Enchanted Dreams (5 page)

Curious, Catherine reached down and picked up the foreign object. It was not terribly large but it was quite heavy. It was orange and yellow, with orange bands coming out the sides of it. One of the bands appeared to be broken. It seemed that beneath its outer casing, it held more objects inside. She noticed that there was a strange seam all along the edge of it, and an eerie sense of déjà vu crept over Catherine as she grasped hold of the little tab at the end and slid it backward along the seam, opening the outer casing. She fished through the many different objects that were inside but, try as she might, she couldn't figure out what they were. The peculiar feeling stayed with her as she stared at them uncomprehendingly. But eventually she lost interest and laid the objects back down where she found them. Yet there was undeniably something strange in all of this, if only for the unusual effect it was having on her. Catherine stood up and looked around. And then she noticed something else—something she did recognize—in the plush woods nearby. More curious than ever, she moved nearer. Upon closer inspection, she saw that it was, in fact, hair. But it was hard to tell if came from an animal or human because, whatever it was, was hidden in the bushes nearby. Something stirred in Catherine.

She moved carefully, not really out of fear as much as instinct to be cautious. She tentatively moved some of the branches aside to get a better view, but then abruptly jumped back. The hair was attached to a skull! Just as Catherine had instantly recognized the overabundance of life stirring all around her in the forest, she now instantly perceived that life had gone from here. A haunting sadness welled up in her. She moved the branches away again and carefully brushed aside some of the fallen leaves and other debris. There was another brief moment of a kind of general, vague recognition, but Catherine was far too detached from the faded thing disintegrating into the earth to actually own it. She shook off the discomfiting stirrings. But she could not help feeling a powerful compassion for the woman who had died there.

Looking up, Catherine noticed that dusk was coming. For the first time since that day when she had first discovered the enchanted forest, she was afraid to be wandering alone in the dark. Yet she was hesitant to leave the poor girl alone. Acting on instinct, she carefully replaced the leaves and brush over the body, mindful this time to cover the woman's hair, as well. Next she darted off to a nearby field to collect a handful of wildflowers. Uttering a small prayer for the woman's soul, Catherine placed the flowers on top of her leafy grave. With one last pause, she got up, brushing the leaves and the strange melancholy off her. Then, with the adroitness of a spirit, or a fairy, she flitted out over the flowery field, fluttering toward home and the pleasures that awaited her.

Why was she even bothering? She tried to silence the pessimistic voice in her head but it would not relent. It reminded her that she had no reason to expect this guy to be different from any of the others. There was nothing special or noteworthy about him that made it worth the effort. Even by online-dating standards he had offered little intrigue, and with all the embellishing that takes place in preparing one's online profile, that was rather dismaying. She tried to recall what prompted her to go out with him, and then she remembered that he had caught her in a weak moment when, feeling unsettled and lonely, she suddenly longed for a normal life with an average guy. So here she was, on a Friday night, rushing around to meet this average or—more likely—less-than-average guy.

She took a deep breath and tried once again to assume a positive outlook. At least she was getting out of the house. It could be interesting. She might as well try to have a good time. There didn't have to be any entanglements. She couldn't hide forever.

And perhaps this one would work out differently. But she couldn't count on that and she knew it.

She dashed through the restaurant doors and found him waiting for her. Just as the little voice in her head had predicted, he looked nothing like his picture and yet she recognized him instantly. Something in his present look was more like what she would have expected anyway. Within their casual online correspondence, she had detected an inherent gentleness, a kind of considerateness in his demeanor that had initially captured and ultimately held her interest. While these qualities had not been evident in his picture, she recognized them in his face, and her reluctance eased up the tiniest bit. "I'm sorry I'm late," she murmured.

Dan stood up from the bench where he had been waiting and smiled warmly at Maryanne. Clearly he had embellished his height in his online profile, as well. She resented this; she could have at least worn lower heels to minimize the difference had she known. She tried to hide her annoyance. Yet he did not seem to mind so much; she noticed that his eyes were looking over her slender form with approval.

"Maryanne? You're so much more beautiful than your picture!" he said earnestly. Then he blushed slightly, as if embarrassed by this outburst. She had the impression that his comments, at least, were spontaneous and genuine. "Don't worry about being late," he said good-naturedly. "I figured you were having a tough time finding parking. I did get us a table, though."

He led her to their table and pulled out her chair for her. "Wow," he remarked as he sat down across from her, "those are some guns you're packing there!"

Maryanne drew back, startled, and Dan quickly gestured to her arms, once again embarrassed. "I mean, you must work out," he clarified.

"Oh…yes!" she said with a laugh, feeling the tension leave her. "I practice yoga," she explained.

"Yoga's quite the workout," he surprised her by saying. "I tried it myself a few times, but I found it difficult to hold many of the poses. I get distracted too easily. Let's see, what was that one? You stand sort of crouched with your hands high up in front like the bug…the locust, was it?" He put his hands up in front of him in an exaggerated simulation of the pose.

"The praying mantis," she corrected, laughing.

"Yeah," he agreed amiably. "That's it. Nearly snapped my hamstrings trying to do that one."

Maryanne tried to imagine this stocky, seemingly unsophisticated guy attempting yoga and suddenly burst into loud laughter at the thought of it. But when she recovered, she changed her tune, eyeing him sideways and saying, "Actually, you look like you could handle it." And it was true. Although he was a burly man, she could see at a glance that he was all muscle.

"Well, I might have exaggerated," he conceded. "I actually only strained them a little."

"That seems a bit more plausible…" she teased, surprised to find that she was flirting with him. The realization made her suddenly shy, and she tilted her head slightly downward in a reserved gesture she was in the habit of assuming to conceal her face. She could feel her cheeks growing warm and knew she was blushing. If Dan noticed her discomfort, he was considerate enough to pretend that he did not.

"I'm built mostly for hard work," he continued with a matter-of-fact shrug. "Like an ox. That's how I manage to keep in some kind of shape. But you look like you live at the gym."

"Not really," she said, tilting her head a little bit more. But she was pleased.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "I'm gushing here. I'm really not obsessed with appearances. It's just that you're so toned and in amazing shape. I have to admit I find that attractive. Even your cheekbones. Wow!" He gestured around her face without touching her. "It's like they're chiseled out of marble or something." It was an earnest compliment, and it wasn't the first time Maryanne had heard it. But whenever anyone mentioned her amazing bone structure, all she could think of was the way the boys in grade school used to tease her, calling her "alien" because of the way her large eyes and high cheekbones dominated her face. If only she could get those children's cruel voices out of her head.

Dan casually reached over and brushed aside the loose hair that had fallen down over her face. From anyone else, this would have been too forward a gesture for Maryanne, but Dan did it with such simple aplomb that she hardly noticed that he had done anything at all.

"So what are you hungry for?" he asked, turning his attention to his menu.

"I don't know," she said disinterestedly. She picked up her menu, trying to think of something clever to say.

"I chose this restaurant because their food is exceptional. You mentioned in your profile that you were a finicky eater."

"I did?" she asked.

"I think you did," he replied, considering. "I'm not sure exactly what you said. Something gave me that impression."

Maryanne wondered what it was. He certainly was intuitive. She realized that she felt considerably more relaxed with him than she usually was on first dates—particularly blind dates—but even so, she had the urge to rock gently back and forth in her chair, another nervous habit she had picked up. Most people didn't mind it once they got to know her, but she knew it would be disconcerting for a man to see her do it on a first date. Yet with Dan, she wondered. He seemed to be the sort of man who would make a person feel comfortable no matter how odd his or her behavior.

"Well, anyway," he continued, "the food here is first-rate. The chef grows a lot of the vegetables in his own organic garden nearby. You can really taste the freshness. I figured you were probably into health food."

"Well, sort of," she said noncommittally.

Maryanne ordered a salad and Dan ordered a steak. But she showed no interest in her food when it arrived. Having consumed her second drink by then, she was finally loosening up.

"So have you ever been married?" Dan asked. Maryanne had been wondering when the conversation would come around to that. People were so obsessed with past relationships. She disliked talking about them. Besides, whoever told the truth when it came to that? Had a man on a date ever said, for example, "Yeah, I just couldn't seem to stop sleeping with other women"? Or would a woman ever admit, "Everything he did just made me want to bite his head off"?

"No," she said without elaborating.

"Did you never want to?" he persisted.

Maryanne felt she was treading in dangerous territory. Yet the drinks had loosened her up considerably so it didn't seem to matter so much.

"Yes," she replied honestly. "I'll admit I have thought about it a time or two. But…"

Dan waited a long moment before responding. When he did, Maryanne was surprised that he was still waiting for her to finish her thought. "But…what?" he prompted. She looked at him, impressed. Most of the men she encountered had the attention span of a fly.

"It's hard to explain," she began. "I've never really put my thoughts about marriage into words before." She thought about it for another minute. He was looking at her with keen interest, as if he really wanted to hear what she thought about it. His seeming interest encouraged her. "I believe marriage is impossible," she said. Then she shook her head vigorously, causing her hair to shift back and forth over her face. "No, not impossible. That's ridiculous. People get married every day. What I mean is, it's hopeless…and destructive and doomed to fail."

He seemed genuinely taken aback by her comment, although there was a little smile playing about his lips upon hearing it. He appeared to find her vehement passion over the matter charming. She was surprised, too. She had never admitted her true feelings about it to anyone before. "Hopeless and destructive and doomed to fail?" he repeated, following it with a low whistle. "I could maybe see hopeless and destructive, or destructive and doomed to fail, but all three together…" He shook his head as if to say she'd gone too far. She could see that he was trying to make her laugh—and perhaps he wanted to minimize the severity of what she'd just said in the process—but now that she had confided in him she felt like explaining what she meant.

"It's hopeless and doomed to fail because it can't possibly succeed, and I think it's destructive to the people who have to learn that the hard way. The truth is that marriages don't succeed, not in the truest sense of the word. People stay married sometimes, it's true, but is it really what they thought it would be when they walked down the aisle together?" She said this without the slightest bitterness, which only seemed to give credence to her words.

Dan put down his fork (she had not yet picked hers up), giving Maryanne all of his attention. Both were now fully intrigued and absorbed by the topic. "But how could you possibly know this if you've never been married yourself?"

"I don't have to go through something myself if I am able to learn from watching others," she replied. "Have you been married?" she asked suddenly.

"Yes," he admitted.

"Well…"

"Yes, but even having failed, I still believe in the institution of marriage. And I liked being married, for the most part."

"For the most part?" she said.

"There were moments…" He paused, at a loss for words to explain.

"Of disenchantment?" she asked with a smile. "A slow, ongoing letting go of expectations, like gradually sliding down a not-so-steep hill?"

Dan looked at her with curiosity. "So, if not marriage, what then? Living together? Dating?"

She was feeling strangely reckless. And Dan was somehow drawing her out in a way that other men were not usually able to do. Something in his demeanor put her at ease. "To be perfectly honest, I don't think it's possible for a man and a woman to stay together for any significant amount of time. Relationships seem to have a shelf life."

He jerked back in surprise. "Isn't that supposed to be the guy's position?"

She laughed. She wondered what he was thinking about the things she was saying and was surprised to discover that she cared. In fact, she wanted to make him understand. She thought for a moment of how to illustrate her point.