The Man of Her Dreams

The Man of Her Dreams

by Leslie Johnson

Angela pushed back his shaggy hair, falling over his not quite handsome face. His blue eyes sparkled like moonlight on the ocean. Everything about him was so perfect. She wanted to hold him tight and never let him go.

“I want to know everything about you.” He whispered as he leaned down to capture her bottom lip. She pushed him back.

“What did you say?” She shivered. Those words, they were the words her husband used to say before... but that was a long time ago.

“I, umm... want to know everything about you?” His voice cracked. Light began to appear through the pores of his skin. In a flash he was gone; tiny pixels, color and light, falling to the ground and disappearing from sight. Her breathing evened out and she awoke from her dream, her heart heavy with bitter tears. When was this going to stop - this dream of the perfect man?

Angela didn’t trust men; well maybe she didn't trust herself. She was a poor judge of character. That proof was in the man she left behind. Her husband, Kevin. She disappeared from her former life to get away from him. She didn’t fake her own death, but with some planning, she skipped town and ran clear across the country to get away. She lived under the radar, in a pokey little studio apartment that had seen better days forty years ago.
For over a year she had come and gone to work and never gave a single person her consideration. They were background and scenery, nothing to her or to her life. But this man she dreamed about had found his way into her soul, filling her dreams and breaking her heart every morning when she woke to find he wasn’t there.

She didn’t know his name. He carried a brown leather attache case and wore expensive suits. He worked in the same office building she did but without a name or some other details beyond his looks, finding him was nearly impossible. There were twenty-nine floors in that building and although some companies retained more than one floor, there were still many one-room offices hiding in the mazes of hallways and kiosks. She longed for the days when elevator operators ran people up and down all day. They knew everything and everyone. They would be able to tell her his name and which floor he worked on.

“But alas,” she thought, “These are modern times.” Modern times, where it cost too much to have someone do something you were capable of doing yourself. Gone for the most part were the telephone operators, elevator jockeys, maids and gardeners. The importance was all on the bottom line. Make money - make more - make even more…It was the charge put forth to every man or woman in a suit and their rewards were… good boy and atta girl and sometimes a little extra in the pay envelope.

Angela arrived at the office. She stepped into the large marble foyer and saw him as he stepped into the elevator. She hurried across the room. The doors closed moments before she reached them. As usual, he did nothing to prevent that; he never pushed the “door open” button to allow her access. It was almost like he knew she wanted to meet him. She waited for the next car and rode up to the twentieth floor in silence, wondering again about the shaggy haired man who worked in this building.

At the end of that long day, the end of a long week, she took the bus home. As was her habit on the last day of the work week, she got off six blocks from home to sit for a while in the park. She looked forward to these days. Fridays in the park were quiet times; the moms and tots had gone home to supper and the lovers waited until dusk to begin gathering. There were a few ragged souls coming to unwind, but they respected each other's privacy. It was time to decompress.
Sitting on the bench, looking out at the deep, wide river, her pulse slowed. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. A minute later, intuition told her she was no longer alone. She looked over. A round, gray haired woman sat at the other end of the bench. They nodded at each other. As she looked away, she thought she saw the shaggy haired man out of the corner of her eye. She turned to look. The path was empty.
For a second, she worried that she was becoming obsessed. She was seeing him everywhere. In the past few weeks she was certain she'd seen him at the grocery store, at the dry cleaners and at the movies. She'd gone to a Saturday matinee. Sitting in the darkened theater she was sure it was him two rows behind and off to her left. But when she looked again, he was gone. It must have been her imagination.
Glancing at her watch, she saw it was time to go home. There was a cardboard box waiting for her; a frozen dinner. She hated to cook. That was one of the draws to her husband. Kevin loved to cook and he was good at it. He cooked with flourish. She stood and headed toward the apartment.
Walking by the tidy little houses that bordered the park, she began to dream again. These were quaint homes and she could imagine forging a life here. She saw it like an air freshener commercial; everything white and clean. There he was coming up the walk; she stood on the step holding hands with two perfect, cherub faced children. Their blue eyes sparkled like the sun on the ocean. It was a happy picture and wonderful place to live.

Home in her tiny apartment, Angela tossed her frozen dinner in the oven before flinging herself onto the bed. For a moment she stayed face down before she turned over to stare at the cracks in the ceiling. She wondered, not for the first time, if she should paint them green and tie them together with leaves and flowers. She knew these cracks, she'd watched one grow over a period of months. Today, they didn't look like they'd changed much.
Once in a while she worried that the ceiling would fall in and crush her. She'd complained to the building manager when he came to collect her rent. He'd come in and stared at the ceiling, grunting a few times before saying he'd do something. That was over a year ago. She guessed if the roof did fall, then it was meant to be. But mostly she hoped she would be long gone before it did.

Thirty minutes later the timer went. She pushed herself up and pulled the tray from the oven. She ate in front of the television set. With the sound off, she watched the characters move around the screen unable to discern their words. She liked putting her own words into their mouths, making up the story by their actions rather than the script they followed.

Supper finished, she switched off the set, tossed the tin foil plate into the trash and rinsed her knife and fork under the faucet. Right on time, she heard the knock on her door. “Not again.” She knew who it was. It would be Bertie Halvorson from next door wanting to have a cup of tea and a chat. She doesn’t mind the old woman, but there are days when Angela wished she would buy her own damn tea and leave her the hell alone. Pushing herself away from the counter, she invited her guest in.
Sitting at the table, Bertie rambled on about her life and Angela let her mind wander. She nodded appropriately, but her mind was reliving her dream, getting lost in those blue eyes that sparkled like the sun on the ocean.

When Bertie left, Angela moved to the windows and reflected on her own life. She made a decent living and could probably afford to live somewhere nicer. But she found this tiny woe begotten place when she left her husband and she felt it was perhaps the best place to be - for now. Out of sight, out of her element, somewhere he would never look for her.

She loved the view from the large transom windows. They provided a great view of the city as it spread out as far as her eye could see. She could watch the river gleaming like a silver thread in the dark as it wound its way leisurely through the park six blocks away. She shifted her view to the streets, watching the traffic - mere orbs and streaks of red and gold floating along in various directions.

She wondered what he was doing at this moment. What did he see when he looked out his windows? What was he thinking? Might he be thinking of her? Was he alone or with someone? A jealous pang stabbed her heart and she laughed at her own foolishness. She had no claims on this man. He was merely a figment of her dreams and desires. He didn’t even know she was alive.

Eventually, Angela climbed into bed, restless once more for her dreams; longing for them to  whisk her away to a sandy beach, the salty sea, where a long legged man with shaggy hair walked toward her.

~  ~  ~

Across the street, the shaggy haired man watched her as she stood at her window. He stood in the shadows, out of her view. He knew her name and where she worked and he even knew where she came from. He followed her home months ago. He got too close a few times but he was certain she didn't know he was near.
He rented an apartment across from hers and every night, he watched. He watched the old woman come in. He noticed the bored expression on Angela’s face as the old woman talked. He watched her rinse their cups and then stand at the window, looking out over the city. He could see the wistful expression of hopefulness and expectation on her face. He knew a lot about her.
Pulling the wig from his head, he raked his fingers over his closely shaved head. The scars from his plastic surgery had healed nicely. He didn't even recognize himself.
“I want to know everything about you.” He whispered as she turns from the window. “I want to know everything....”