First Posted: 2/12/2015
Have you ever awaken from sleep with butterflies dancing in the pit of your stomach and wondering why? Is it apprehension or anticipation of what might or might not transpire during the coming day?
I must have been moaning or talking to myself, for (my husband) Chet turned and asked, “What’s the matter?”
“Don’t know,” was my response.
His famous words came back to me: “Don’t worry about nothing; everything is okay.”
Sure that was easy for him to say. The butterflies were now doing a cha cha cha in my stomach. I leaned over for the television remote and turned on the music channel to easy listening. Soon soft instrumental music filled the bedroom with a magic tonic of comfort and relaxation.
The sound of “Autumn Leaves” by Roger Williams was playing, and in my head I could see his classical fingers gliding across the piano keyboard, creating heavenly sounds. My head began to remember the lyrics as my mind sang the words.
Imagination is a wonderful thing, awake or sleeping. In my reverie I was then a diva on the stage of the Metropolitan Opera House singing with the renowned pianist. The butterflies in my stomach were sound asleep.
Was I dreaming that “Fascination” was playing? Quite excited, I sprang out of bed and stood before the dresser mirror, hoping to see an old friend, “The Face in the Mirror.” This was her song. It was playing the night she met “The Guy in the Glass.”
“The Face in the Mirror” heard it as well and stood quite still with a far-away look in her eye. Perhaps she was thinking of him and that night. It was at a wedding of the daughter of a friend when they happened to notice each other. He was seated on the opposite side of the room, yet they were in direct view of each other.
A flirtation of glances began. You know the routine. He glanced her way. When she thought he was not looking, she glanced his way. Back and forth the glances went with observations on both of their parts. He found her quite attractive. She thought he was very handsome.
She was having a very nice time as she mingled, mingled, glanced and danced. He, too, was enjoying himself while managing to keep her in sight.
The band began playing “Fascination,” a tune made popular by Nat King Cole as he walked across the room to where she sat. He did not ask but held out his hand with a most charming smile on his face. She rose, took his hand and looked into his eyes. They glided on to the floor.
The mirror had a faint glow of moonlight shining through the window as they began to dance. If you didn’t know better, it could have been Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. They danced in perfect rhythm to the sounds of the beautiful waltz. He stood tall and was in command, leading every step and she responding, matching his lead. They were a picture.
The music ended. They stood looking at each other and talking. “How are you and how are things since the last time I saw you?” he asked.
“Very well and things are great.” No point in telling him that her other knee is creaking, that in addition to taking tums she is now swallowing an antacid pill at night. She didn’t think he wants to hear that her blood pressure is good. Smiling she asked, “How about you?”
“Things couldn’t be better. Can’t complain.” Does she remember that I have celebrated my 95th birthday, he thought. His left hand has been invaded by the unwelcomed guest arthritis and he’s having heartburn at night. “Tell me, when is the last time I saw you?” he asked.
As they talked, each was analyzing the other, looking for changes in their appearance. “Not bad,” she thought. A few more lines have been added to his face, adding more character. A little more scalp is showing but who cares, considering men are now shaving their heads, she thought.
He looked at her closely and could still see the kindness in her heart shining through her eyes. She had put on some pounds and her hair is sprinkled with more silver, which is quite appropriate for her age.
Looking into her face, he remembered their first dinner date. I was so nervous I talked and talked and drove pass the restaurant, he remembered. She, too, was nervous and quiet and didn’t notice they were going in the wrong direction.
Unexpected, he began to serenade her in a rich tenor voice. “It was fascination, I know and it could have ended right there at the start. Just a passing glance. Just a brief romance and I might have gone on my way, empty-hearted. It was fascination, I know, seeing you alone with the moonlight above. Then I touched your hand and next moment I kissed you. Fascination turned to love.”
Finishing the last line of the song, he placed a red rose in her hand. Gently, they kissed and were gone.
Alerted by the delicious aroma of coffee brewing, I was anxious to tell Chet about seeing “The Face in the Mirror” and “The Guy in the Glass.” He listened, looking at me strangely and said, “You must have been dreaming!”
Dreaming? How could that be when, lying on my dresser, was a beautiful red rose.
