LIVING IN MIRAGIA by Rick Moya (July 1995) BLUE NOTE "You're on in five, Mr. Martin." The famous jazz saxophonist nodded to the stagehand and turned his attention back to the mirror. "Cool Hand" Martin, though only sixteen, was the most popular jazz musician in the entire world. He was on the last leg of a tour that had taken him to Paris, Rome, Moscow, Cairo, Sydney, and most recently, Roanoake, Virginia. Here in Redlands, California, his concert at the Coliseum had been sold out for months. He did a final touch on his hair, then turned to his instrument. He opened the case bearing the blue sticker that had his logo on it -- a golden hand with a sax on the thumbnail. He only had to piece the horn together, not worrying about the reed being wet. It was plastic -- a fairly new purchase. He had picked it up in Roanoake. He didn't have to worry about a warm-up, either. After all, he was the greatest musician that ever lived, and such things as warming up were trivial to him. The stagehand popped in the door again. "They're ready for you, Mr. Martin. Good luck." "Thanks. I won't need it." Martin slapped the stagehand on the shoulder and headed for center stage. He walked on amidst a torrent of cheers so thick he nearly had to brush them aside to get to center mike. "Thank you," he said into the mike. "I just wrote this one. It's called 'Minnesota Station Break.' Hope you like it." The crowd cheered uproariously again. Martin gave the band a downbeat. After the eight bar intro, Martin blew into the horn--and got nothing but a squeak. The crowd lapsed into stunned silence. As Martin continued to try and coax music from the sax, some high-school students in the front row started laughing. The harder he tried, the harder they laughed. Finally, he lost his temper. Unhooking the sax from the neckstrap, he cocked his arm back to throw... ONE "Davey, wake up. You'll be late to your first day of school." I open my eyes slowly, first the right, then the left, trying to take in the early morning light. I don't remember my window facing the sunrise before. But as I blink to get my bearings, I remember that we are now in Redlands, not Roanoake. "Mom, it's not really school. It's just band camp, like band camp back at Tabb. Not as big a deal as it sounds." "I know, I know. But I still don't want you to be late. Now get up. You've got a long day ahead of you." I sit up and rub my eyes, glancing around my room. The walls are still bare. If it weren't for the dresser in the corner and the unmade bed with a teenage boy in it, you would think it was uninhabited. Nothing like my room back in Virginia, where every square inch of wall space was covered. My mom is standing by the door, completely dressed, red hair neatly pulled back in a French braid, looking as chipper as can be for seven- thirty in the morning. "You've only got one hour," she reminds me, "so get to it." She leaves. "One hour," I mutter sarcastically to myself. "Yeah, I need all that time." I use a maximum of thirty minutes getting ready in the morning, not including breakfast. However, that's the one meal my mom always makes me eat. And a healthy one at that. Eggs, bacon, toast, oatmeal, sometimes even pancakes. That usually requires a hurry. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, thinking about what today is. Today is Monday, August twenty-second, that's obvious enough. Today is the beginning of band camp at Redlands High School, which, if it's anything like at my old school, Tabb High, is the unofficial start of school for band members. It's also the beginning of my new life. My dad works in the Air Force. Over the summer, he got promoted and moved at the same time. So naturally we all -- my mom, my younger sister, and I -- had to come with him. Now, sitting on the bed stretching my six foot two inch frame, I think of the stuff I'd rather be doing than band camp. I'd rather be playing lacrosse in the field behind my house with my friends. I'd rather be rollerblading in front of the local church. I'd rather be playing drums with my old band, Cancerous Eggplant. What I don't want to do is certain. I don't want to be marching around a football field with a bunch of freshmen, listening to a pretentious senior explain commands I already know about. But I've already committed myself to it. I have to do it. I take a quick shower, shave, get dressed, run a comb through my own red hair, and head down the stairs to the dining room. Oops -- only down the hall. This house is only one story. I keep forgetting. Jenny, my sister, is already at the table. She's only one year younger than me and also a band member. Poor girl -- this will be her second freshman year. In Roanoake, we started high school in ninth grade, but here in California, it's tenth. "What took you so long?" she asks, digging into a bowl of Froot Loops, no doubt only one leg of the breakfast to come. "What took me so long," I mutter as I sit down. "Jenny, if this was a regular summer day, I wouldn't be down till noon." She gives me a questioning look. "Down?" I slap myself in the head. "Damn. I forgot again." "I know what you meant." She takes another spoonful, this one large enough to choke a grown elephant. "Besides, it would still be a normal summer day for another week if we were still in Virginia." She says this last part loud enough for our mom to hear. "I had nothing to do with our move," Mom calls from the kitchen. "I was as comfortable as you were." She comes through the doorway holding two trays and sets them in front of us. She does this for us at any mealtime she's home for. Sometimes I feel like we have our own wait service. "Okay, I'm going to the real estate office for the morning." Mom smooths out her skirt and brushes a stray hair behind her ear. "Have a first day at school. I should be home by the time you are." Jenny rolls her eyes. "Please, Mom. It's not the first day of school. It's just band camp." "Whatever." She kisses each of us on the cheek. "Good luck." She leaves. As the automatic garage door closes, I glance over at Jenny, who suddenly seems to be having trouble finishing her cereal. I grin. "Nervous?" She sighs. "Extremely. You?" "Terrified." I glance down at the sausage and eggs on my plate. "But I can't see this wasted. I better eat it." "Besides, little Davey needs his energy to march and play his toot- toot." Jenny's brown eyes sparkle as she grins. Jenny is the only one in our family to have the totally dominant traits. My mom and I both have fiery red hair and green eyes, while my dad has blond hair (what's left of it) and blue eyes. Jenny is the plain one. "Right. The snare drum is so much less tiring." I take a bite of my eggs. Her eyes light up. "I still don't believe it. Snare is usually a junior or senior instrument. I got it my first year here." "Oh, and you don't practice all the time, either." Jenny was constantly drumming on something, be it her knee, the kitchen table, or the egg counter at the store. This actually happened once. She said later that she didn't remember where she was. The eggs came out of her allowance. I'm never going to let her forget it. "Right. Like you don't." She pushes a sausage patty around her plate. "Not as much as you do." I take another bite of egg. "The sax isn't something you can take to the store and jam on." "Oh, yeah. That." She blushes and turns the sausage over with her fork. I point at it with my fork. "Are you going to eat that, or do I have to?" I ask with a mouthful of egg. "Oh, *that's* polite. In good time." She cuts a slit in it and picks it upm moving it like it's got a mouth. Out of the corner of hers, she squeaks, "Hi, I'm Sammy Sausage! I better be careful, or the Big Bad Jen will eat me! Oh no!" She suddenly stuffs the entire thing into her mouth and begins chewing. "That's *so* much more polite than what I was doing." I stand, taking my plate with me. "I'm going to scope out my reed status." She mumbles something, probably sarcastic, through the sausage, but I lose it in translation. After depositing my plate in the sink, I go to my room and take my sax out from under my bed. I touch the Body Glove sticker in the corner before opening it. Inside is the focal point of my dream. I take it out of the case, wondering whether that dream will come true. It happened my freshman year, during chair tryouts. No matter how hard i tried to make the sax sound good -- or at all -- all I got was a squeak. I did get first chair last year, so I think tryouts will go well this year. At least I hope so. I have a lot of weird dreams like that, that kind of see the future. I hope this isn't one of them. * * * "Why can't I ever drive?" Jenny complains as I pull into the Redlands High parking lot. "Number one, I'e got the license between us. And number two, it's a Virginia license. Good enough to get my car across the country, not good enough if we're gonna keep living here. I'm only driving now becuase I've got experience." I get out of my blue Chevy Camaro and open the trunk. Jenny glances around at the cars. "Lot of people here for the first day. At Tabb, the first two were only for freshmen." "Well, I guess they run it differently here." We head for the band room. We know where it is from the previous week, when we came for Jenny's drum line tryout and our talk with the band director. "Hopefully, there's no stupid hierarchy system like at Tabb." "You're just jealous 'cause you would have been an upperclassman there and now you're new." Jenny pokes me with a drumstick. I wince, not because the poke hurt, but because she's right. All my hopes are disproved once we get to the band room. We walk in to meet a welcome wagon of what appears to be six seniors. The shortest one, a girl with long black hair, steps forward. "Hi. You must be the Virginians." She holds out her hand. "I'm Julie, the head drum major." We shake it. She looks us over, then turns to Jenny. "Obviously, you're Jenny. You go with Ray. He's the drum line captain." Jenny nods at a tall black guy in the group. "We met last week." They leave, talking. Julie turns to me. "That leaves Dave. Go ahead and put your sax in the storage room in an empty locker. Melanie is back there to tell you which are empty and give you the combos. When you're done, just take a seat over there." She gestures at an arrangement of chairs. "If you need any help, just ask." "I think I can handle it," I comment, half to myself. I head for the door labeled "Storage Room" and go in. A slightly chubby auburn-haired girl sitting against the lockers looks up and waves. "You don't look like a sophomore to me," she says. "But I've never seen you before. What's your name?" "Dave Martin," I answer. Then the clown in me takes over. I assume a rapper's accent. "Straight out da box from Roanoake, V-A." She half-smiles. "What do you play?" "Alto sax. Do you have a locker to accomodate my needs?" I say this last sentence in a stuffy British accent. "But of course," she answers in the same accent. She stands and taps a few lockers to her left, simultaneously changing to a realtor's accent. "These are part of our lovely selection in the Renaissance district, four bedrooms, two and a half baths." She grins. I smile back. "So you want to match accents, eh?" She shrugs. "I can mix if you wanna mix," she answers in a Mexican accent. I think I've found my first friend in California. I choose a locker with my impression of Donald Duck, and she gives me the combo with her best Ross Perot, complete with ears. I thank her with everybody's favorite, Forrest Gump, and retreat to the band room. As I'm leaving the storage room, I nearly bowl over a short, blond girl carrying a clarinet case. "Hey, I haven't run into you in ages!" I exclaim. I almost swallow the words when I realize how beautiful she is. "More like ever." She grins up at me, and I am immediately taken by her deep blue eyes. "Are you new?" I nod and remind myself to breathe at the same time. "Good. So am I." She extends her hand. "Hillary White. From New Mexico." "Dave Martin." I shake it. "Virginia." "Really? I lived there once. Roanoake?" "Yep. Went to Tabb High. Home of the Fighting Tigers." I realize that I'm babbling. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Melanie grinning. "I would have gone to Tabb, if I hadn't moved in seventh grade." Hillary glances at Melanie, who abruptly wipes the smile off her face. "Well, I better put this away. I'll talk to you when I'm done, okay?" "Sure. I'll save you a seat." "Great! Thanks." She walks the rest of the way into the storage room. The door swings shut. I think I've found my second friend in California. Correction. I think I'm in love. Suddenly, I don't wish I was in Virginia anymore. THRILLER Dave parked his convertible Mustang at the top of the hill and killed the engine. Ah, the old makeout spot. He and Hillary hadn't been here forever. He glanced over at her, shivering in the passenger seat, maybe from cold, maybe from fear. "What are you worried about, babe?" he asked, putting his arms around her. "There's no one around. We have the place to ourselves." He leaned over to kiss her. She leaned away. "It's not that. It's the deer that was lying on the side of the road. I can't get it out of my mind." "Yeah. Poor thing." Dave leaned back in his seat, one arm draped over Hillary's shoulders. "No animal deserves that. The only satisfaction I get is the fact that whoever hit it has a huge dent in his car." "That's just it." She looked up at him. "I don't think it was hit by a car, the way it was torn open. It looked more like someone cut it open with a really dull knife." She shivered and leaned against him. "Or talons." Dave shrugged. "A vulture, maybe. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about." Suddenly, the bushes rustled next to the car. Hillary jumped. "What was that?" "It's the woods, it's after dark. It could be any number of animals," Dave answered impatiently. "Yeah, I guess you're right." Hillary leaned toward him, ready to accept the kiss. The bushes on Hillary's side of the car suddenly flew to all sides, as if there were an explosion without fire or sound. There stood the ugliest creature either of them had ever laid eyes on. It was at least eight feet tall, with five eyes, four arms, and green slimy skin that vented through slits all over its chest. It roared and leaned toward the car. Hillary screamed. Deave sat bolt upright, turning the key to start the car. But the engine refused to turn over. It was flooded. The creature reached out with two slimy hands and grabbed both of them. Lifting them out of the car, kicking and screaming, it began to lumber off into the woods, where a blue light was just beginning to show itself.... TWO I wake up in a cold sweat, sitting bolt upright in bed. I glance over at my alarm clock, which reads 5:44. No sooner do I swing my legs off the bed than the clock advances one minute and the radio starts blaring. "You're listening to the 100.5 KISS-FM morning show!" the DJ announces happily. "I'm Mark O. Polo. Jesse James isn't in yet, no doubt because fo a rough night last night. And I'm not talking insomnia!" There is a "squeaky" noise in the background. "Hey, you know what that means! It's time for our Telephone Decathlon! All you need is a cordless phone --" I hit the snooze alarm. It's too early for perky. It's too early to run around the house turning stuff on. About the only thing it's not too early for is band rehearsal. You heard me right. We practice marching before school, playing during band period, and marching again immediately after school. The only sport that practices more is...well, never mind. I already dread this, and today is only the first day of regular classes. But there is an up side to all this. That is Hillary White. Over the last two weeks of band camp, I've learned much about her. And she's learned much about me. And I'm not even using Jenny as a telephone this time. I'm talking to her by myself, as myself. No voices, no gimmicks. Unless they fit. I'm a jokester at heart, so I can't resist sometimes. Since we've been talking, I am becoming closer to her. Already, I am telling her things I never told my closest friends in Virginia. She's been doing the same to me, or so she says. These have proven to me what I thought all along: I am in love with her. I wonder if she feels the same for me. Now that I'm done pondering, I better get up and get ready for school. * * * I walk into my third period Calculus class to see Melanie waving at me from the back corner. Naturally, I wave back and wander to the desk next to her. "Now see here, I said, see here, boy," she says in a perfect Foghorn Leghorn, "you ain't supposed to be here! This is an advanced, I say, advanced class." "But I thought we needed like thirty hot dogs," I mumble in Rocky and plop down into the desk. "You're a junior, aren't you?" she asks seriously. I nod. "Then what are you doing in a senior class? You have to take advanced algebra and trig to get in here." "I took precalc last year in Virginia," I tell her. "Math is harder there, or so I've heard. We only needed one year of honors algebra to get into it, provided we took honors geometry in junior high. The schools worked together. And since I was one of the school's top students in math and science, I got into calculus after only three years of high school." "Oh." The look on her face clearly conveys that she doesn't get it. "It's hard to explain in plain English," I explain. "So I gathered." She leans back in her chair, an evil grin on her face. "So. Dave the junior. How do you like your second year of phys ed?" I roll my eyes. "It's only the least understandable thing on the face of the earth. Why do you need two years of it? It wastes the time I would have used to take journalism." I was a pretty good reporter for the school paper at Tabb, even if I do say so myself. "Did you do team sports?" "It seemed better than playing dodge ball with the freshmen." "Sophomores, Dave. They're already sophomores here. Were you informed at the time that you would have to try out for a sport?" "I was. I figured I could try out for basketball." I sit forward in alarm. "I don't have to actually make the team, do I?" Melanie shakes her head no. "I did it with volleyball. I don't look the type, do I?" "No. Not really." I grin. "There was a girl, though, at Tabb who was kinda chunky and played volleyball." She hits me. "Thanks a lot. I'm comfortable with my weight, thank you very much." She looks at the door as it opens and grins. "Hey. It's your girlfriend." I know who it is without looking, but of course I do anyway. Hillary, still in the doorway, brushes a stray lock of blonde hair over her shoulder, looking around the classroom. I wave at her, and she smiles and comes over. "Lay off the girlfriend crap while she's here, will you?" I mutter to Melanie. Being my closest friend, even more than Hillary, she's the only one who knows I have a crush on her. Melanie raises her hands in self-defense. "I haven't told a soul, and I'll keep it that way." As Hillary sits down in front of me, Melanie feels the need to speak loudly in Woody Allen. "Two juniors in one corner of a senior class. Oh, dear me, I feel trapped." Hillary turns around. "Just pretend we're not here," she answers good-naturedly. Melanie switches to Pepe LePew in nothing flat. "How could I possibly do that, *ma cherie*, when you are so, how you say, beautiful?" She's right. Even so, I glare at her. She grins sheepishly. "Sorry. It slipped." She picks up a pen and starts doodling on her notebook cover. I turn back to Hillary. "So, word is this is a senior class. How'd you end up here?" "It's hard to explain...." she begins. "His words exactly," Melanie mutters, not looking up. Hillary glances at her, then back at me. "In Albuquerque, we had three maths to get into calculus. Those were honors algebra one, honors geometry, and honors alg two trig. If your teacher in eighth grade though you had covered alg one well enough, he'd put you in honors geometry right away your freshman year. My teacher did that, so last year I was in alg two. I passed that with flying colors, so now I'm here." "Wow." I'm impressed, not so much by her accomplishment, but by her explanation. "That's better than I could have said it." "Much better," Melanie puts in. Hillary ignores her this time. "So do you want to explain the Virginia situation to me, or do you just want me to tell you I know how it works already?" "The second one," Melanie answers before I have a chance. I just nod. "Good, because even I can't put that into words." The tardy bell rings, and she smiles at me before turning to face the front of the room. I have a feeling I'm going to enjoy math this year. * * * "So have you asked her yet?" Melanie asks as we're walking back to the band room after afternoon practice. "Asked who what yet?" I step around a small puddle in my path. "Get off it. I already know you're in seventh period history with her." She steps into one. "How do you know that?" "I'm an office aide seventh period." She grins and twilrs her flute. "I figured since I had to stick around for afternoon practice, there was no sense taking seventh off like most of the other seniors." "So you use your idle time to spy on me." "Not so much you as her. I pulled her file. She has honors classes coming out her ears. Not to mention a perfect GPA so far." I look at her dryly, if that's possible. "Aren't those files confidential?" "Come on. The new students' files are right on top of the receptionist desk. They're impossible to miss." She steps into another puddle, splashing me. "So you could have looked at mine if you'd wanted to." I stomp the next puddle and end up splashing myself. "I did, a little. Just to see if you had any of her classes." I glance at her. "Are you deciding to play match maker now?" "Well, I'm gonna have to if you don't make a move soon," she retorts. "So give me some time. I like to take these things a little slow." She snorts. "You couldn't be taking it slower." "So what?" We reach the band room and I hold the door open for her. She rolls her eyes. "Guys move faster here than in Virginia, I guess. If you wait too long, you're gonna lose out. I'll shut up now, so she won't know we're talking about her." It turns out that Hillary is already gone. We put our instruments away and walk out to the parking lot after I find Jenny in the drum room. Melanie unlocks her car door and turns back to me. "Think about what I said. It's good advice, if I do say so myself." She hops in her car and drives off. "What was that all about?" Jenny asks. I shrug. "It's not important." But it is. And I'm seriously thinking about it. MELROSE PLACE He parked the MG in the school parking lot, gave his sideburns a final pat, and got out. Slinging his nearly empty yet stylish Eddie Bauer backpack over his shoulder, he closed the door and headed for the school's entrance. He stopped at the door, checked his hair in the glass, straightened the flannel shirt from Banana Republic, then entered. He was almost flattened when he saw her, even though he saw saw her every day in the same manner. Standing at her locker with her girlfriends, laughing at some unheard joke. Beautiful blonde hair swept back in a stylish wave, blue eyes sparkling at everyone in the hall, and, as always, impeccably dressed in clothes from The Gap. He had been thinking about this for several weeks. And this was finally it. Today was the day he would summon his courage and ask her out. He waited for her friends to leave, then approached the locker like a lion stalking its prey. She looked up as he leaned against the locker next to hers. "Hi, Dave!" she greeted him. "How are you?" He could never tell if this was an act or real joy to see him. After all, she was the bubbly sort who greeted everyone this way. Then he realized that he was needlessly worrying. She was not the sort that he should be wary of. After all, he was asking her out. "Could be better, Hillary. See, I have these two tickets to Club Nouveau. But it's one paper, see? I can't use it unless I have someone to go with me. And it's the grand opening. I was supposed to take my sister Jenny, but somehow she contracted strep throat." Her eyes showed concern. "Poor kid." "I know. And also, poor me. Unless...." "Unless what?" He produced the ticket from his shirt pocket. "Unless I can persuade you to go with me." Her eyes sparkled. "Of course I'll go! I wanted to go to Club Nouveau back when I heard it was coming. And I can't think of anyone better to go with than you." She leaned over to kiss him. Suddenly, a red-haired girl burst around the corner. "I knew it! You're the one that's trying to steal Dave from me!" Her jaw dropped. "Sydney!" Then the locker exploded.... THREE I jerk awake to the sound of an explosion on the radio. "Whoa, nearly got him that time, Jesse!" Mark O. Polo's voice comes, bright and perky. "Almost," Jesse James agrees, equally chipper. "We'll get that murmur next time it runs through our studio!" The "squeaky" noise goes off. "Well, you know what that means, Mark O!" "Of course! It's time to play the Um Game!" I think it's time to turn off the radio. The only reason I have it tuned to this station is because these guys are so irritating, I have to wake up. I'm tempted to change it, but then I'd have to use the buzzer alarm, and my dad really lets me have it when I do that. Don't ask me why -- he's up every morning at four-thirty. I've noticed a couple trends in my dreams over the last month. One is I watch way too much TV. The other is in every one, I'm about to kiss Hillary, and then something breaks it up. I wonder. Is that something my subconscious's interpretation of my fear of rejection? Well, there's only one way to find out. Today's the day I do it. Today's the day I ask Hillary out. * * * I walk into history five minutes late. The teacher, Mr. Carlson, looks up. "So good of you to join us, Mr. Martin," he says so sarcastically the words are having trouble coming out of his mouth. "What's your excuse this time?" I almost say that this is the first time I've been late to class, but I hold it back because he'll eat me alive. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I answer instead. "Try me," he says smugly. "Okay. We were doing an experiment in chemistry concerning the effect of hydrochloric acid on magnesium over heat. One kid's magnesium caght fire, and you know how that stuff flares up. Pretty soon, we were grabbing extra pieces off Mrs. Harris's desk and lighting them off. Well, what the oficial lab reaction makes is hydrogen. Mrs. Harris had filled a balloon with it from her example." "And I suppose there was a big explosion," Mr. Carlson retorts. "Not that big. But big enough to catch one of the girls' shirts on fire. Mrs. Harris spent fifteen minutes putting that out and another fifteen yelling at us all." He smirks up at me. "See, I told you you wouldn't believe me. I'm going to sit down now." I head for my seat, next to Hillary in the back. "I'm going to check on that, Mr. Martin," Mr. Carlson calls after me. "Why'd you have to get him so mad like that?" Hillary whispers. "Walking in late and all." "Oh, right. I'd *so* rather not come at all and catch hell tomorrow." "Tomorrow's Saturday," she reminds me. "Oh, yeah! We march a day game." Her comment also reminds me of my vow. "How'd you like to go do something afterwards?" She shrugs and looks down. "I don't know. What did you have in mind?" *I* don't even know. In my best redneck voice, I answer, "Well, we could go to the monster truck show." She laughs, causing Mr. Carlson to look up from his desk. I point at the guy next to me. He frowns and looks back down. "Okay," I say. "How about a rousing game of miniature golf, followed by a romantic dinner at one of the city's lovely McDonald's restaurants?" "Ooh. Romantic. I didn't know you cared." She bats her eyes flirtatiously, but her blushing is real. I decide to be blunt. "Well, I *am* asking you out on a date." She looks at me, for a change. "So you are. Well, then, consider it set. Pick me up at three?" "I'll meet you at the school," I answer. I never expected it to go so well. "It's a date then." Now she's the one babbling. "Yes, it is." We're a pair of babbling fools. We're perfect for each other. * * * I'm looking at the city lights from a great spot in the hills that Melanie told me about. Hillary is sitting next to me on the hood of the car. It's already ten o'clock, but it seems like we only left the school an hour ago. We decided to go to the mini golf place first, since we had both eaten during the third quarter of the football game. (Redlands won, by the way, nineteen to six.) The place we chose was the biggest amusement park I have ever seen that didn't have any rides. There were five courses, and she beat me, four games to one. I only let her win the last one, since I figured I would probably lose anyway. We played a few video games when we finished. They had a virtual reality game called Dactyl Attack, where you try to shoot all the compter players before a giant pterodactyl picks you up, flies to about six thousand feet, then drops you to the ground, where you actually see your feet go through your head. It's kind of freaky. We played some regular games too, like Mortal Kombat. *I* won those. Afterwards we went to dinner at Village Inn. I figured that since we had made it an official date, I should pop for more than a Quarter Pounder. While we ate, we talked about our old schools. I found out that she had known a lot of my old friends and even gone out with some of them. She went to a different junior high, though, which is why I had never met her before now. After that, since it had gotten dark, I decided to bring her up here. Melanie had told me,when I told her that I had asked Hillary out so she would lay off, to bring her up to this spot. Melanie actually had me bring *her* to show me where it was. I'm surprised she cares so much about me. I mean, she's only known me for a month, and she's already helping me with my social life. I feel like I have my own psychologist or something. Hillary's talking about Albuquerque. Obviously, she had many friends there. Even a boyfriend. "His name was Rick," she says. "I don't know why I'm telling you about him. Except that you're so like him. I feel like I can tell you anything." "What happened when you left?" I ask. She looks down. "I don't know if I should tell you. I mean, everything's going so well tonight." "No, really," I insist. "It'll help you to clear your mind. I'm sure you've been thinking about him all night." "You're right." She sighs. "But it's not what you think." She looks into the distance. "The night before I left, Rick was at my house. And he ... well, you know...." My jaw drops. "No." She nods, then smiles faintly. "I guess you could say he tried to go where he wasn't wanted. Then I said some things I shouldn't have. He said some things he shouldn't have. We argued for a bit, then he stormed out. It really messed things up between us." "Do you want to make up with him?" I ask gently. She nods and wipes at her face. I realize she's crying. "Well, all you have to do is write him a letter," I answer. "Be kind and gentle, but not too forgiving. Just clear the air. Express your feelings. I'm sure he feels horrible about the whole thing." She looks at me. "Do you really think so?" I shrug. "Well, I would. And if we're as alike as you say, then he probably does." She smiles and takes my hand. It's our first intimate physical contact of the night. "That's what I like about you, Dave. You're always so helpful, even when you don't have to be. You could have used my resentment at Rick to get me in bed, but instead, you helped me through it. I appreciate that." I feel my cheeks getting hot and switch to John Wayne. "Aw, shucks, ma'am, t'warn't nuthin'." She chuckles and looks out over the city. We sit in silence for a while. Then she shivers. "I didn't expect it to be so cold," she says. I am wearing my Tabb High letter jacket. Now, I take it off. "Wear this." She smiles again. "That's how Rick and I met. During a football game, I was sitting in front of him when I shivered. He offered me his jacket and it started." I smile. "Did he play sax, too?" She shakes her head. "No. We were nowhere near as structured as this band. He played trumpet. The drumline was the only thing that sat together. And they were awesome." I am still holding the jacket. "So is this going to turn out as favorably as you and Rick?" She looks right into my eyes as she takes the jacket and puts it on. "We'll just have to see, won't we?" It's time. We both know it. We lean toward each other and kiss, long and deep. It's the best sensation of my life. By the time we separate, it feels like five minutes have passed. As we gaze into each other's eyes, I realize that we were made for each other. I know it's corny, but it's how I feel. I put my arms around her as she leans against my shoulder. We gaze out at the city lights, not saying anything. No words are needed. We just sit there until I realize the time and we leave. I stop in front of her house. Again, no words. Just a kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow," she says as she slips out of the car and walks to her door. And she will. This is the best day of my life. IN THE CLOUDS sinking sinking sinking sinking into a soft marshmallow I never knew I could fly! This is a wondrous sensation A sensation I've never felt before It must be the wonders of ll !! !! ll !! !! ll !! !! ll !! !! ll oooooo vv vv eeeeeeee !! !! ll oooooooo vv vv eeeeeeeeee !! !! ll oo oo vv vv ee ee !! !! ll oo oo vv vv eeeeeeeeee !! !! ll oo oo vv vv eeeeeeeee !! !! ll oo oo vv vv ee !! !! ll oooooooo vvv eeeeeeeee ll oooooo v eeeeeeee !! !! I see the beauty for what it is and not for what my poor heart makes of it. I know what is the principle at work and I will make it victorious. flying higher flying faster flying farther I must know, I will know, I do know! She is the controller of my destiny. I must know from her and no one else. slowly soaring back to earth nestle snugly with her image the last thing before you... FOUR I wake up as the phone rings. Thank god for Saturday. No school, no homework, and best of all, no KISS-FM morning show. I feel like singing. [Oh, what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day....] The phone stops ringing, and I hear my dad talking into it. A few seconds later, he walks into my room, carrying the cordless. "It's Hillary," he says, handing it to me. "Thanks," I answer before raising the receiver to my ear. As he leaves, I greet her with my standard "Hey." "Hey yourself, sleepyhead. I called twice already. You were asleep both times." "Gimme a break! It's Saturday. You know what a heavy sleeper I am on Saturdays. And Sundays. And in history class, for that matter." I sit up. She laughs. "Well, I've been calling to ask if everything's set. Do you have a tux?" "You were with me when I got it." "So I made a list of everything. Sue me. The limo?" "Picking us up at five. Me first, so I can hold doors for you and all that chauvinistic stuff." "It *is* Homecoming. I would expect you to do that even if we hadn't been going out for a month already." "Oh, sure." I act offended. "We go to one dance and all of a sudden I'm expected to be a gentleman." She laughs again. "I know, it'll be hard, but you can do it. My corsage?" I put on a show of hiding something. "How did you know you were getting a corsage? Who told you?" "*I* told *you*, genius. Does it match my dress?" "It depends. Is your dress, oh ... paisley?" She sighs into the phone. This is how I know I've reached my limit. "It matches perfectly, sweetheart. We will be the show of the dance. I don't know how we couldn't, with you in that dress." I can tell she's blushing by the tone of her voice. "Thank you, kind sir. I'll talk to you later." This time, I'm serious. "You're calling me back?" "It depends. If I get too bored, I might just want to talk to you for, oh, say, an hour or two." "That'll be fine. Make sure you leave enough time to squeeze into that dress." "Enough about the dress, you sexist pig!" I can't stop. "Would you like me to come over with a shoehorn? Or maybe the Jaws of Life." "I'll manage, thank you. You won't be disappointed. I love you." "Love you too. See you in seven hours." "I'm looking forward to it. Bye." I press the hangup button. Laying back on the bed, I think about today. It's Saturday. I think I've made that perfectly clear. It's also Homecoming Night tonight. That was also explained. This is, believe it or not, the first high school dance I've ever been to. So while I was joking with Hillary on the phone, in all actuality, I'm more worried about it than she is. But we've made all the preparations. We've set everything up. I even remembered to buy tickets yesterday at the last minute. It's like she said. I won't be disappointed. I hope. * * * I ring Hillary's doorbell and adjust the jacket of my tuxedo. It feels a little big, but then again, I've never even worn a suit jacket, much less a tux. I trust the good people at Gingiss. She opens the door. Even though I've seen her in the dress before, my jaw hits the floor. She looks absolutely amazing in it. It's dark forest green, skin tight. I can't believe how great she looks. "Hi yourself," she grins. She steps out of the doorway so I can come in. I feel like I better say something or she'll think the limo was in an accident. "You look great" is all I can think of. "Thanks. You've said it before." She grins again. "You're not so bad looking yourself." "Oh. This old thing." I tug at the lapels. "I dug it out of the closet, dusted it off, and good as new. But seriously, I feel like a waiter." "How many waiters wear a dark green vest under their jacket?" she asks me. "I guess we'll find out at Seagull Street." I take out her corsage. "This is for you." "It's beautiful." She holds out her hand, and I slip it over her wrist. "You were right. It is perfect." She kisses me. "No more so than you," I answer, returning the kiss. Then I look around. "So where are your parents? Usually they like to see stuff like this." "They couldn't be here. Some important dinner on base. But they gave Gregory the camera. The little paparazzo should be around any second now." She looks around as well, then we see her nine-year old brother on the stair landing, waving the camera. "Six great action shots!" he yells proudly. Raising the view finder to his eye, he starts coming down the stairs. "Do it again." "Sorry, no encores." Hillary puts her arm around my waist. "How about the obligatory posed shot?" He shrugs. "Sure, why not?" He takes about four, then runs out the front door. I shake my head. "Where does this kid get his energy?" She rolls her eyes. "From about six bowls of what he claims is cereal but I think is really frosted toxic waste." As we walk out the door, hand in hand, he shoots more pictures, shouting instructions. "Put your arm around her! No, at the waist! Now lean on his shoulder! Kiss him as you get in the car!" Her final response is to throw a wadded-up tissue at him. I shrug for his benefit, then get into the limo behind her. "Well, paparazzo is the right term for him." I put my arm around her shoulders. "I told you." She kisses me on the cheek. "This is the best night of my life. I'm going to a formal dance in a black limousine with the man I love. Nothing could be better." "On top of that, you are the most beautiful creature I've ever seen." I put my other arm around her. "I have no wish but to be with you tonight." I kiss her. "Excuse me, sir." I look up at the chauffeur, who is speaking into a microphone. "Will you be with her in the driveway all night, or would you like me to take you somewhere?" I grin. "Of course. We're going to Seagull Street. Your tip will be bigger if your wisecracks are more to my liking and less against my comments." "Yes, sir." He pulls out of the driveway. She turns the intercom off. "That was rather rude." "I know. I mean, what are we paying this guy for?" She laughs. "I meant both of you. This is my special night, and I don't want anything going wrong." "What are you insinuating?" I ask, mock-offended. "And besides, I'm glad we don't have a stuffed-shirt chauffeur. I like jokers." "Takes one to know one, I guess." She takes my hand. "Seriously, though. Are you going to just play all night, or can we get serious?" I think about it. "All right. I'll not embarrass you in front of our peers at the dance. Unless they play Onyx or something. And I'll be good at the restaurant." "Thank you. I can live with that." She kisses me again. "I really do love you, you know." "I know. I love you, too. And I'm glad we're together tonight." I kiss her back. We get to Seagull Street with a minimum of nuisance. I spend the whole meal looking for waiters with green vests, but there are no vests in sight. Except for the eighty other Homecoming couples scattered about the dining room. At the dance, I give our ticket to Mr. Carlson, who just happens to be covering the door. He can't help but smile dryly. "So. Mr. Martin and Miss White. I trust you will have your history homework done for Monday? Provided you weren't too busy flirting with each other in class to hear it." Hillary blushes. "Yes, sir. We will." I can't help but make a wisecrack. "You know, Mr. C, I was just going to bring it to you tonight and save the trouble of turning it in Monday, but my dog ate it." Hillary plays along, for a change. "You don't have a dog, Dave." "Shh, shh. He doesn't know that," I whisper loudly. He smiles at me. All his smiles at me look genuinely evil. "Well, then. I guess you'll just have to do it over tomorrow. Enjoy yourselves tonight." As we walk in, she nudges me. "I thought you said you would be serious tonight." "Yeah, but I said in front of our peers. That was our history teacher who hates me. I couldn't help it. From now on, I promise I'll be nice." We walk right onto the dance floor and commence to getting down. I discover how hard it is to dance to Nine Inch Nails. Or how easy and boring, rather. One bounce is all there is to it. The best part about it is when the whole dance floor shouts out the dirty words the DJ cuts out. The principal doesn't look genuinely thrilled about it, I notice. As the night progresses, the fast songs give way to slower ones. Very romantic. We dance a few, then decide to sit down. Melanie waves at me from her table. "You promise to be serious when we're with Melanie?" Hillary asks as I drag her over there. I sigh. "I promise, Der Fuhrer. Have I let you down yet?" She shakes her head. "No. Thank you. I really apreciate it." Melanie greets us in Spanish. I have no idea what she's saying. However, Hillary's in Spanish level three, so she translates for me. "She says, 'Good evening, friends. I trust you are enjoying yourselves.'" She turns to Melanie and mombles some more Spanish mumbo- jumbo I don't understand. "You're welcome." Melanie motions for us to sit down. "So where's your escort?" I ask. "Julie's getting something to drink." Melanie nods over at the corner. I can vaguely make out a man behind a table with glasses on it. "You came with Julie?" Hillary asks. "Yeah. We have more fun than if we bring a date of the opposite sex. Don't get me wrong--I still like guys. Just not at school dances." "Actually, a drink sounds good right now." Hillary stands. "Do you want anything?" I shake my head. "I'll just borrow some of yours." "Okay. I'll be back." She kisses me briefly, then walks off. The minute she's out of earshot, Melanie leans across the table to me. "You're not yourself. What's going on?" I shrug helplessly. "I don't know! We've been going out for a month, I've been myself for all our dates, and all of a sudden she wants me to be Captain Incredible. I don't understand." "Well, being female, I can see where she's coming from. That's my problem coming with guys. I always end up expecting a perfect, romantic serious evening and it doesn't happen. So you just gotta shake her up a little. Do something spontaneous. Goof around. Show her it's okay." "I'll try that. Thanks." I look up as Julie reaches the table. We exchange pleasantries and chat for a while. Then we're ready for the dance floor again. The DJ is playing Bryan Adams. I decide to jump around. Melanie and Julie follow my lead. Hillary grabs my hand. "Dave. Come on. Be serious." "I thought we came here to have fun," I answer. "Besides, look how many other people are doing it now." Everybody on the floor, looking and seeing us, has begun busting a move. To a slow song. She's angry now. "Dave." "Hill. Look. We came to have fun. What's the fun in being serious all the time?" I look at Melanie, who nods and winks, then at the rest of the crowd, which has turned into a mosh pit. Hillary sighs. "Goodbye, Dave." She walks out. The three of us stop jumping, stunned. I look at Melanie and Julie, then run toward the exit. "Hillary, wait!" I catch her just outside the door. "What did I do? Why are you acting like this?" She laughs humorlessly. "Why am I acting like this? Why are *you* acting like this? Always have to be Mister Class Clown, trying to make your friends laugh." "I like to joke around," I answer. "Is that a crime? Can I be indicted for making people laugh, trying to have a good time?" She turns away and takes a few steps. Then she comes back to me, staring me right in the eye. "You couldn't do it for just one night, could you?" she asks coldly. "You couldn't be serious for one night. I really wanted this to be a great experience for us. I wanted a nice Homecoming dance memory. And now, because you couldn't control your primal urges for one measly stinking night, those memories are in ruins." She turns and walks away. "Good night, Dave." I follow her a few more steps. "Wait a second. How are you going to get home?" "I'll call a cab." She stops at the coat check room. "Enjoy your limo." I stand and watch her leave. There's nothing else to do. I have this strange empty feeling in my chest. It's as if when she took her coat and purse from the check room, she took my heart with them. There's nothing to do now but leave. Or cry. I do both. UNFORGIVEN The dusty critter walked into my bar with a face so long you'da needed a yardstick to measure it. He wandered up to a stool like he didn't much care whether or not someone was on it and sat down hard. I put down the glass I was polishing and headed over to him. "What'll it be, stranger?" I asked. "Jack Daniels. Double." He spoke in a dry voice, like he hadn't drunk in a year. I poured him the drink, then turned to put the bottle away, but he grabbed my arm. Without looking up, he said, "Leave the bottle." I obliged. When a man wants you to leave the bottle, you're going to need a couple drinks to figger out his problem. After he slugged the one I'd gave him, he filled the shot up all the way and slugged that, too. As he was filling the glass again, I grabbed his arm easy. "Mister," I said, "I only seen a man drink like that when his woman left him. What was her name?" He looked at the glass in his hand. "Hillary. We were at a dance. Something happened, and she just left me there." "Well, I heard lotsa stories, but that's about the worst of it." I leaned back against the glass case. "Sorry I can't help you. I don't got lots of experience with women." "It don't matter." He raised the glass. "To the end of women for Six Gun Martin." As he lifted it to his lips, my saloon doors crashed open. "Martin!" a voice bellowed. I looked up to see Eddie Carlson, or "Evil Eye," as we call him in this town, sauntering up to the stranger. "I heard you was in town and I couldn't wait to challenge you to a showdown." The stranger put his glass down. "Sounds fair to me," he said without looking at Evil Eye. Carlson lost his voice for a sec. "All right, then. High noon. Tomorrow. Be there or be dead." "No." The stranger stood up. "Right now. Let's go." They headed out of my bar. Well, I couldn't miss this, so I locked up my register and headed out to the steps. The fighters were already lined up on opposite ends of the street. Before the stranger could move a muscle, Evil Eye plugged him cold as a duck in winter. But I gotta say, as the stranger went down, I could swear I saw a smile on his face.... FIVE I jerk awake when I hit my bed. I haven't sleepwalked in ten years. Of course, recently I've been having some pretty restless dreams. I just can't get over the fact that Hillary left me. Maybe that was a dream, too. I glance at the calendar. No such luck. If Homecoming was a dream, then the entire past week had to be, too. I wish it was. She's been avoiding me like the plague. She won't answer my phone calls, doesn't read my notes, and only looks at me to glare. I look over at the clock. Three-fifteen. Since it's still dark out, I assume it means morning. Of course, it really doesn't matter to me anymore. Nothing matters anymore. I lie back down, knowing sleep isn't going to come easily. * * * "So you haven't talked to her since last Saturday?" Melanie asks from the floor next to my bed. She came over about noon. It's one-thirty now. We haven't changed the subject since she got here. "You already asked that question." I add another ceiling bump to my count. "Six times. The answer's still no." She heaves the tennis ball she's holding at the opposite wall. "Why not?" I sigh. "We've been over this, too. She runs away whenever I get within six feet. I don't even have a chance to say wait." She thinks a moment. "Have you called her?" "Nonstop." I wait for the thump of the ball. "She hangs up as soon as I say a word. Any word. I could say, 'Hill, I just cured cancer,' but she would barely hear 'just.'" "What about mash notes? We girls go nuts for those." "Mash is right. Every day this week, I slipped one into her locker. And every day this week, she threw a wadded-up ball of paper at me in history. Then she headed for the other side of the room." She throws the ball again, remaining silent. I lean over the edge of the bed. "I think she's kinda pissed at you, too." She snorts. "So I noticed. You're not the only one on the recieving end of some of her evil glares." She thinks. "What about e-mail?" "I don't know any local bulletin board numbers. And when I send it on America Online, it stays unread. I can show you." I sit up. "No need. I believe you." She throws the ball. "Why don't you call her now?" "Because I already called her three times before you came. She didn't listen then, she's not gonna listen now." "Just try it. For my sake." I stand, pick up the phone from my desk, and hit the speed dial. After two rings, Hillary picks up. "Hi. It's me," I say. She slams the reciever down. "See?" I tell Melanie. "Try again," she replies. This time, I dial from memory. She waits four rings before picking up. "Don't hang up," I tell her. She hangs up even harder than before. I put down my own reciever. "It's no use. I wish it wasn't so, but I think she hates me." "No, she doesn't." Melanie stands up and comes over to the desk. "She's definitely angry with you, but there's no way she hates you. Trust me." "Then why is she still hanging up on me? She's the one that's big on communication, not me." I slump down onto my bed, feeling more frustrated than I ever have in my life. "She's never coming back. No matter what I try." Melanie sits next to me. We remain silent for over a minute. Then she turns to me. "Well, then, stop trying," she says. My mouth drops open. "I don't believe you just said that. "You just said no matter what you try, Hillary's never coming back," she answers matter-of-factly. "Yeah, but you're the one that believes in always trying. And now you're telling me to stop?" "Yup." I sigh and fall back onto the bed. "Let me try," she adds. I sit up immediately. "What?" She looks down. "I haven't told anybody this before. But when I get out of school, I'd like to practice psychology. I don't tell anyone because I'm afraid of getting laughed at." I couldn't see Melanie afraid of anything. This was the last thing I expected to hear out of her mouth. "Why?" "Because I'm such a mental case. Nobody would believe I'm capable of doing it--or would ever want to, for that matter." No wonder I've felt like I had a shrink since I met her. "So why are you telling me this?" She stands "Number one, because you're the first person I really trust. You know me better than my own parents." She picks up the phone. "And number two, because I think what I know about your relationship with Hillary can save it. Go get the cordless." When I return to my room, Melanie is dialing Hillary's number. I turn on the cordless and put it to my ear as it begins ringing. Hillary picks up after three. "Dave, get a clue. I don't want to talk to you." "It's not Dave, Hillary," Melanie answers. Hillary sighs. "I suppose he told you to call?" "Actually, no. I convinced him to let me. He wasn't helping your relationship much." "Dave and I have no relationship," Hillary retorts coldly. "Think what you want. He thinks the same, but he wants to revive it." "I don't." "Yes, you do," Melanie answers. "In my opinion, there is no broken bond to mend. This is just a rough spot that you'll have to get through together." "A rough spot? Melanie, you're going to have to do better than that. Dave and I are finished." I wince at the word. Melanie notices and signals for me to keep listening. "You say that. But you don't really mean it. In fact, you want the opposite." Hillary laughs humorlessly. "What are you, my therapist?" Melanie shrugs, even though Hillary can't see it. "If you want me to be." There is silence for a moment. "You're serious," Hillary says. "Of course I am. You can lie down on the couch if you want. But I'd like it if you told me exactly how you feel about Dave." She glances at me. I give her the go ahead symbol. All we hear for a moment is the hissing of the line. "Hillary?" Melanie says. "Dave's a wonderful guy," she says. It sounds as if she's on the verge of tears. "I didn't mean to do this. To him or to myself." "Can I ask you a very sensitive question?" "Do I still love Dave?" Hillary is crying now. Melanie says nothing. I'm sitting so far to the edge of the bed, I'm practically standing up. "Yes. I do. I still love him." She sobs. "I wish I had never left him." "I thought so." Melanie makes the usually smug comment sound sensitive. "And I think I can help. Do you remember the spot where you two first kissed?" "He told you about that?" "Dave tells me everything." She smiles faintly. "I guess you could say he's already enlisted my services. What I want you to do is go up there tonight at ten. I'll tell Dave the same. Then you two can work everything out." Hillary sniffs. "Thank you." She laughs faintly. "How much do I owe you?" "It's on the house this time. But wait till next time." Melanie laughs, too. "See you Monday. I hope everything works out." "Me too. Thanks again." Melanie hangs up and looks at me. "You know what to do." * * * I park my car at the bottom of the hill, next to Hillary's white Chrysler. I should have brought flowers. I wanted to, but Melanie told me not to. Those are too wimpy, she said, to get through a crisis like we have. Still, it would have been a nice gesture. I climb up to the top and see Hillary sitting on the edge of the cliff, dangling her feet over the edge. I wish Melanie was here to interpret body language for me. Well, I'll have to manage on my own. I walk up behind her. I have the element of surprise on my side, but I don't want to scare her and then make her even madder. "Hi," I say. Now I want to smack myself for not being more original. She turns around. "Hi," she answers. I sit down next to her. "How are you?" She shrugs and looks out at the city lights. "I'm okay, I guess. How about you?" [Well, up until last week, when you ripped my heart out of my chest and ran it over with a steamroller, I was doing really well.] "I'm fine," I answer. We sit in silence for a while. Then I speak up again. "Listen, I'm really sorry about last Saturday. I was kind of a jerk and I broke my promise. After what I've put myself through this week, I wish I hadn't." "What you put yourself through?" She looks at me. "Dave, I treated you like a life form lower than pond scum, all because you wanted to have a little fun. Looking back, I can't believe how bad I was." She looks back at the city. "I'm sorry, too. I was a bigger jerk." I look at her. "Well, what are the chances that two jerks like us can reconcile our differences and go out tomorrow?" She looks into my eyes. "I'd say they're pretty darn good." She leans over and kisses me briefly. "I've been wanting to do that all week." "Well, all you had to do was say so," I tell her. "Oh, is that it?" She grins wickedly. "Dave, I'm going to kiss you now." She tackles me and tops it off with a longer kiss. When we finally stop, I imitate a voice through a short-wave radio. "Hill, this is Dave. Good to have you back." "It's good to be back." She lies on her back next to me. "I promise to be more fun from now on." "And I promise to be more serious," I pledge. "Uh oh." She sits up. "Isn't that what got us here in the first place?" I sit up and kiss her on the cheek. "Well, if all our reconciliations are like this, I'm not complaining." WITH THIS RING Hillary looked so beautiful in the long white gown. It was enough to make me stop fooling with my tux. She stopped next to me, and I wanted to kiss her, but that part wasn't until the end of the ceremony. Melanie, standing just to her left, glanced at me and smiled. I returned it. She's the one that saved the relationship. Isn't it only fitting that she should be maid of honor? The reverend opened his book. This is the part I never understood. Nowhere in the Bible does it say, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..." But I didn't say so. Not only was it her second chance at a perfect romantic moment, it was also mine. And I had promised not to spoil it. But not to her, this time. To myself. I didn't hear most of what the reverend was saying. I was too busy looking at her. She was so beautiful. All I could think about was the two of us in a meadow or beside a mountain stream, being happy with each other's company and nothing else. I only came out of my trance when the vows were being exchanged. "David, do you take Hillary to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in strength and in weakness, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?" I couldn't stop smiling. Not that I'd have wanted to. "I do." "And do you, Hillary, take David to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in strength and in weakness, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?" She was smiling too. "I do." "Then I now pronounce you husband and wife." The reverend caught our contagious happiness and let it show on his face. "You may kiss the bride." Hoping this wasn't another of my dreams, I leaned over to kiss her.... THE END