, then nothing. The 
salad bar was depleted and this almost annoyed her.  She accepted
the situation and picked over what was left.  It would do.
     Finally she was at the till and the cashier rang up the bill.
It was too much for what she had picked, she thought, but made
no comment.  The teller could do nothing anyway, outside of 
sympathize.  She didn't need the sympathy.
     Jean scanned the room.  Most of the tables were full.  There
were a few others which still had a seat open, however.  She sighed.
It would be nice to be able to eat alone, but it was useless
to dream of what could not be.  She spotted a likely table and
made toward it.  Another woman arrived several steps ahead of
her and took the place.  Jean sighed again and turned to scan
the room.
     Her eyes stopped.  There was a table near the side wall with
only one person at it.  Perfect.  No, not perfect.  The lone 
occupant, a man sitting with his back to the wall, looking out 
over the lunch crowd, did not appear to be the ideal lunch 
companion.  That was, no doubt, why he was the lone occupant.
     Jean looked at him more closely.  It wasn't easy to tell
what he looked like.  His beard was unkempt and a bit bushy, his
hair was longer than normal for the locals.  He was not an office
worker like the rest.  She could tell that at a glance.  She 
hesitated, was on the point of deciding to look elsewhere, 
when his eyes caught hers.
     'Damn,' Jean murmured to herself, 'caught.'  He gave her
an acknowledging nod and glanced to one of the open places at
his table, then back at her again.  It was almost a challenge.
This was her world, not his, and she'd be damned if she'd let
one such as he keep her away from a nearly empty table.  She 
straightened her shoulders and moved purposefully toward the 
table, wondering why her heart was beating faster as she 
approached.
     Closer scrutiny placed the man in his late twenties.  His
garb was outdoorsy and not particularly fresh looking.  Still,
he was neat and his fingernails were clean.
     "Mind if I sit here?" she asked.
     He looked her straight in the eyes a moment longer than was
polite then smiled brightly.  "Not at all.  Please do."  His 
voice was well modulated and soft, not at all what she had 
expected.  The smile transformed his face and she realized that 
he was probably quite good looking under the beard.  She wondered, 
momentarily, what it would be like discovering what he did look 
like, then brushed the thought aside as unworthy of her.
     Jean placed her tray on the table and pulled back the chair
to sit down.  As she did he rose and waited until she had seated
herself before settling back once more.  This was far beyond 
anything she might have expected.  Such manners were not a part 
of cafeteria dining.  It puzzled her.  She ignored it and began 
to eat.  She concentrated on her meal even as she realized that 
he was concentrating on her.  It was unsettling.  Finally she 
spoke up.
     "I wish you wouldn't stare at me so much, it is making me
uncomfortable."
     The younger man raised his eyebrows and sat back in his 
chair.  His eyes never left hers and she began debating whether 
or not to leave.  Suddenly he looked away, his glance roving over 
the other tables in the cafeteria.
     "Funny, isn't it?  All these people eating together and no
one looking at the others who share their tables.  It is a sad
commentary on what we've become."
     She looked around and noticed that he was right.  Although
some were talking together, most of the diners kept their gazes
fixed on their food, on their own small portions of the table.
She wondered that she had never seen this before.  Almost against
her will she began to smile.  She looked back at the man opposite
her and ventured, "It's almost ridiculous, isn't it?"
     He smiled back.  "It is ridiculous.  Now you and I, given
that we are normal, average citizens," the words normal and 
average were delivered in a tone which suggested contempt, "would 
sit down, and hope against hope that the other wouldn't break 
into our little shell and force us to deal with yet another 
being."  She frowned for that was precisely what she had hoped.  
"Yet here we are and we've found something to share.  A very 
small smile at 'the others'.  A small miracle, considering the 
circumstances, wouldn't you say?"
     She said nothing.  She wasn't sure she wanted this 
conversation at all.  He merely smiled at her.  She noticed that 
his smile touched his eyes, it was a genuine smile.  'That's 
nice,' she said to herself, 'that's nice to see'.
     "I'll share something else with you."  His hand moved, palm
up, from his chest towards her, fingers spreading as it moved.
"My name.  I'll share my name."  He smiled as if at some private
joke.  She sat slightly farther back in her chair as if to avoid
something that intimate.  He noticed it, knew what it meant, and
ignored it.
     "My name is Dream."
     "What?"  She looked at him intently, suspecting he was 
playing some kind of joke on her, irritated that he would do 
this, that she had allowed this to come about.
     "Sad, but true."  He lowered his head, mournfully, shaking
it slowly from side to side.  "My parents were hippies," he 
explained, "and they had been trying for some time for a child, 
unsuccessfully.  I was their 'Dream' come true."
     "Oh, no!" she expostulated.  What it must have been like,
growing up with a name like that!
     "Oh, yes!" he replied, grinning.  "But it's not too bad.
My second name is very regular and I usually use it."   
     "You're putting me on, aren't you."  Suspicion clouded her
face.
     "Not at all."  He reached into his shirt pocket and
pulled out his driver's licence and held it out.  His fingers
covered his middle and last names, but there, in plain view, was
his first name:  Dream.  Exactly as he had said.  
     She laughed.  Seeing the name caused her to laugh, and he
laughed with her and withdrew the licence, but not before she
noted that he was from out of town--a long way out.  It made
him safer, somehow.   She looked at him with interest now.  
     He looked back at her, consideringly.  "Once you put a name
to someone everything about him becomes more personal, more 
'rememberable', doesn't it?"  She nodded, slowly, suspecting 
what was to come.  "How about sharing your name with me, then?" 
he asked.  Seeing full retreat in her posture he hurried on, 
"It doesn't have to be your real name, any name will do.  Just 
a name for me to call you by, to remember you by."
     She thought about it for a full minute then told him, 
"Jean."
     "Jean," he canted his head slightly as he rolled the name
over his tongue.  "Jean," he repeated.  "Very nice.  Thank-you,
Jean.  It is indeed a great pleasure to meet you."
     "And why is it a 'great' pleasure?" she wanted to know, 
pleased, for she knew, somehow, that he was being sincere.  She
was also pleased with the way her name sounded when he spoke it.
She would have to watch herself or she might get caught up in
whatever it was he had planned, whatever game he was playing,
for she was also sure there was more to this than simple 
conversation.
     "It is a great pleasure for I admire women with courage,
Jean."
     "I have courage?"
     "You gave me your true name, you didn't have to do that;
you are still here, you don't have to be, places have opened up
at other tables; you are talking with me, most wouldn't.  I know
how I look, uh, let's say somewhat less than reputable?"
     Jean laughed.  "Let's say quite a bit less than reputable,
Dream."  She laughed again.  "Come on, what are you usually 
called, I feel silly calling you Dream.  Every time I even think 
it, I want to laugh."
     "No, no, no," he wagged his forefinger.  "If I can take the
embarrassment of being named Dream, then you can take the silly
feeling you get when you call me by name."  He smiled, almost
smugly she thought.
     She took a fork-full of salad and chewed it carefully while
thinking.  That was one of the advantages of eating with someone;
you could avoid talking and take time to think without appearing
offensive.  She wondered what it was he really wanted.
     "What is it that you want, Dream," she asked suddenly.
     "Ah, good, Jean.  Forthright and to the point.  I like that."
He smiled again.
     "You may like it, but you didn't answer the question."  Her
eyes were sharper now.
     "It's the wrong question, Jean."  His voice was very quiet,
yet earnest.  He sat up straight and looked in her eyes for a
time.  She began to become nervous again, as if she knew what
he was about to say.  "The question is, 'What do *you* want?', 
for you are the important one here.  I'm just drifting, on 
vacation you might say.  I'll only be here a couple of days, 
then gone."  He paused a moment.  "So, Jean, what is it that 
you want?"
     The question buffeted her.  Her stomach felt nervous.  She
wouldn't allow herself to think the question, let alone answer
it, not even to herself.
     "What do you think I want?"  Her smile belied the 
nervousness she felt.
     Dream shook his head sadly.  "Clever, very clever.  Okay,
we'll play it your way."  He looked at her, then away.  
     It seemed to Jean that he was concentrating on a spot very
far away, so far, in fact, that he wasn't really here anymore.
It began to worry her and she was about to say something to bring
him back when his eyes suddenly refocused.  They shifted from
the spot back to her face.  He smiled a lazy smile and leaned
back in his chair.  'This would be good', she thought and smiled
encouragingly at him, letting him know she was ready.  She wasn't,
for when his words did come they shocked her and the smile faded
and died.
     "You are like a spotlight, Jean.  There is a tremendous 
brilliance there, a tremendous radiance bursting all about you 
that would shine on anyone who came near, yet none come near.  
This is because they can't see your brilliance.  
     "Somehow you've managed to put black-blinds up all around
you, which only allow a dull gray light through.  This light 
isn't bright enough, exciting enough, to attract any to you, and 
certainly not the one you wish for.  
     "What you want is for that special one to see through the
blinds to what really exists inside, to come and to tear them
down so that you need no longer hide what you have to give." 
He stopped talking and stabbed a piece of pie with his fork and
brought it up to his mouth, but stopped before putting it in.
He smiled brightly, the seriousness past, "Anything else you
want to know?"  The pie disappeared into his mouth.
     Jean was pale, shocked.  So much of what he said fit, fit
in places where she didn't even look anymore.  How could he know
this?  "Who are you?" she finally asked.
     He swallowed.  "Just a weary traveler who plans to rest up
here a couple of days before moving on once more."
     "Well, Weary Traveler, why did you come to me, what do you
want from me?"
     "Jean, Jean.  You came to me, I was just sitting here.  I'd
already been here 20 minutes when you came in.  There's no way
I could have known you were coming.  So, the question becomes:
Why did you come to me, to one you described as looking quite
a bit less than reputable?  Maybe you figured the reputable ones
hadn't found a way through the blinds, to tear them down, so 
perhaps someone less than reputable might be able to do the job 
for you."
     Jean was suddenly tired.  It was as she had suspected.  "And
you are the one who can do this, tear down my blinds and set me
free?"  She spoke caustically.
     "Look at yourself.  You've crossed your legs and your arms.
A very defensive posture.  Yet you've nothing to fear from me.
I am not dangerous to you at all.  Unless you wish it, it is
very unlikely that we shall ever see each other again."      
     He was right, she had crossed her legs and arms and pushed 
away from him.  With no little effort she uncrossed herself.  
"Better?" she asked.
     Dream gave a short nod.  "I have a question for you, now."
She braced herself, she knew she wasn't going to like it.  "Why
are you still here?"  His voice was very mild.  She looked blankly
at him.  "Why are you still sitting here talking with me?" he
repeated.
     'Because you may be the one, damn it!' the answer screamed
across her brain.  Outwardly she did not, could not, move.  "I
don't know," was all she could say.
     "Okay," he sighed.  "Now I'll answer your last question."
She blinked, she couldn't remember what that was.  "I am not
the one who can tear down those blinds," he said softly, kindly.
"You are the only one who can do that."  
     She heard a wail inside herself grow, drowning out the hope
that had been.  Wait, what was that he was saying?
     "I don't know, Jean, I may be able to help--if you want
it, that is."  He spoke, almost reluctantly, looking down at the
remains of his pie.  He didn't look up.  What was it he was 
waiting for?  Was he waiting to hear her chair scraping against 
the floor as she got up and left?  If it was, he was surprised.
     To her own vast surprise, Jean realized that she, also, didn't
hear her chair scraping against the floor as she got up and left.
She was, it appeared, still sitting.  Her heart was pounding
in her chest and her stomach seemed to be jumping about, out of
control, inside her.  To her even greater surprise she heard 
herself whisper, "Please."  It was a plea.
     Dream looked up and there was something new in his eyes.
Jean couldn't quite grasp what it was,  the word that came to
her, which she dismissed, was 'haunted'.  The look disappeared.
Dream looked at his watch which caused her to do the same.
     "Okay, Jean.  It's getting late.  After you get off work
go home and pack for a three day trip, it is, you know, the long
weekend coming up.  Meet me here at about 7 o'clock after . . ."
     "You expect me to take off with you on a three day trip?"
Jean interrupted.  Yet even as she spoke she knew she would do
it, she simply didn't know why.  
     ". . . at about 7 o'clock, after you've checked into a 
hotel," Dream finished, totally ignoring the interruption.  "Much 
of what you are, of what is holding you to what you are, is in 
your home.  You need to have the freedom to be who you are, not 
what you are.  That freedom will be compromised if you remain in 
your usual dwelling."
     It made sense to her.  She found herself both relieved and
disappointed.  She was also embarrassed.  "Any particular hotel?"
she asked, trying to suppress the embarrassment.
     "The best you can easily afford.  This, too, is important."
Dream paused for a few moments.  "Then I see you here at seven?"
They both rose from the table.
     "Yes."  The answer was firm.
     Dream nodded and walked away.

     'Don't do this,' the voice within said.  
     'I have to,' she replied to it.
      Her nerves on edge, stomach jumping, Jean walked down the 
street towards the cafeteria.  She was dressed casually; she 
didn't know what to expect--in more ways than one, she 
grimaced to herself.
     It was insanity, this going out with this stranger, this
Dream.  There was no telling what he could be, how dangerous he
might prove.  There was still time to turn back, to retreat to
her apartment, to lose herself in what she was.  It would be so
easy, so comfortable.  Her step faltered.  A vision of herself
in the mirrored cooler came to her.  Dull, she had admitted to
herself, and dull she was.  The flame within going steadily down,
soon, perhaps, to be extinguished.  No!  She wouldn't go back.
Her stride extended, became jaunty.  She smiled a wild, devil
may care, smile.
     A man, walking the other way, was startled by the sudden
smile which he imagined was aimed at him.  Surprise slowed his
reactions and his face contorted as he tried to decide whether
to smile back or not.  By the time he had made up his mind it
was too late, she was past him.  Jean almost laughed out loud,
for she had read every move of his face.  It was laughable.
     Her smile faded.  There he was, leaning against the building,
looking as disreputable as ever.  Her stride slowed as she 
approached and, as she drew near, she realized she had erred.  
His hair was neatly combed, his beard, still bushy, brushed and 
his clothes clean.  He was dressed casually, as was she, in jeans 
and jacket.  She shivered, though the early evening air was warm.
     Dream's head slowly came up and, even more slowly, swiveled
until he was looking straight at her.  She came to a stop, a meter
away.  Again she caught the strange look on his features before
it disappeared in a welcoming smile.  Again she was caught by
the genuineness of the smile.
     "Good evening, Jean.  I was wondering if you would show."
     "No you weren't," she contradicted him, "you knew I would
be here."
     Dream smiled, his smile a little wider, a little brighter.
"I thought you would come, but I was not sure.  There are many
reasons you could have found to change your mind."  He pushed
himself away from the wall.  "However that is all beside the point.
You are here, and I am pleased that you are with me.  Let's walk."
He held out his hand and, after a moment's hesitation, she took
it.
     His hand was strong, yet he held hers gently and her heart
rate went up slightly.  They crossed the street and walked through
a small park.  It was so nice to be walking hand in hand with
a man again, she thought.  Her thoughts went into a pattern of
what she would like to do with him when suddenly he bumped into
her.
     "Sorry," he said.  "I guess I wasn't looking where I was
going."
     She looked up at him suspiciously.  He didn't sound very
sorry.  He did, however, have a contrite expression on his face,
so she murmured that it was okay.  They continued on but, just
as she was becoming lost in her reverie again, he bumped into
her once more.
     "Sorry."  He didn't sound sorry this time either.      
     She glared at him.  "You did that on purpose."  He struggled 
to keep his face straight, failed and broke into a wide grin. 
     "Yep, I guess I did," he admitted.  As she started to become
annoyed he nudged her again.  "Come on, Jean.  Come out and play."
He looked and sounded so much like a little boy that she almost
had to laugh, but controlled herself.  
     She turned her head away, nose up in the air.  "Nope," she
said, "won't.  You play too rough."  With that she started off
again, walking quickly.  She didn't let go of his hand, however,
and jerked him off balance.  Just as he was coming even with her
again she lowered her shoulder and stepped into him.
     Dream stopped short, lost his balance and fell to the grass,
dragging her along with him.  They both exploded in laughter as
they sat there looking at one another.
     "Who plays too rough?" he asked.
     "I'm sorry," she replied in a little girl voice, lowering
her gaze.  "I guess I don't know my own strength."  She was the
picture of contriteness and Dream began laughing again.
     "Yeah, right," he managed to reply.  "No, no, stop!"  He
tried to protect himself as Jean began tickling him.
     "Say uncle," she demanded.
     "Never!" he replied, protecting his ribs as best he could.
"All right, Uncle!"  She stopped.
     "That's better."  Jean paused, suddenly sobering.  "How did
you do that?" she asked, serious now.
     "Do what?"  Dream looked puzzled, but she didn't trust that.
     "Get me to act that way so easily.  I haven't played around
like that in a long time."
     "A minor talent of mine," he answered, then asked, apropos
of nothing, "How old am I, Jean?"  
     Jean looked a little flustered at the sudden turn of the
focus.  She looked at him questioningly.  "Twenty-eight," she
said firmly.  She waited a moment for him to confirm or deny this
age.  He did neither.  "Well, how old are you, then?"
     "It doesn't matter.  Your answer was what was important,
not my age.  You said, almost immediately, that I was twenty-eight.
Not middle twenties, not late twenties, not middle twenties to
early thirties but twenty-eight."
     "So?"  He had paused long enough for her to interject this.
     "So you are very age conscious.  If you are that conscious
of my age, or what you perceive my age to be, then you are likely
very conscious of your own.  How old are you, Jean?"
     She froze.  She didn't want to say, she feared the knowledge
might push him away.  The joyousness of the past minutes 
disappeared.  Oh, well, she thought to herself, I guess I owe him 
that.  Before she could speak, however, he was talking again.
     "I don't care how old you are, Jean.  It just doesn't matter
to me.  It seems to matter to you.  Anyway, that's what I did.
I caused you to forget, for a moment, your age and your conception
of how one of your age should act."  He smiled at her, disarmingly.
She seemed a bit confused, so he continued.
     "Okay, answer a few questions, but not for me, for yourself.
First, how should a person of your age act?"  He waited a moment
before continuing.  Her face composed as she thought about his
question.  "How should a person one year younger than you act?"
She looked up.  "Two years younger than you?  Three?
     "Let's say I am twenty-eight as you suggested.  At what point
should I be acting like you?  Twenty-nine?  Thirty and two months?
Thirty, two months and eight days?"  She was smiling again. 
"Thirty, two months, eight days and four hours?"
     "Enough," she laughed.  "The answer is never.  You should
never act my age."
     "And nor should you," he replied.  He jumped back to his
feet and held out a hand to help her up.  "And if my lady will
get her butt off the grass we will go dancing."
     "Ouff!"  She rose.  "I'd be delighted, but I'm not really
dressed for it."
     "Nonsense.  There's a club just down the street."  He named
it.
     That's country!" she objected, "and it's for younger peop. . ."  
Her voice trailed off.
     "Exactly.  Like us.  Come on, Jean, you'll have fun.  Maybe
they'll have line dancing."
     She groaned.  "Anything but that."
     
     In spite of herself Jean enjoyed the night club.  Dream was
a reasonably good dancer and the physical activity seemed to 
enliven her.  She was a little flushed as they sat at a table 
to rest.
     "Whew.  That's a workout!"
     "Would you like something else to drink?"
     "No, thanks.  You?"
     "Yes, I think I will.  I'm thirsty.  I think a soda water
would do me a world of good.  Sure you don't want anything, Jean?"
     "Actually, I'll have the same, thanks."  She was glad she
wouldn't have to put up with an inebriated date later.
     Dream rose and walked through the crowd to the bar.  It was
faster than waiting for a server to come around.  While he was
gone another man approached her and asked her to dance.  She was
flattered but turned him down just as Dream returned and set down
her drink in front of her.  The other man looked a little annoyed
at Dream's appearance with the drinks, yet moved off without a
fuss.
     Dream and Jean sipped at their drinks as the music and 
patrons swarmed and clashed around them.  They sat and watched 
the people for a while as they finished their drinks.  Jean began 
to think that it wasn't such a bad place, if a bit loud.  She 
became aware that Dream was speaking to her. 
     "What was that?"  Jean half shouted across the table.
     "I said, it's getting pretty noisy in here, would you like
to leave?"
     Before Jean could answer, a man, who she had earlier noticed
watching her, approached.  He bent over the table toward her to
make himself heard.
     "Would you like to dance, ma'am?"
     Jean gave him a startled glance, looked over at Dream, 
questioningly, then back at the man.  She wasn't sure what to say.
     "How about another time, partner?"  Dream smiled, to rob
his words of any possible offense.  "We haven't seen each other
these past several years and I won't be around long.  Perhaps
next time."
     The stranger seemed to think that was reasonable.  "Okay,
ma'am.  Next time?"
     Jean smiled up at him, graciously.  "Thank you.  And thank
you for the offer."
     "My pleasure."  The stranger turned and moved back into the
crowd.
     "Let's go," suggested Dream and the two of them made their
way to the door and into the sudden silence of the street outside.
     "Whew, it sure was warm in there."  Jean shivered slightly
in the cooler air of the evening, although it was still quite
warm.  "Thanks for getting rid of that man for me.  You did it
quite well, too."
     "Perhaps you should consider the idea that I didn't do it
for you."
     "What do you mean?" she asked, even though comprehension
came quickly.  She wanted to hear it.
     "Perhaps I did it for myself.  Don't go blaming our friend.
I saw you as I was coming back from the bar.  You had a certain
glow about you.  It was very attractive.  That fellow saw it,
too, and I don't blame him for trying to beat my time with you.
I wasn't going to let that happen."
     "Why thank-you."  Jean didn't know what else to say.
     "You are welcome."  Dream spoke matter of factly. "I'm 
hungry.  Do you know of a nice place to eat--preferably quiet?"
     Jean laughed.  "I know just the place.  Follow me."  She
held out her hand and he took it.  They walked, hand in hand,
together down the street.  

     After dinner, while sipping coffee, Jean summoned up the
courage to tell Dream how she was feeling.
     "You know, three men came up to me tonight and asked me to
dance.  It was very, very flattering.  That just doesn't happen
to me."
     "Why not?"  Dream sounded genuinely curious.
     Jean was quiet for some time.  She stared into her coffee.
She wasn't sure if she wanted to tell him.  Something within
told her that she owed him, so she finally looked up.
     "I guess it's because I'm not so attractive anymore, because
I'm getting older, becoming dull."  She bit her lip, nervously
awaiting his reply.
     "That's the other one," Dream replied, "not you."
     "The other one?"
     "Yeah, the age conscious one.  Not the devil-may-care Jean
that I know.  Why do you think those men came up to you?  Do you
think it was because they thought you were dull?"  He shook his
head.
     "Why did they then?"
     "Tonight, because of two reasons.  The first is that tonight
you were very attractive, the second is that you were with me."
He smiled.  "I'm not being immodest.  Men are a foolish lot,
maybe this applies to women as well, I don't know.  Many, ah,
people seem to rely on others for their ideas of beauty, etcetera,
rather than striving to find their own.  If someone is alone it
is probably because she, or he, is unattractive in some way--not 
necessarily looks.  When some third party then begins going
out with this formally "unattractive" person, the onlookers 
suddenly think, 'hey, this third party finds the subject 
attractive, what have I missed'?  Looking for what they have 
missed, they will generally find it."  Dream fell silent, gazing 
down into his coffee cup.
     Jean looked at him for a time, gathering up her courage.
"You find me attractive?"  She needed to hear a positive answer.
     "Hell, yes," Dream looked up sharply.  "Very."
     It felt so very good to be complimented again, and so 
positively, that Jean began to feel very warm inside.  She 
smiled at Dream who pointed towards the window.  She peered out 
but could see nothing but the empty street.
     "What is it?" she finally asked.
     "Your reflection.  Now, is that the reflection of a very
attractive woman, or is it the reflection of a very attractive
woman?"
     Jean grinned at the repetition, then looked again and 
realized there was something different about her.  She did look 
good.  She turned and smiled her thanks at her companion.
     "You haven't answered me.  I require an answer, Jean.  I
gave you two choices.  Pick which ever one you think fits most
closely, and tell me."  He waited, expectantly.
     Jean was embarrassed, but when he showed no signs of letting
her off the hook, she finally answered.  "It is the reflection
of a very attractive woman."
     He smiled.  "I have to agree with you--a very attractive
woman.  And her companion is a very lucky man, I might add." 
He paused, grinned, then continued,  "Not only might I add, but
I do.  A very lucky man.
     "Now, will you take the arm of that lucky man and allow him
to walk you to your lodgings?"
  
     There was a half moon out in a clear night full of stars.
Jean walked slowly, wanting this time to last for ever.  She
leaned against Dream and let her head rest against his shoulder.
It was very comfortable.
     After a bit a thought occurred to her.  He had taken her
out dancing and to dinner.  Would he now expect her to pay for
it in that age old way--in bed?  She didn't think him the type,
yet one never knew.  The mere thought of it took the edge off
of her evening.  Not, she stipulated to herself, that she would
object to taking him into her bed--on the contrary, she thought
that she would enjoy that, very much.  It was simply the idea
that he might expect it--'for services rendered'--that bothered
her.
     'You're being too romantic,' she chided herself.  Well, if
he wanted her, he could have her.  She owed him.
     "You are being very quiet, Jean."  His voice broke into her
reverie.  "A penny for your thoughts."  He had stopped and swung
around so that they were now facing each other.
     "Figure they're worth that much?" she asked playfully.
     "Don't do this Jean."
     "Okay," she conceded.  "I was enjoying the walk.  It's nice
to walk like this.  I haven't done it for a while."
     "That was true, Jean.  But at the time I asked you it was
true no longer.  So, are you going to tell me what's bothering
you?"  He looked down at her expectantly.  She looked up at him
silently, knowing she couldn't answer his question, knowing that
if she answered it truthfully it would drive him away.
     "Let me guess," he continued.  "You are wondering if I'm
going to expect you to sleep with me."
     Jean was stunned.  "How do you know these things?"
     "Come on, it wasn't that difficult.  We're heading toward
your hotel room.  It was bound to come up.  The evening is ending,
I'm walking you home--what comes next?"  He smiled into her eyes.
She dredged up a smile to answer him with.
     After a moment she made her decision.  "Do you want to come
up to my room?  You can if you want to."  It had been too long
since she'd last had a man in her bed.
     "Why do you set yourself, and me, up like this?  If I accept
and go with you now, you'll think less of me, and less of yourself
for accepting that.  If I turn you down, you'll wonder why
and blame yourself for not being attractive enough or something
equally ridiculous.
     "So, I'm going to tell you exactly what I want and what I'm
going to do about it."  She waited with bated breath for him to
continue.  "I want to accept your offer, Jean.  I wish, very much,
to go up to your room with you.  I do, very much, want to lie
in your arms and sleep with you."  There was more, she knew, and
she waited.  "I want these things, but I will not do them.  Not
tonight Jean."
     "Why?"  The question hung in the air between them.  She 
watched his face closely.  He seemed to be carefully gathering 
his thoughts, not wanting to rush an answer.
     "You're asking me to sell myself too cheaply, Jean.  If you
take me into your bed I want it to be because you want me.  Me.
Not just a man.
     "You're not ready yet.  You still want me to fill a void
which only you can fill.  You still need time to be with yourself.
You are making me this offer because you feel you owe me 
something--I don't know why--you don't.  Make it again when it is 
something you want for you and I'll reconsider my answer."
     "How'd you get to be so smart?"  The words came out without
her thinking about them.  There was a flash of pain which crossed
his face before disappearing into a soft smile.  If she hadn't
been looking directly at him, concentrating on his face, she would
have missed it.
     "Come on, let's go."  She took the initiative and pulled
him along with her.  The hotel was on the next block and they
walked the rest of the way in silence.
     Dream held open the door for her and walked with her to the
elevator.   She was about to press the up button when he stopped
her.  She turned to him, a question in her eyes.  Perhaps he'd
changed his mind.
     Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out
three small scented candles.  He handed them to her.  "Take a
nice luxurious hot bath, Jean.  Turn out the lights and soak by
candlelight.  Pamper yourself.  Sleep in, but be ready to go at
eleven."
     "Go where?"  She had trouble concentrating, her mind was
on that hot bath.  She was also very happy for she had half 
suspected that she had seen the last of him.
     "Didn't I mention it?  I'm taking you on a picnic.  Dress
accordingly.  Bring along a swimming suit."  He pushed the 
elevator button for her.  "Oh, and one last thing . . ."
     "Yes," she hoped she knew what was coming.  She did, for
he bent down and brushed his lips against hers.  He gave her a
small kiss on each corner of her mouth, then one full on her lips.
Her arms went around his neck and pulled him close, her breasts
flattening against his chest.  His arms surrounded her and held
her tightly.  She could feel his excitement growing even as he
began to relax his hold on her.  Regretfully she followed suit
and released him.  He smiled at her as she stepped into the 
elevator, whose doors had opened while they were kissing, and 
waved as the doors began to close.
     Just before the closing doors cut off her sight of him she
once again saw the haunted look from the cafeteria darken his
eyes.


     The steam from the hot water fogged the mirror and helped
diffuse the light from the three candles, lending the bathroom
a soft ambiance which hinted at mystery and intangibility. 
     Three glowing halos of light in the dark, humid room, with
a half-remembered scent, barely perceptible, guiding the mind
onto old neglected paths within a cocoon of safety.
     Breathe in.  Enjoy the lungs filling, feel the water, coated
with it's thick foliage of bubbles sliding down off the nipples,
leaving the breasts half submerged islands in this tropical 
paradise.
     Breathe out.  Lungs emptying, water rising, submerging the
islands once more, a gentle erotic motion--tides ebbing and 
flowing.  And inside those selfsame tides ebbed and flowed, 
making liquid her centre.
     How had this been forgotten, this place of mystery and 
enchantment?  The slippery sensation of skin on skin, lubricated 
with water and bath oil, reviving old memories, encouraging new 
ones.  The skin delighting in the soft slippery caresses.  Why 
had the body been neglected for so long?  Who was responsible 
for that crime?
     Silence, the deep silence of within, comforting, broken only
by the sighs, also a part of the silence.
     Tides moving more rapidly as respiration increases.  Images
floating: eyes, eyes that smile as the mouth smiles.  Oh, yes,
feeling so good.  Young eyes, yet old, holding the truth in their
gaze, reflecting the enjoyment of what they behold.  Ohh.
     Nimble, lovely, loving fingers, the memory of the motion
not forgotten, waking from the long sleep, recalled to 
consciousness by the smiling eyes, by the soft words yet unsaid, 
now moving in that old familiar way.  
     Tongue touching lips, tickling, wetting.  Areolae puckered,
nipples erect, begging for that extra touch, the long caress,
skin carrying shooting currents of energy up and down the body,
from the surface to the liquid centre and back.
     Ohhhh.  Safe, so safe and warm.  Safe to enjoy, to feel once
more.  How had the feelings been suppressed?  Not suppressed now,
driving toward completion, toward the joy.  Fingers, hidden by
the bubbles, moving faster now, slippery, wonderful fingers 
opening the door, so long closed, to the delights.  Breath 
catching, holding.  On the brink, mind blank, tightening.  
The Eyes!
     OHHHH! Release.  Ohhh, energy draining.  Ahhh, yes, so 
beautiful, relaxing back into the warmth.  Warmth radiating, also 
from the centre, soothing.  Oh so nice.  Joy remembered.

     After a short shower, to recover from the bath and to rinse
out her hair, Jean toweled off and returned to her bedroom.  She
looked at herself in the mirror.  There was something different
about this woman who looked back from the glass.  Her posture
was better and there was a knowingness about her which was 
sensual.  The word 'dull' no longer fit.  
     She looked objectively at the reflection of her body.  Her
breasts were beginning to sag, but just a little, and there was
a little unnecessary weight about her middle.  Other than that
her body remained in good condition.  She was satisfied.   Not
especially happy, for she had not been looking after herself too
well, but satisfied.
     Jean toweled dry her hair and combed it out.  She delighted
in the feel of the comb lightly scratching her scalp, the pull
on her hair, the sheen of her hair in the room's light.  It had
been a long time since she had so enjoyed this.  Why had the she
allowed the pleasure to be taken away?  No matter, it was back.
     Her bed beckoned and she climbed, gratefully, between the
sheets, sighed as her head hit the pillow, and reached forth to
turn out the light.  
     As she slowly drifted off to sleep the image of gentle 
smiling eyes floated before her mind's eye.  'Nice,' she thought, 
'so very nice.'

     At ten o'clock in the morning the doubts and anxieties had
resurfaced.  He would be here in only one hour.  A bathing suit!
She needed a bathing suit.  She'd never even considered that
when packing her things from home.  There was still time to get
home and find it, but she didn't want to go there.  He'd warned
her about going home.  She needed to be away for the full three
days.  Going home would bring back into full focus all the things 
she was running away from.
     Her apartment!  Could that be it?  Was this Dream character
setting her up for a burglary?  She should go right home, this
minute.  Did he know where she lived?  Had he followed her home
the previous night after work?
     Where was all this coming from?  She forced herself to relax
and think.  She was afraid.  Change was dangerous and she was
subconsciously trying to avoid change.  It was so much safer,
so much more comfortable to go back to the way she was.  
Comfortable, maybe, yet the consequences unbearable.  She pushed 
her worries to the back of her mind.  If her apartment was burgled,
her apartment was burgled.  She had started out on this path and 
she would not go back.  
     There was a mall across the road.  She would find a bathing 
suit there.

     Standing in front of the dressing room mirror, she modeled
the swimsuit.  She tried to imagine what he would think when he
saw her in it, to look at herself through his eyes.  Would he
be pleased, disappointed?  Were her breasts too small?  Was the
extra weight around her middle unattractive?  How can one hide
these things in a swimsuit?  Why was she doing this to herself?
     It suddenly occurred to her that Dream would find her 
attractive no matter what she wore.  Yes, it felt very right.  He 
would find her attractive.  She looked again in the mirror.  This 
time, instead of seeing the faults, she saw the pleasant curves, 
the sensuousness of her body.  And, as she saw this, her posture 
changed, accentuating it.  She smiled at her reflection.  Yes, he 
would like what he saw.  She was sure of it.  She stripped off 
the one-piece suit, dressed and stepped out of the dressing room.
     "I'll take it," she smiled to the clerk.

     "Hi."  Jean smiled brightly at him as Dream walked into the
lobby.  She noticed that he had trimmed his beard well down. 
He looked almost respectable.  He echoed her smile and came to
a stand in front of her.  She had noticed him looking her up and
down as he approached.
     "You look very lovely this morning, Jean," he complimented
her.
     "Thank you," she replied, then grinned.  "I know."
     "Do you, indeed?  Well, that's progress.  Ready to go?"
     "All ready.  She picked up her shoulder bag, which contained
her swimsuit and other sundries, from a chair and put on her straw
hat.  She took his proffered arm and they walked out together.
His car was a compact, its back seat half filled with what looked
like his life's possessions.  
     Jean noted that they were heading out of town--obviously
not going to the city park as she'd assumed.  Fifteen minutes
later, on the highway a thought hit her.
     "Dream, I hate to do this, but there is something I have
to do at home."
     "No problem.  We'll just turn around at that service station
up there," he indicated ahead.  He seemed to be completely 
unperturbed by her need.  He pulled into the station and signaled 
to pull out again, back towards the city.
     "Never mind, it's not that important."
     He hesitated.  "Are you sure?  It's really no problem."
     "Yes, I'm sure.  I've thought about it and it really can
wait."
     "Okay, if you're sure."  She nodded and he changed the 
direction signal and reentered the highway.
     "Where are we off to?"  She figured she knew.
     "My place."  He smiled at her look of surprise before 
returning his attention to the road.  "I've a camp site at the 
National Park," he explained, "not far from the public beach.  
It'll take about 45 minutes to get there."  He paused for a 
minute, and they enjoyed the wind blowing in the windows.  "Say, 
I forgot to ask if you were hungry before we left.  You did eat 
breakfast, didn't you?"
     "Actually, no.  You have a little something here?"
     "There's a chocolate bar in the glovebox."
     "A chocolate bar?" she raised her eyebrows.
     "Yes."
     "In the glovebox?"  Her eyebrows crept ever higher.
     "Yes."
     With some trepidation Jean opened the glovebox and carefully
withdrew the chocolate.  As she'd suspected, it was a very soft,
limp package.  She gave her head a slight shake as she glanced
over at Dream, whose attention had remained on the road.  She
carefully unwrapped the chocolate.
     "Want a piece?"  She kept her voice calm.
     "Sure.  He reached his hand over without looking and dipped
his fingers in the gooey puddle of chocolate.
     "What the . . ."  He glanced over and began to laugh.  "Ah,
I see."  He licked the melted chocolate off his fingers.
     "Chocolate does have the tendency to do that in a hot car,"
Jean explained unnecessarily, keeping a straight face.  She lowered
her face and lapped at the chocolate, careful not to let it run
over the sides of the wrapper.
     Dream turned as he saw her deposit the balled up wrapper
in the garbage bag.  He began to chuckle.
     "What is it?" Jean asked.  He only smiled again.  She turned
down the visor and looked at herself in the vanity mirror.  A
dab of chocolate was on the tip of her nose.
     "Well, thanks a lot, Dream, for making me feel self-conscious
about it," Jean complained as she removed the offending drop of
chocolate.  "I was saving that for a late snack."

     The ride seemed to pass in a haze of good will and all too
soon they arrived at his campsite.  There was a small two man
tent set up, and on the picnic table sat a propane stove.  "Home,
sweet home,"  he grinned at her.  He opened his trunk and pulled
out a bag of supplies.  "I believe I promised you a light meal."
He tossed her an apple to start with.
     Jean watched closely as he whipped up a lovely fresh fruit
salad.  He knew what he was doing, she noted, for there were no
wasted motions.  Within a couple of minutes it was prepared and
placed in front of her.
     "We'll just eat lightly now, go to the beach, then have 
something a little heavier.  Don't want to get cramps, do we, if 
we decide to swim?"
     "Certainly not."  They started in on the salads.  Jean 
allowed her gaze to wander around the campsite.  "Your home from 
home?"
     "My home," he corrected her, and laughed at her raised 
eyebrows.  "I told you.  I'm just a weary traveler."
     "And what would it take to make a weary traveler cease his
traveling?"  Even as she spoke the last word she regretted it.
His face lost its animation momentarily.  "Sorry."
     "Don't be sorry.  It's my problem."  He smiled again.  "You,
know, the weary traveler problem:  once started on a journey,
it's hard to stop."  His attempt at a joke fell short.
     "Problems can be shared, Dream.  Maybe I can help."  She
wanted to reach out to him, yet held back, fearing he would be
offended.  Instead he reached out to her, touching her cheek,
cupping her face in his hand.  Her head leaned into his touch
and her hand reached up to hold his against her face.
     "Ah, dear Jean.  A lovely thought--a gift I'll treasure
always.  No.  It's something I have to do alone."  His hand left
her and she felt bereft.  "Let's hit the beach.  Action is what
we need.  Movement to still the voices within.  The mind cannot
be sad when the body is in motion."
     "Where'll I change?"
     "You have the use of my simple dwelling.  Not well insulated,
yet sufficient unto the day."  He grinned and her spirits rose
as well. 
     "You are indeed gallant, good sir."  Jean rose from the table
and stooped to enter his tent.  She zipped up the screen, knowing
from experience that it was difficult to see into the relative
darkness and thus she did not need to close the outer flap.  It
didn't matter, anyway, as Dream was gazing up at the tall trees
around and not at the tent.  As she pulled off her clothes she
wondered what he was thinking.
     She suddenly grinned.  Last night she'd wanted a man in her
bed, now, she was on a man's bed.  She wondered what it would
be like to make love in a tent, on an air mattress such as this.
Maybe she'd find out.
     "All ready," she declared.  Sometime when she hadn't been
paying attention he'd taken off his sweatpants and was already
in swim wear.  She was a little disappointed.  She'd been 
subconsciously hoping he'd have on some type of tight swimsuit.  
Instead he was wearing something closer to jogging shorts.  Ah, 
well, can't have everything.  He was also wearing a t-shirt and 
sandals.  His youthful body was fit and tight.  Of course she'd 
known that from the dancing, still, it was nice to see it more 
closely.
      His low laugh brought her back and she blushed.  He'd caught
her looking him up and down.  She was about to apologize when
he beat her to it.
     "Sorry.  Couldn't help myself.  You look great, Jean."  Hadn't
he noticed her appraising him?
     "Thank you, Dream.  So do you."  She picked up her beach
towel in one hand, held out the other one for him to take and
together they walked down the path to the beach.
     She'd put on some sunblock before she'd left her room, yet
acquiesced when he suggested she put some on now.  She knew he'd
have to do her back and felt a little guilty at using this trick
to get him to touch her.
     "All greased up and nowhere to go," she joked as she put
the finishing touches to his back.  It had been wonderful touching
him also.
     Later, when she'd had a chance to think about it, she wouldn't
remember ever having laughed more, having had such a good time.
They'd played with a frisbee, walked hand in hand along the beach,
got their feet wet and simply enjoyed the sun.
     Lying on their towels he suddenly reached over and poked
her in the ribs.  "You're 'it'," he said and jumped to his feet,
beginning an impromptu game of tag.  After a slip which she 
suspicioned was calculated, she'd caught him and went running 
away laughing.  He finally cornered her, her back to the lake, 
and began closing in.  She retreated until the water was up to 
her knees.  There was nowhere left to run when he lunged forward 
and lifted her into his arms.
     "Okay, you've got me.  Hey, what're you doing."  He was 
walking further into the lake.  Looking down she saw it was 
touching the bottoms of his shorts.  "You wouldn't drop me, would 
you?"  She tested the water with a foot.  "It's cold."
     "I promise you, I won't drop you," he replied.  He stopped
moving deeper.  The water was almost up to his waist, just inches
below her.
     She wondered why she felt a little disappointed, when suddenly
she noticed he was sinking lower.  
     "Hey," she shouted, but it was too late.  He dropped to his
knees, immersing her in the lake.  "You rat!"  She sputtered her
mock rage at him as she regained her feet then, cupping her hand,
splashed water into his face.
     The water-fight was fast and furious and ended with them
laughing so hard they had to support each other as they waded
ashore and stumbled to their towels.
     "Jean?"  The voice was familiar and she looked up from drying
her face.
     "Peter.  What are you doing here?"  Peter worked in another
department and was, if she remembered correctly a widower.
     "The kids thought it was time that Grandpa tottered out to
the beach.  Imagine that--grandfather at 48.  Makes me feel old."
     Jean waved off the thought.  "You'll never be old, Peter.
You just don't have it in you.  You'll always look and feel young."
      He laughed at that.  She noticed he was looking at her as
if he'd never seen her before.  It was a very complimentary look.
     "You certainly look good.  Enjoying the weekend?"
     "Very much," she paused.  "Oh, and this is my friend . . ."
     "Thomas," Dream answered smoothly.  "Pleased to meet you,
Peter."  He held out his hand.  "Sure is some fine weather we're
having, isn't it."
     "The best.  Good to meet you, Thomas."  He turned suddenly
as a small voice caught his attention.  "Ah, Grandpa is in demand.
Nice to see you, but I have to go."  He took three steps then
stopped.
     "Jean?"
     "Yes, Peter?"  She stepped forward.
     "The Lodge is holding a banquet on Friday--to support 
Literacy.  I was, well . . . . Would you care to accompany me?"
     "I'd love to.  We'll talk about it later.  Have fun."
     "Always," he laughed, "I have no choice."

     "Thomas?" she asked, turning to find him looking across the
lake.
     "Now you know.  That's my 'regular' middle name.  The name
I usually go by.  You like it?"  There was something in his voice
which caught her attention.  A sense of loss?
     "To me you'll always be Dream--my Dream."      
     He turned to her and Jean saw a strange, undefinable 
expression on his face.  It was comprised of happiness and sorrow, 
yet was more than either.  Her stomach lurched.
     "Let's go back to the campsite.  I'm about exhausted," she
smiled at him, not feeling like smiling at all.
     She didn't speak while he prepared the meal, hardly noticed
how it tasted as she ate it.  Dream honoured her silence, a 
kindness beyond measure.
     "You're leaving."  It was a statement, not a question.
     "Tomorrow," he confirmed.  "You don't need me anymore.  The
black blinds are down.  You shine, Jean.  You shine."
     She could feel the lump at her throat.  "I may shine," she
forced a smile, trying to change the subject, trying not to think
of him leaving, "but I am sore.  That frisbee--I don't know,
I think I pulled a muscle in my back or something."
     He was instantly solicitous.  "Go on in and change.  I'll
give you a quick massage.  I didn't mean for you to hurt yourself,
only to enjoy."
     "I know that.  And I did--more than you'll ever know.  I'll
take you up on that massage, though."  She put down her utensils
and went inside the tent.
     A few minutes later she called him.  "Ready."
     He entered the tent seeing her lying on her stomach, a sheet
drawn up over her, up to her lower back.   She wasn't wearing
anything on her top.  He crooked an eyebrow, but said nothing.
     His hands were strong and skillful as they stroked up and
down her back, finding little knots she hadn't realized were 
there, exciting her by their touch.  She drifted into a dreamlike 
state, enjoying the caresses beyond description.  
     Her mind cleared and she spoke a single word.  "Stop."  He
obeyed.  She turned her head to look at him, beside her.  "There's
nothing wrong with my back.  I just wanted the massage.  I knew
you'd offer one.  Sorry."
     He smiled.  "You could have just asked."
     "I know.  But there's something else."  Jean turned over
and threw the sheet from her.  She had been naked beneath it.
"I wanted you to see me, Dream."
     Dream looked her in the eyes for several moments then allowed
his gaze to wander down her neck, rest on her breasts, follow
the curve of her belly to her mound, down her legs to the feet
and back up again until they rested once more on her eyes.  A
soft smile played about his lips.
     "You are very lovely, Jean," he waited until he had her full
attention, "but I've always seen you."
     Tears came to her eyes.  She turned on her side, looking
past him through the screen.  "Lie with me for a while, please.
Yes, that's it, come in behind me."  He snuggled in behind her,
his arm coming over her, his hand resting on the mattress.  She
took his hand and placed it over her breast and held it there.
 
     The sounds from the other campsites melded with the buzzing
of insects and the chirping of birds, weaving a tapestry of sound
on the back of which her mind floated off on a flight of its own.
When she came back--minutes, hours?--later, it was to the awareness
that he had become excited, hard.  She lifted his hand from her
breast and kissed it softly.  She rolled onto her back and looked
into his eyes from the disturbingly close distance of a few 
centimeters.  Her breath caught. 
     "I owe you more than I can say, more than I can repay.  I'd
like to try, though."
     He was no fool.  He knew what she was offering.  He leaned
over and brushed his lips against hers, "I think it's time I took
you home."  Frustration welled up within her.  "You don't owe
me anything, Jean.  Do you think I haven't enjoyed being with
you, holding you, seeing your smile, watching you burst forth
in splendor?  Perhaps it is I who owe you."

     The drive back to the hotel was made in silence.  A 
companionable silence where each was free to roam within the 
thoughts, to integrate the happenings of the day.  And when he 
held his hand out she took it and held it for the last half of 
the trip.
     "It's better I don't go in," he said as he pulled up in 
front of the hotel.  
     She nodded.  "Thank you, Dream, my Dream."  She leaned over
and kissed him gently on the lips, seeing, once again, the pain
flash across his eyes, wondering from whence it came and if it 
would ever go for good.
     The hotel room was lonely, now, there was an emptiness about
it which had not been there before.  An hour's pacing and she
found herself back in the lobby, headed for the restaurant.  It
was hard, eating alone, seeing couples all around her.  They were
talking, that simplest of pleasures, and she was locked in silence,
the ripple of conversation and the low music passed over and around
her, yet did not touch, did not invite her in, did not comfort
her.
     Jean ate quickly and left the restaurant, to toss and turn
in her bed.  It was only when the decision was made that she was
able to relax and fall to sleep.
     
     It was early.  She was up and on the road, retracing the
path they'd taken the day before.  The wind blowing in the open
window, cooling her, kept her focused.  Her mind was sharp, her
intent clear.  Dream, her Dream, was going to leave and she had
done nothing to try and remove that haunted look from his eyes.
He had been right, even at the last.  She didn't owe him.  It
was simply something she wanted to do.  
     At last the park entrance came into sight and she slowed.
The familiar road to his site went by, people in campsites packing,
getting ready to go on the road once more.  Soon, just around
the corner--it was empty.  He was gone.  Something inside her
crumpled.  She drew a long breath, pulled into the site and parked.
     Jean laughed at the lump in her throat, laughed at the idea
of nostalgia for what had occurred only yesterday.  It was foolish.
Despite the foolishness, Jean gazed at the place where the tent
had stood, walked the path to the beach, to look upon the spot
where they, not so long ago, lay in the sun.  It, like her hotel
room, was empty; only a patch of sand no different from any other
patch of sand.  What did she expect, she asked herself as she
turned and made her way back to her car.
     Hunger came upon her.  The body demanded and she obeyed, 
turning into a truck stop for a late breakfast.  She watched the 
cars passing by on the highway and felt a great melancholy come 
over her.  Out there were people going places while she remained 
here.  Who were those lucky people passing by?  Or were they 
lucky?  Would they find what they were looking for when they 
arrived, when they stopped moving?  She hoped so.
     They were on their way and, it came to her, so too was she.
There was no going back.  He had given her a gift and she would
have to move forward, she couldn't allow that gift, which had
cost him so, to gather dust, unused.  
     Yes, she would move forward.  Yet, there was no reason for
her to stay in the hotel this third night, in fact she doubted
she could face another night there.  She would check out and 
return to her apartment.  It was time to begin once again.

     In the bathroom Jean picked up the three candles and smiled
at them.  She took a quick look around, there was nothing of hers
left behind.  That was a dark thought.  Tomorrow someone else
would call this room 'home'.  The room itself would forget her.
In this time, in this place, she didn't truly exist.  Jean avoided
looking in the mirror as she exited.  
     Her bag was open on the bed.  She dropped the candles in
and closed it.  All that made this room her home had been removed.
It was no longer her launch pad to a better life, it had returned
to its former state--simply a room.
     The knock on the door startled her.  Heart pounding, she flew
to the door, looked through the peep-hole, then threw the door
open.  It was he.
     "I thought I'd drop by and say good-bye before I le . . ."
     Jean grabbed his arm and propelled him into the room, allowing
the door to close behind her.  She pushed him backwards until
he fell onto the bed, almost banging his head on her bag.  She
jumped on him and began to unbutton his shirt.
     "Why are you doing this," an astounded, unresisting, Dream
asked.  "Is it because you think you owe me?"  A hand across his
mouth stopped him.
     "Silly man," she contradicted him.  "It's because I owe me.
Now lie still.  Better yet, help me."

     The Cafeteria was almost empty and the line was short.  Jean
smiled softly to herself as she scanned the choices open to her.
There was lots of everything.  The juice cooler's mirrored back
reflected her image.  There was no comparison with the woman she'd
seen there--was it only five days ago?
     In front of her stood a woman, vibrant and alive.  A very
youthful thirty-plus, she decided, chuckling to herself.  At the
till she paid the bill, warmly wishing the cashier a good day.
 
     Jean scanned the room.  Most of the tables were empty and
she chose one of those and sat down.  Too soon the place would
be crowded and noisy, but that was okay, too.
     A man across the room had a nice face, she thought, and the
words sent her mind into the past.  

     After the first burst of passion had cooled, she had taken
his face in her hands and looked closely at it.  Inspecting it
from all angles until he finally had to ask.
    "What?"
    "I have to see it."
    "See what?"
    "See what's under the beard.  Get up and come with me."
    "Let me be, woman, you've worn me out."  Dream groaned as
she pulled him to his feet.  
     Jean grabbed a pillow and set it on the toilet seat.  It
was one of those long pillows for the King Size bed and it would
support his back somewhat as well.
     "Sit," she ordered and Dream sat.  She filled the basin with
hot water and let a face towel soak in it for a minute before
wringing it out and wrapping it about his face.  When the towel
was unwrapped the only light in the room came from the three 
candles he'd given her.  
     "I'll cut myself without more light."
     "But it is I who'll be doing the shaving," she replied, 
laughing at his sudden apprehension.  She sat on his thighs, 
facing him and soaped his face then pulled her razor from the 
basin.  Fortunately she had a new blade.  He slouched to give her 
a little more room.
     With slow and careful strokes she began removing his beard,
bit by bit.  As each patch came clean she leaned forward and kissed
the skin.  She took her time in the dim light.  She had to be
even more careful when, taking advantage of his location he began
to caress her breasts, teasing and tweaking her nipples, allowing
his hands to run up and down her sides.
     "Careful, Dream, my Dream, or you'll pay dearly for your
actions--in blood, one might say."
     "You do what you must, I'll do what I must," he replied.
     Jean felt him beginning to grow hard once more and grinned
as a delicious idea occurred to her.  She raised herself up, then
lowered herself on him, taking him in.  His eyes had flicked open,
then slowly closed once more.  It felt good to have a man in her
again, she thought, though it had not been much more than an hour
since they'd last coupled.
     Slowly Dream's face came clean.  It was as Jean had thought,
a good face.  She decided that the mustache suited him and let
it be.
     "Are you quite done?" he asked as she wiped his face with
a wet towel.
     "Quite done," she confirmed, kissing him on the lips, rocking
a little to feel him inside her.
     "Good.  Hold on."  She held tight as he carefully got to
his feet and carried her back to the bed, where they had made
love once more.  He was a gentle lover, as she had known he would
be.  He was kind and concerned about her pleasure before his own.
It was nice, beautiful even, and had pleased her tremendously
the time before.  
     Not this time.  She turned him on his back and began moving
faster and faster on him.  She bent down and kissed him, almost
savagely, stunning him.  He made to speak but she placed her hand
over his mouth.
     "Just fuck me," she ordered.  She had to take him out of
himself, to send their lovemaking into a wild, abandoned, frenzy.
That way he'd forget, he'd have to forget.  He'd obeyed and the
passion with which they threw themselves at each other had startled
them both, she thought.  At the end they had collapsed, exhausted,
in each others arms and had fallen asleep thus entwined.

     "Pardon?" Jean looked up, startled at his voice which intruded
into her memories.
     "May I sit here," he repeated.
     "Of course, Roy," she smiled.
     "Your mind was a million miles away, Jean.  What were you
thinking of?"  
     Roy had never paid any attention to her before.  She smiled
suddenly--that was the other one, the age conscious one, not
the new, devil-may-care Jean.
     "I was remembering my Dream," she replied, smiling at her
secret joke.
     "It's good to have dreams," Roy answered, a bit perplexed
as her smile did not match her words.  "You are looking very good,
Jean, if I may say so."
     "You may."  They laughed together.  Roy had kind eyes, the
type that smiled when his mouth smiled.  Like other eyes she knew.
     
     In the morning they had made love again, gently this time,
before showering together.  As Dream dressed to go she found that
she was no longer regretting his leaving.  It was what he had
to do.  And she had done what she had had to do.  In one way it
hadn't worked, for she caught the haunted flash of a memory cross
his face as he turned to go; yet, for that night there had been
no pain, no memories, only two people caught up in the joy of
life.  Somewhere he would find someone who would take the pain
from his eyes.  One morning he'd wake up and the memory would
be there, but without the power to hurt.
     She hoped it would be soon, yet that, too, didn't seem to
matter.  It would happen when he needed it to happen.  That 
special someone would come along when he was ready for her, as 
he had come to her when she had finally been ready to accept what 
he had to offer.
     The memory of his eyes floated before her and she wished
him well, this Dream, her Dream.