Can't You See It?

By Alan Averso

Can't You See It? Charles Pendleton and Simone duPont seek, but don't always see. Simone seeks love; Charles seeks a way to feel settled and be satisfied. Neither see that love and security is right before them until it is taken away. Things become visible in t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan Averso
• Release date: Sep 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9781737609766

Alan Averso

Alan Averso was born in Connecticut and grew up on Florida's Gulf Coast. After serving in the Air Force in England he spent many years in the aerospace industry as an industrial engineer. Alan lives in North Carolina with his wife and three cats, sings tenor and plays keyboard in his praise band, enjoys traveling, home repair projects, many forms of music, and being around friends and family.

Book preview

Part 1

Fantastic Place (Things we overlook)

1

SIMONE AND CHARLES were sitting on the beach talking when Raul approached them from behind. Their faces were turned toward the water where two cruise ships silently crossed the horizon of the Mediterranean Sea.

Hey! Raul called.

They broke off their discussion and greeted their good friend.

Raul, how’s it going? Great to see you! Charles exclaimed.

"Fantastic! I just came down to see how you guys are doing. It is so great to see you again."

Simone hugged Raul and he kissed her cheeks.

Hello Raul, she said. I have missed your smiling face! Do you have time to stay for a while? Charles and I were catching up on conversation and enjoying this beautiful day.

Raul dragged a nearby beach chair alongside Charles’ chair and the three friends exchanged stories and tales of the past year while celebrating their time-honored ritual of sharing ice-cold beer and wonderful warm sun.

The bottles tasted salty from the sea air; a flavor that they enjoyed and even longed for during absences from the sea. Simone was taking a two-week reprieve from work, which officially started yesterday, but her quarrel with Charles the night before was fresh, making it harder than usual to relax and enjoy his company. Charles had flown from London to Marseilles early yesterday morning and drove the short distance to the small town of St. Rafael, arriving just before noon. He drove to his apartment, changed into a pair of shorts, and called Simone.

Their call was energizing and filled with anticipation, and they made plans to meet at a local bar called The Golden Ball. Charles hadn’t seen Simone for nearly two months and the absence from her always made for an exciting and enjoyable reunion. Similarly, Simone eagerly awaited her reunion with Charles; she was connected and attracted to him – he was the man she could spend her life with. His strength and integrity combined with the calm, confident, loving way he treated her was incredibly special, and she loved him.

Why then, she asked, mid-way through yesterday’s dinner, can’t we commit to settling down together, and it was that particular question that changed what could have been a beautiful reunion to something that left Charles frustrated and Simone really pissed off.

Wishing to move on from the hangover of last night’s argument Charles reached for Simone’s hand and squeezed it. She turned toward Charles and he said, I’m sorry for last night. Can we talk about it later?

Yeah, she agreed, and they settled into their beach chairs.

Charles and Raul adored Simone: Charles as a lover and companion, and Raul as a father doting over and pampering a cherished daughter. She was tall and slender with rich, brown hair dazzled with natural golden highlights. Depending on the light and surroundings, her eyes varied in color from topaz to a green that Charles called Tsavorite, a gemstone found in the Tsavo National Park of Tanzania. Charles said her eyes reminded him of those of a cat, and she liked that.

On either side of the trio the beach was nearly empty. To the east a few couples strolled along the water’s edge gathering shells and kicking their feet through the waves. To the west, the same. A pair of walkers held hands and their old dog walked slowly behind them sniffing at crabs and shells. Empty beach chairs were strewn randomly from the night before. The wind caressed their faces with its warm, soft breath, and small waves lapped at the shoreline while larger waves broke further out.

The breeze from the sea and the warm midday sun washed over the three friends as they basked in the silent enjoyment of being back in St. Rafael after a long year away. Charles Pendleton, Simone duPont, and Raul Montenegro. Three friends. Three souls. Three good people: one wanting peace, one wanting love, and one wanting to help.

Charles looked at the water and its limitless expanse – he followed the blue-green color until it met with the blue-white color of the sky on the horizon. It didn’t appear to have an end and that comforted him. Sitting on the beach with his friends, during one of the first days of their annual summer vacation, Charles was as happy and as sad as he could be. He was frustrated by the span between his past and future, and he tortured himself with trying to figure it out. In an unexpected move he rose from his chair and said, I’m going over to the Ball for a while. Anybody want to join me?

Now? Simone pleaded lazily, looking over the rim of her sunglasses, not understanding Charles’ sudden change in plans. She said, I’ll catch up with you later.

Charles looked toward Raul, but he also declined.

Charles avoided their eyes. He knew that Simone was right, and part of him really wanted to stay. He had no better place to be than on the beach with her and Raul. It was Thursday afternoon at 2 o’clock and even he didn’t understand his current decision to leave. They needed to talk, to help mend the wound from the night before, and to just have some fun. Maybe Simone was right. Maybe he should consider slowing down and making some deeper commitments to her, but he had fears and hesitations which sometimes materialized as a sudden decision to be somewhere other than where he was.

Charles made a forced smile, but Simone and Raul had already returned their gaze to the sea without noticing. He walked the short distance through the sand until he reached the tree line, and then he proceeded along the black pavement that ran parallel to the beach. Under the trees he looked back at his two friends, paused, and continued to walk to town along the small black street called Sale Marino.

At sea, a cruise ship passed without a sound. If not for the huge rainbow design on the ship’s side, the ship could have passed without notice against the wide, cloudless sky.

* * * * * *

The Ball, or more properly, The Golden Ball was the area’s comfortable and exclusive Irish bar. The music and food were great, and one could linger pleasurably without being annoyed by large crowds, bad music, or loud TVs. Seating was available in the bar and in an adjoining courtyard running along the north side of the building. Courtyard seats were valuable during sunset hours, and Charles selected the table that he knew would please Simone and Raul later that afternoon.

A low iron fence surrounded the courtyard, covered with bright flowering plants flourishing in the summer sun. Positioned along the fence line were stone columns supporting a network of overhead cables, tightly wound with vines and flowers that stretched and formed bright, fresh canopy. Among and within the age-old vines were strings of tiny white lights, providing a magical, romantic starlight facade after sunset.

Charles relaxed, sipped his beer and watched people walking past the bar: local men and women with fresh fish and vegetables wrapped in paper, teenage boys kicking a stone and laughing, young tourists in bright, floral outfits holding hands or embracing. Street vehicle traffic was light, mostly small French and Italian cars passing through town and down the hill to the beach or the lush fields beyond that were home to B&Bs and wineries.

Charles thought of his first days in St. Rafael nearly five years ago while having furniture delivered to his newly rented apartment. A neighbor named Raul introduced himself and offered his assistance with unloading the moving van. When the van had been emptied and all of Charles’ items were in his apartment, the two men, tired and sore, went to the Golden Ball for a drink and some dinner. Unaware of her presence in the bar, Charles missed a fortuitous meeting with Simone duPont, but he was given a second opportunity a couple of years later. Charles thought of his life as it was today and wondered what he could do to tie it all together: his career, his need for accomplishment and his love for Simone. It’s just too much for today, he thought.

Throughout the course of his most recent contract in London, Charles often longed for the sun and colors of these surroundings, so for now, he simply reclined and enjoyed the sounds and smells of the place that he loved most.

* * * * * *

The Golden Ball was located near the edge of the town, and the edge of town was situated a few hundred feet above sea level where the waves and the ships could be seen over a rocky cliff’s edge. The bartender was playing a song called, Fantastic Place; Charles thought of Simone and slipped into a daydream pondering the words:

"Take me to the island - I’ll watch the rain over your shoulder,

The streetlights on the wet stone - The moment outside of real life." ¹

* * * * * *

Several bars were spread along this strip of coastline: Jade, La Cabane de Cristal, Dante’s Ghost, and The Golden Ball. Jade was a popular dance club and a great place to have a thumping, entrancing date or a general sense of fun and removal from the daily requirements of reality. Jade’s mark on the map was made possible by a special face paint that reportedly changed colors with a person’s changing moods, kind of a painted-on mood ring. Charles and Simone had their faces painted once as a mutual dare to each other, it was a fun thing to do and typically lasted for about twelve hours. As such, it wasn’t extremely odd to see a green faced girl or a guy with orange eyebrows at the Sunday morning church service.

La Cabane de Cristal sat at the other end of town, an artistic and eclectic establishment that specialized in local area artwork, gifts, and collectables. La Cabane de Cristal would be the place to find a sand dollar with a beach scene painted on it or a starfish made into a clock. La Cabane de Cristal featured a short bar menu of microwaved or toasted entrées, a seasonally-themed dessert list and a nice selection of European beers. It was a cheap, no-frills place to hang out, and always played the best selection of regional sporting events on the TVs.

Dante’s Ghost was an obscure bar with its own cast of regular patrons. It allegedly had a resident ghost – a pirate caught, executed, and thrown to sea from the deck of a Spanish trade ship. At times, as the story was told, the cold chill of the pirate’s lost soul would pass through bar patrons while desperately and hopelessly searching for its heart: a heart that was cut out and thrown into the sea by its Spanish executors. Dante’s Ghost was home to the unemployed, the despicable, the lazy and the lost parts of the population, a group of guys that congregated near the docks and moved from place to place to find work, to evade the law, or to hide from the other woman’s husband – or even the other woman. In this town of vibrant colors, Dante’s Ghost was a greasy smear on the map; a place that served a purpose to the town’s permanent and transient residents. Raul would go to Dante’s Ghost in search of some poor lost souls to invite to church, hopefully finding a way to clean them up and arrange a reunion with God. Raul had mixed success – some men got jobs, some sobered up and some returned to decent, honest lives, but most claimed, Pastor Raul, my soul is willing, but my flesh and bones are just too dagghum weak."

* * * * * *

When Simone reached her townhouse, she said goodbye to Raul, unlocked her door and went in. The walk along the Sale Marino was tiring at the end of a day on the beach, and Simone wanted to take a bath. She and Raul had lingered on the beach for about another hour and they both agreed that they had enough for the day. Clouds were building on the horizon, and summer storms could approach rapidly and without much warning. More than a fear of a storm, they were just ready to be somewhere else.

They packed up their towels, sunscreen, and remaining beers and walked the same path that Charles had taken earlier that afternoon. The road to the town was shaded from the direct sunlight and the shadows of the leaves danced and twinkled on the blacktop. The road was built with a wide shoulder for bikers and pedestrians, so Simone and Raul were able to walk side by side at a leisurely and relaxed pace.

I wonder what it would be like to spend the entire year here, she said, not really expecting an answer from Raul.

"Well, take it from somebody that is here all year – it’s fantastic! I mean you go to Milan or Zurich or London for your business and you love that too. You love the shops, the people, the lights, and the shows. It’s You! Look at you – you’re a picture of all of those places!"

She looked sad, Am I a picture of this place too?

He put an arm around her shoulder saying, Of course you are, and this place is a picture of you. What would we do without you and Charles and your adventures and your energy, hope and fun?

Tsch, she scoffed, Fun. Right.

Simone was distracted and Raul seemed to know that Charles was the reason. He looked at her sad face and wondered what he could do to help. He stopped on the road, and after two steps Simone stopped as well. She turned toward Raul and walked back to him. They stood face to face – she always pictured him as being much taller than she was, but standing here waiting for his words of wisdom, she realized that they were the same height. She glanced down at his slightly growing, fifty-five-year-old mid-section and felt warmed by the similarity between Raul’s figure and that of her father.

Look, Raul said. I have known you for three or four years, Charles a bit longer. You know that he cannot communicate to you the way that he wants to, but I know how he feels. You are really good together and I know that he loves you a lot.

I know that, she said with frustration, and we get along great together when we get the chance.

She looked at Raul’s face and said, but when will we be like, I don’t know, Claire and Ian, or like you and Amy?

Of course, Raul could not give Simone the answer to remove her sadness, but he tried to console her by saying, Charles loves you. He’s kind of wrapped up in something right now and I think he really needs you – needs us and a sense of stability and direction.

They looked at each other for a moment as she considered his response.

But he’s so…you know how he gets? she said in frustration.

Raul gave her a look, a fatherly look that indicated that he had already given his best advice.

Give it a chance. Give it a little time. Give it a chance while you two are together this summer. Okay?

She sighed and said, You are so normal!

She hugged Raul and they walked the remaining way up the hill in silence.

Sea breeze floated across the sand and through the trees in long breaths, and as they rose higher above the sea, the great expanse of the water and horizon became visible. It truly was a fantastic place.

* * * * * *

Simone and Raul parted ways as Sale Marino curved to the right and became High Street and a small lane called Queensway continued straight ahead. Raul’s apartment was on High Street near the Church of St. Rafael, and Simone’s townhouse was on Queensway where she stayed during the summer months.

As Simone started her bath she thumbed through the day’s mail and she pressed the answering machine to see who had called.

The machine announced, You have three new messages and one old message.

The first new message was an offer to continue a magazine subscription for two more years at a significant savings - Beep.

The second new message was from one of her clients in a small Italian village near Milan. He seemed highly excited and he exclaimed an urgent need for her to return his call - Beep.

The third message was from Charles calling from the Golden Ball, Hey, it’s me. If you guys get back before four or so, come around to the Ball if you’re free. It’s nice out here today! Claire has roast beef and its Jazz night! Take care. Beep.

End of new messages, the machine said.

She had a particular warmth in her heart when she heard his voice. She became focused and calm. She thought for a moment that they would be together. Sure, he had some history that he was dealing with, but so did she. In her mind a person who takes chances and pursues a more interesting life has likely picked up a few battle scars along the way. She wished that she had been there for him when he called, and she felt bad for being so crabby earlier.

Her bath had been filled and she turned off the water.

She thought that she should call Charles at The Golden Ball, but he had probably figured out already that she was not coming. "I am such a shit!" she said to herself.

It was not like her to stand him up, but then again, it wasn’t a real invitation, just a phone message. But he was so nice about it, she thought.

She suddenly felt very lonely for him and wished that she had stopped at The Ball to see him.

What could she do now? Nothing. In the morning she would call him and see if he would accompany her on a little road trip to Milan. It would be fun, and she promised herself that she would be nice.

Her business had been established nearly four years ago - she was very successful, and her accomplishments in the industrial society had given her worldwide recognition. It had been seven years since her graduation from the University of Virginia, and as she contemplated the beginning of her twenty-ninth year of life, her thoughts, as usual, turned to Charles and how much he meant to her.

They decided to take concurrent holidays in St. Rafael shortly after they met, and this was the second annual recurrence. She thought of Charles and his charming and charismatic behavior. He stood about three inches taller than she did, and they were an attractive couple. She thought of his dark, wavy hair, his tanned skin, and his occasionally scruffy face with his designer-type sunglasses, and she fantasized about a future with him. She liked to help him with his wardrobe, and she liked to select clothing that complemented his facial features and physique.

She reassured herself that if Charles decided to accompany her to Milan, that she would be kind and sweet to him. They had two weeks to be together and she didn’t want it to be a drag for either of them.

Entering the tub, she relaxed and slowly soaked away the day’s anxiety in the scents and sounds of the place that she loved most.

* * * * * *

The night approached: first with the sun slipping behind the wall of clouds, then dropping onto the horizon, waiting, as if on a string, for a single moment, and finally falling quickly into the sea with flames of red, orange, blue and purple. While the sun settled for the day clouds along the horizon came to life with flashes of lightning, exposing wrinkled edges and shades of electrical energy against a darkening blue nighttime sky. A silent breeze gently pushed the curtains of bedroom windows and rumbles of thunder broke the rhythm of the rolling waves.

As the church bells sang their final hymn of the day, the people of St. Rafael tucked themselves into their beds, and the smooth summer breeze kissed them goodnight.

2

AT 8:05 A.M. Charles’ telephone rang, and he answered from his terrace.

Hello, he said, already anticipating who it probably was.

Hello, said Simone in a happy voice. How are you this morning?

Good morning. I’m doing well, how are you?

Great! she said, and after a pause she added, What are you doing today?

Silently hoping and having a sneaking suspicion that Simone was developing a plan for their day Charles said, "Not much really, but I’m a little more than curious about what might be in store seeing that you’ve called me at eight in the morning with that Tweety Bird voice. What’s up?"

You know me too well! Are you dressed? she asked.

Sure, for a vacation day on the beach. Will that do? He knew that it would not do.

Well, how about something a little less casual and maybe a little more suited for a road trip? She cringed a little, but she knew he would agree. You can bring a change of clothes in case we decide to stay.

"Stay? he responded. Simone, what are you cooking up?"

Come over for some breakfast, and I’ll explain when you get here. Oh, we need to leave by nine, so don’t take all morning.

I will see you in thirteen minutes!

You’re on. I’ll see you then!

Click.

Click.

Simone hung up the phone and smiled. She felt a certain gaiety when thinking about their time together: talking on the road, eating at some obscure café, seeing things together for the first time, driving in silence with nothing but the music and wind blowing across the open top of her convertible. She adored the way Charles studied the road, terrain, trees, and mountains, and how he appreciated the subtle and perfect integration of the roads and bridges into the natural surroundings.

She walked from the kitchen through the living room and opened the French doors to a balcony that overlooked a small patch of grass, a sharp drop of the cliff, the white spread of beach, and the open sea. She walked to the railing, closed her eyes, lifted her head upwards to the sun and inhaled a deep breath of the warm, sweet sea air. She held the air in her lungs and enjoyed its flavor. A smooth breath of wind blew across her face and her neck and the morning sunshine warmed her to her heart. She was happy and hopeful for something fun and different – a spontaneous and enjoyable adventure for herself and Charles.

She glanced at her watch and heard the ring of the doorbell at the same time.

Leaving the balcony doors open to the sea she went to the front door and greeted Charles with a welcoming hug and kiss. Morning, she said.

Good morning to you, he said. It is good to see you.

Come on in. Do you want some coffee? I’ve got breakfast ready in the kitchen. I thought we could grab a bite and then be on our way.

Charles entered the living room and placed his overnight bag and briefcase on the entryway tiles. Simone decorated her house simply and with a style that was eclectic and complementary to the local elements and colors. An arrangement of antiques, artifacts, fresh flowers, and photographs were placed along glass and black cabinets, and one cabinet housed some stainless-steel electronics equipment, music CDs and a pair of powered speakers. It was just…natural. To Charles she was natural and she beautifully, gracefully reflected her surroundings. He noticed that she had set up a canvas and had begun a new painting. At this point the painting consisted of a pale blue background with some shapes that might become flowers or a city scene or even a galaxy. It was her style and he was once again impressed at the number of things that she could accomplish in a day.

While he might be meticulously planning an event or engaged in a single thought that could consume him for hours, Simone might have worked on a project, played some music on her old clarinet, prepared food, who knows what else, and he was really dazzled by these things.

From the kitchen he heard the coffee machine gurgling and hissing, combining freshly ground beans with a rich, creamy layer of sweet foam topping.

Do you remember Mr. Falsone and Mr. DiMaggio? she asked above the hiss of the coffeemaker.

Your clients in Milan?

Yes. I received a message last night from a very anxious Mr. Falsone and he insisted that I help him with some problems at the plant. I told him that we were currently vacationing, but he told me that it would be worth our time. He was pleased that you would be coming along.

Really? I didn’t think he even remembered me, Charles replied as he entered the kitchen.

She turned from the coffee machine and smiled at him. He loved you when we met him last time and I thought Mrs. Falsone was going to run off with you on the spot!

Charles rolled his eyes at Simone and smiled at her.

Grab some fruit and come on outside, she said with authority.

She carried a tray with two coffees and her breakfast onto the balcony. Charles got a plate of fruit, a croissant, and a wedge of Brie and followed her.

They ate their breakfast without delay while watching the morning sea.

When is Mr. Falsone expecting us? Charles asked.

Two-thirty – sharp, and he’s a finicky one when it comes to being on time!

Charles looked at his watch: 8:47 a.m., and Simone stepped inside the house.

On the pathway below walked a small gray cat with white paws. His name was Figaro, and he belonged to everyone and no one. Charles made a kissy sound toward the cat which made it stop, turn its head, and emit a small squack-like sound from its mouth. The cat sat and looked up at Charles with his blue eyes. Charles cut a small piece of cheese and tossed it toward the cat. Figaro lunged at the morsel and ate it at once and then went to the cool grass and morning sun for a nap.

Leaning against the doorframe to the balcony watching Simone duPont move around the townhouse, Charles was suddenly filled with a very melancholy feeling – a premonitory feeling of loss and dread. What if he lost her? What if she was gone? He cared about her so much and their time together seemed so brief.

A melancholy feeling swept over him, and his imagination wandered to a day that took place many years ago:

At the age of eighteen Charles Pendleton was putting on his high school graduation cap and gown. Having prepared the commencement speech, he was ready to take his place in school history as the valedictorian of his graduating class. The last line of his speech, prompted by his English instructor, just didn’t sound like something that people would say in real conversation, "…we will not just endure – we will prevail!" It sounded too bold for him, a gangly teenager – too bossy – too confident. He doubted that people would really be listening at all and were more waiting for his voice to stop to let them know that it was time to stand and applaud.

He was seated amongst the school principal, the superintendent, the guidance counselors, a minister, and other distinguished guests. Next to him was the girl that challenged him in grade point race, a race for the best class grades that had become quite competitive during the last year of school. Charles led the pack by a fraction of a point when the final grades were released, and he wondered if he was really a better student. Some of other students, including the girl in the salutatorian position, seemed smarter and better-rounded to him. She had been active in sports, was a cheerleader, she was artsy and people liked her – Charles liked her and he thought that she was a better writer, a better mathematician, and a much friendlier person overall. If asked, she would say the same thing about Charles.

On the stage, side by side, keeping their teenage insecurities out of view, they sat straight and proud, trying not to stare awkwardly into the sea of faces filling the auditorium. Charles didn’t think of himself, the salutatorian, or any of the other honors students as anything better than any of the other classmates. He and most of his closest friends had a sense of fairness, humility, empathy, and insight. Charles liked most of his classmates and they liked him; they liked his personality, his optimism, his fun outlook on life, his comedy, his eagerness to help, his politeness. If the race for valedictorian was based on the popular vote and given the chance, the school – staff and students alike –would have selected him as their valedictorian speaker – even the girl next to him.

Tonight as in many cases, Charles presented an image of strength, happiness and confidence despite a strange and somewhat ominous mix of emotions: moving forward meant leaving people behind; going to college meant leaving his family behind; not seeing a clear path before him was both exciting and scary. To the rows of graduates seated in the front of the auditorium, Charles smiled and nodded some of his most long-term schoolmates. He remembered a fourth grade school party, a Christmas gift exchange – all students were supposed to bring a gift – and he brought a gift wrapped in special wrapping paper – but when it came time for him to get his gift – there were none left in the box – someone had not brought a gift – and the teacher saw his pain and gave him something from her desk drawer – a plastic, orange triangle bicycle reflector confiscated earlier that year from another student – which he wouldn’t dare use because he would be sabotaged by some of the neighborhood bullies – so he faked being happy and he wanted to cry – and when he got home he did cry and he showed his mother the orange triangle and he told her that there were no presents for him – and she gave him an early present from under the Christmas tree – a metal helicopter with a real spinning propeller blade – and he was happy but cried again for feeling greedy and selfish – and he felt stupid for sharing his feelings because it was only a Christmas party and he didn’t want his family to call him a crybaby – so he went to his bedroom and hid the triangle so neither it, nor his tears, would embarrassing him again.

The school superintendent approached the microphone and indicated to the high school orchestra conductor that it was time to end the massacred medley of 80s songs that they had been playing for the past several minutes. Another one bit the dust, indeed.

The superintendent spoke of grand ideas and of fine young men and women who had achieved great things and of how proud that he was and that all the parents should be. He noted that the school would never forget the students, and Charles found it all contrived and artificial. He imagined the same process being performed all over town in the same grandiose manner – graduating students in brightly colored gowns sitting nervously in alphabetical order, crossing the stage and having their tassel flipped by the school principal and then, suddenly, being graduated.

Graduates would get photographed with family members and other graduates in the courtyard of the auditorium. Many would be taken in limousines for a grand night of dining and dancing. Many would find themselves the following morning with a hangover – losing their caps, their gowns, and their virginity in acts worth laughing and reminiscing about at future class reunions.

He knew about the parties, had been invited to several, and considered taking a risk and attending, but he didn’t play the casual kiss-and-tell game and he couldn’t really imagine who he might end up with when the lights went out. He searched the audience for a familiar face: his mother, essentially silenced a year ago by a stroke, proudly watching her son on the platform with the principal and the superintendent and the other girl with the high grade point average – perhaps imagining that the two of them might go out sometime – she was a nice girl, wasn’t she?, his mother would say. Beaming with pride and glory with her hands in her lap showing as much emotion as she could, she would smile a take quick photographs with her little 35mm camera – not imagining that her special son was considering the after-graduation party with alcohol and women and not coming home for the whole night. Click!

Then he was at the podium staring at a microphone that seemed very large, and he heard the sound of his own voice over the loudspeakers and the voice that he heard was strange, nasally, and squeaky - neither proud nor confident. Yet as he read his speech from the handwritten pages, the words flew from his mouth and the audience seemed truly engrossed with his words. They listened intently – staring at him – hearing his thoughts and feelings about this night and what it meant to him and he felt proud and honored with a gained sense of confidence and strength. In the auditorium there were two sounds: the hum of the air conditioners and his voice.

His words came forth confidently and the nasally, boyish timbre was replaced by a baritone. So, that night went away a boy who was cautious and afraid to speak his mind and appeared a young man who made his own way because it was the right thing to do.

He looked at the girl on the stage and he smiled at her. She had a sweet smile and she was very proud of him. She was proud of Charles and she saw him as an equal in their intelligence, in their accomplishments, and in their optimistic futures.

Charles looked into the audience as he read from his pages. His fellow classmates, draped in dark blue robes and orange caps, were neatly and alphabetically arranged to his left, and the mothers, fathers, siblings, and grandparents were seated more randomly to his right. As he spoke, he was aware of a second, parallel thought - more of a feeling than words - playing in his mind like a separate voice - leaving him with an impression of nostalgia and sadness. He had known most of his classmates for the past seven years, and many others he had known since the early days of fourth grade (excited kids playing softball, chasing each other at the bus stop, sometimes eating paste in the art room, unaware of the time when he got the orange reflective triangle at the Christmas party . Then he was at the end of his speech, and as he announced that they would not just endure, but prevail, the crowd of classmates rose to their feet and cheered with hope and pride and renewed energy. Three hundred and fifty young men and women whom he had known on his journey through high school were on their feet clapping for him, and then, the rest of the audience followed the students’ lead and fifteen hundred people applauded him. He turned and saw the principal and the superintendent and the girl with the sweet smile clapping and smiling at him and somehow, suddenly, he was back in his seat feeling his body heat rise through his blue gown and his suit underneath.

You were great, said the girl.

Thanks, he said smiling at her and returning his attention to the school principal who was preparing to read the list of graduates’ names.

Following the ceremony, Charles took photographs with the mother and the grandmother in the garden of the auditorium. He looked around at his fellow classmates and he knew that tomorrow they would not be classmates any longer. They had grown up during the time it took him to read his speech. They had become adults and they were not classmates any longer. He saw the twins with whom he was best of friends for so many years. They would not meet again for twenty-five years. He saw the girls whom he had asked to proms and dances – beautiful in their graduation gowns with their hair and makeup at their best. He would see a few of them in college but would not see any of them for a very long time afterwards. Teachers and parents milled around through the crowd shaking hands and hugging people. He was happy and sad at the same time.

Three years later and the result of foolish infatuation he was married and in a relationship that took him to the depths of worthlessness and disappointment. He spent those years struggling to hold on to his identity through periods and instances of mental and physical abuse, all along setting his mind on a day when his anguish would end and his life might get a retry. He held onto little things: the smile of the girl at graduation; the way the sun lit different patches of the sky as it rose; the way some music would give him freedom, purpose, and happiness. He watched how people in public places moved and flowed and interacted with each other. He watched how people treated each other at the mall, at the airport, on a bus or at work, and he learned to differentiate a sincere smile from an artificial one smile. He watched people to learn about happiness, honesty, and sincerity.

Above all, among all of the people that Charles encountered, among all of the eyes that he looked into, among all of the souls that he encountered, among all of the mouths that he saw smiling and talking and kissing, above all of them and above all other emotions, he waited, wished, and prayed for the single person who would look into his eyes and dream of the same things that he dreamed. She existed out there somewhere and Charles intended to meet her.

The eight year marriage came to a predictable end as Charles’ wife contemplated her need to go out and experience life, which she did, and while she was out experiencing life with one guy or another, Charles, suddenly awake at two o’clock in the morning, firmly decided that, in the morning, he would walk the short distance to the county courthouse, file papers for a divorce and end his suffering once and for all.

The day of the divorce came. Charles and his wife met at the courthouse and she cried. The wooden accents of the courthouse were polished and smelled like Murphy’s oil soap. Charles and his wife were called into the judge’s quarters and within minutes, what God had done the stroke of the judge’s pen had undone. It was finished and they met in the hallway. She cried some more, and Charles felt a sad, yet satisfying sense of relief.

They stood outside of the courthouse, faced each other, and hugged. She cried and apologized. Charles expressed how she would always be special to him but grasping her hands and kissing them he told her that it was better this way. She agreed.

Walking from the courthouse, Charles’ thoughts and feelings rewound to graduation night, except this time he was half the person that he had once been. He sat in his car with the engine running and the windows down, and he fixed his imagination on the eyes of a girl and a place that he did not know yet but felt must be out there somewhere.

He drove to the house of his mother and told her that he was going to be gone for a little while. She nodded, smiled, and asked him if he was happy. He kissed her goodbye, went to the end of the road, looked left and looked right, decided that left was a good direction and drove away.

That was a moment of clarity – a fortunate thing to have when making a big decision.

Here and now, at this place, in Simone’s living room, watching her move from place to place, humming, and smiling with her cat eyes shining, Charles was having a moment of clarity.

Hey daydreamer, are you about ready to go? she asked.

Huh – oh, yeah. Yeah – definitely.

Okay – I’m going to make sure everything’s turned off, and if you’ll grab my bag, I’ll meet you downstairs at the car.

Simone moved through the townhouse shutting off lights and closing doors and windows. The clock radio next to her bed read 8:53. Excellent, she thought. She was a perfectionist when it came to being on time. Her life was a series of well-planned maneuvers from which she got great satisfaction. People thought she was meticulous and even a little uptight when it came to having everything in order, but most of those people’s opinions really did not matter to her anyhow. In her mind she didn’t expect anybody to give her any help so she did everything her way: as she wanted it and when she wanted it. People that she had known in her younger career days were astounded at the balance that she had between her logical and her social skills.

A former workmate and mentor liked to call her a digit head with a great personality. She liked being smart. She liked having the ability to communicate at an intelligent level with people. She knew that she was good at what she did and she expected the same from the people with whom she did business.

She expected this from everyone – one of Simone’s fatal flaws – and she was often disappointed when her expectations weren’t met. Like Charles, Simone was a person who thought the rest of the world expected only good things from themselves and each other. She did what she could, she let others do what they could, and, as she was taught along the way, she tried to see the good in the people that she encountered.

She paused at the front door and looked around at her townhouse.