Every now and then some random song, sight, sound, or even smell triggers my imagination and soon I’m off on a tangent. This morning as I was cleaning out my closet and dancing around to The Beatles number one hits album, one such tangent attacked and my mind was off on its own, rambling down a path best left undiscovered. But that’s not going to stop me from sharing it with you.
The rain began all at once, pelting angrily at the skylights. I hadn’t even noticed the room growing ever darker, so intent was I on my even darker thoughts.
Just two weeks prior, my husband of 38 years had calmly announced that he was leaving to pursue other avenues and I wasn’t welcome to come along. Adam wasn’t sure if he wanted a divorce; he just needed to find himself. I was devastated. He was my high school sweetheart, the love of my life. Why did he need to leave me in order to find himself?
A slash of lightning closely followed by a seismic clap of thunder woke me from my reverie. This storm had no patience with my maudlin thoughts.
I turned back to the overnight bag on my bed. A friend had offered me the use of her beach house for the week, assuring me that salt air and sunshine would help clear my head. Quickly I stuffed books, swimsuits, cover ups, underwear, towels, and toiletries into the bag. I could stop for groceries on the way.
I pulled my car out of the garage and into the storm. The weather report indicated clearer skies at St. George Island, where Aimee’s house was situated. Even ten miles south of Tallahassee the rain began tapering off. My mood lightened with each mile I placed between myself and the home I’d shared with Adam. Maybe Aimee was right. Maybe this trip would help me put things in perspective.
When I reached the town of Caravelle I stopped at a mom and pop grocery to buy yogurt, fruit, bread, meat, cheese, and a bottle of wine. I hadn’t felt much like eating since Adam dropped his bombshell, but I knew that at some point I’d need nourishment.
The clerk was a young man with sun drenched blonde hair. As I handed him my debit card he smiled and whispered, “Don’t look now, but I think that guy over there is checking you out.”
I laughed out loud. “No one checks me out–not even at the library.”
“No, really,” he said. “Ssshh! Here he comes.”
As I turned to see who the clerk was describing I felt a jolt of recognition. Could it possibly be…Sir Paul McCartney?
“Hullo,” he said. “My name is Paul. What’s yours?”
Unfortunately, my phone in the real world rang right then. I’m sure that Paul, who in my dreams is always single and forever young, was so overwhelmingly attracted to me that we spent an entire week on the beach talking and cuddling and ignoring the world. I can only imagine.