The Five Times I Met Myself

by James L. Rubart

  “What happened?”

  Sheila sat back and the same sadness he’d seen earlier flitted across her face. “That’s what broke us up, isn’t it? My lack of true surrender.”

  “It was a factor.”

  The bartender shuffled up to them and took their empty glasses. “Do you guys want another?”

  “Probably shouldn’t,” Brock said. “I’m driving.”

  Again smiles between them and the years vanished more fully. They were just two eighteen-year-old kids having another milkshake and dreaming about the unquenchably bright future.

  “How big?” Sheila’s eyes were serious again.

  “How big what?”

  “A factor.”

  “You want a percentage?”

  “Sure.”

  “I was kidding.” Brock held up his hands in mock protest.

  “I know.” Sheila touched his hand for a moment, then pulled it away. “We had some golden days together, didn’t we?”

  Brock leaned back in his chair.

  “I’d love to meet Karissa sometime.”

  “I’d like that. So would she.” Brock rapped the table. “Let’s make it happen.”

  It wouldn’t happen. Just like a yearbook promise to be friends forever.

  The rest of the evening Brock enjoyed himself. He connected with old friends and even gave a lame speech toward the end of the evening. But it made Lennie happy and that was reason enough to have done it.

  As he walked across the empty parking lot toward his car, a voice stopped him.

  “Brock?”

  He turned. It was Sheila. She eased up to him, her eyes darting around the lot. “One more thing.”

  She stepped closer as if she were about to speak, then hesitated.

  “You okay?” Brock tried to read her eyes.

  “Yes.”

  Without warning, she pulled him close and kissed him lightly on the lips. Before he had time to react, she pulled back and shook her head.

  “Sorry.” She looked down and turned away. “Good-bye, Brock.”

  As he drove home close to eleven thirty, sipping a cup of coffee to keep him alert on the road, the kiss and his conversation with Sheila seemed to be on perpetual repeat. Brock tried to push the guilt off his shoulders. Why should he feel guilty? He’d done nothing wrong—feelings were amoral, right? It’s what you did with them that counted in the end. So why did his mind keep screaming he’d done something horrid?

  Because in his mind—and maybe even in his heart—he had.

  Chapter 5

  Twenty minutes later, Brock trudged toward his bedroom, hoping Karissa wouldn’t ask about the reunion, but knowing of course she would. She was in bed reading a mystery novel when he slumped through their bedroom door. “Hey.”

  She set the book down on her chest and stared at him over the top of her dark-blue reading glasses. “So how was the reunion?”

  “Fine.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Basically.” Brock shrugged. “It was an evening of seeing people I don’t want to see more than once every five years, but still fun to be there.”

  “Bump into anyone surprising?”

  “Ran into Sheila.” Brock tried to give an innocent smile.

  “Really? Your old girlfriend, Sheila?” Karissa pulled down her reading glasses.

  “Yeah.”

  “How was that?” Karissa set her novel on her nightstand. “You were really in love with her.”

  “It was good to see her.” Brock unbuttoned his shirt and kicked off his shoes. “Saw Lennie Buck too. Goes by Len now, but he’ll always be Lennie to me. He must have told twenty people about the time I knocked his teeth out in eighth-grade ice hockey and he called me Rocky.”

  “Hang on, let’s put the car in reverse and back up a few feet.” Karissa sat up in bed. “Was it weird seeing your old girlfriend after all these years?”

  “Yeah, it was.” Brock finished undressing and slipped into light sweats and an old Seahawks T-shirt.

  “Is she happily married?”

  “Her husband passed away three years ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Karissa looked away, but her tone of voice didn’t match her words. “Are you still fond of her?”

  Brock didn’t respond, because he suspected what was coming next.

  “Do you regret not marrying her?”

  Bingo. He turned to her and looked her right in the eyes. “Not a chance. I love you. Not Sheila. I also have fond memories of my 1979 Toyota Celica, but I don’t wish I was still driving it.”

  “Some men find their old cars and fix them up.”

  “Not this man.”

  “Promise?”

  He came around to her side of the bed and leaned against the wall. “Why are you bothered by this?”

  Karissa slid back down under the covers, picked up her novel, and opened it. Brock gazed at her, trying to find the right words. “If you’re going to pretend to read, you should at least move your eyes back and forth.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Seriously. Talk to me.” Brock sat on the edge of the bed next to Karissa and rubbed her arm. “Why would you ever worry about Sheila?”

  “You have to know why. You’re one of those weird men who actually have a few perceptive bones in their bodies . . . so you tell me.”

  Brock leaned back with his head against the wall and stifled a sigh. Of course he knew. And even before this détente, he knew that she knew. They’d hit the still waters, which were much different from calm waters. No wind meant stagnant sailing. It had been a long time since a robust wind had blown through their marriage to stir things up in a good way.

  “There’s no wind.” Brock stared at the framed picture of their wedding vows, which hung over Karissa’s dresser. “It’s not blowing these days.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “There was always wind to keep our sailboat in motion, but during the past six years—maybe longer—the wind has died down to nothing. So we’re sitting stagnant. And on top of that, the sailboat needs to be repainted, and the sails need to be replaced, and the food in the galley is getting stale, and—”

  “I get it.”

  “And you think I’m going to get a new sailboat, thinking that will fix the wind problem in my life and—”

  “Brock!” Karissa tossed her book against the wall. “Didn’t I just say, ‘I get it’?”

  Yes, she did just say it. In the same tone of voice he’d grown used to. Calloused to was the better description, because his heart had hardened and he didn’t know what would soften it. Without question, hers had grown hard as well. She likely didn’t have any solutions either. Karissa sat still for a few moments before sliding off the bed and onto the floor. She picked up her book and set it on her nightstand, then ambled around to his side of the bed.

  “I’m sorry. I’m losing it too often these days.”

  “No you’re not.”

  “Yes I am. I see it in your eyes that you agree.” She crawled into bed beside him and rested her head on his chest. He stroked her hair. “What’s going to happen to us? I don’t want to lose you, lose us. I don’t want you running off with some old girlfriend.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Even if you don’t, what will life be like when Tyson leaves? I don’t want to be one of those cliché stories that everyone tells during their Thursday night get-togethers when we’re not there. Where they pretend it isn’t gossip because they’ll ‘pray for you.’ ”

  “We won’t be that couple.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The wind will come up again.”

  Karissa repeated herself. “How do you know?”

  He didn’t.

  After brushing his teeth, Brock crawled under the covers and picked up Morgan’s book again. Lucid Dreaming: Turning Dreams into Reality. He turned to the back to review the steps to creating a successful lucid dream, but before he could start, Karissa interrupte
d him.

  “I still don’t get what lucid dreaming is, or why you’re studying it.”

  “It’s not that complicated.”

  “Then explain it to me in a way I can understand. And more than your typical three-word answer.” Karissa propped herself up on an elbow and poked at his book. “Come on.”

  Brock sighed and closed his eyes. “After a stressful meeting with Ron still bothering me, and then the reunion, and our little flare-up, I just want to review this, then get to sleep and try to make the ideas in the book work, okay?”

  “Okay. Wonderful.” For the second time in ten minutes, Karissa tossed her book. It smacked the edge of her nightstand and thunked onto the floor. She reached over, snapped off her light, yanked the covers toward her, and turned her back to Brock.

  “Let’s not do this.” Brock sighed and set his book down. “I’m sorry.”

  “Whatever.”

  He was tempted to bury himself in the book, but this was at least a chance to look for the wind. Who knew? Maybe she’d get as interested as he was.

  “A lucid dream is any dream where you know you’re dreaming. You’re conscious inside your dream. It’s like you’re awake, even though you’re not. Aristotle said, ‘Often when we’re asleep, there’s something in our consciousness that tells us that what we’re seeing is a dream.’ In other words, you’re aware everything you’re experiencing is happening in your mind, that there’s no real danger, and that you’re asleep in bed.”

  “What’s the point of doing it?”

  “If you get good at it, you can control your dreams.”

  “What do you mean control?” Karissa turned back over.

  “You can decide what happens in the dream. People, places, conversations, outcomes. It’s like being the director of a movie where you’re also the lead actor, and you’re in control of the other actors. And you can control the extraordinary things that happen in dreams.”

  “Like make yourself fly, or instantly travel from one place to another? Or talk to people from your childhood?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Limited only by your imagination.”

  “Yes. The laws of physics no longer apply. And yet every one of your senses is working. Touch, taste, feel, sight, hearing . . . you can’t imagine the Black Forest cake I ate.”

  “But again, what’s the point?” Karissa stretched out her legs. “Why write a whole book on it? Why try to do it?”

  “It’s a tremendous tool for creativity. For healing fears. For problem solving. People with nightmares can end them by getting proficient at lucid dreaming. People learn to become public speakers, get better at sports, dance, even painting. Brain activity during the dream is the same as it would be during a real-life event—the neuron patterns needed for any skill can be embedded into the brain while sleeping, and you won’t lose them when you wake up. Emotions too.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.” Karissa’s voice grew intense. “Why are you doing it? You.”

  He stared at her for a few moments before answering. “Because I’ve been having dreams where my dad shows up, and I’d like to be able to make them stop.”

  “Tell me.”

  So he did, and when he finished, Karissa took his hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “What’s he trying to tell you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She surprised him by not pressing the issue, and surprised him even more with her next suggestion.

  “If you get good at it, maybe it could be our wind.” Karissa turned over. “Good night.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re saying I should try to bring you into one of my dreams.” A shred of hope rose inside. “Interact with you.”

  “Your idea, not mine. Good night, Brock.” Karissa slid the pink earplugs into her ears to mute his snoring when it fired up. “Happy sailing.”

  Brock lay with eyes open, mulling over the idea. What if he were to try to go back to their beginning and relive the emotions they had when they first dated? Wasn’t that technique supposed to rekindle long-dormant feelings between couples? Plus it would take his mind off his worry about Black Fedora and might be an excellent way to dampen his emotional encounter with Sheila as well.

  There was no guarantee he would slip into a lucid dreaming state tonight, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. He scanned the page of steps, set the book down, and closed his eyes, then slowed his breathing and shot up a quick prayer.

  Karissa’s right, Lord. This might be the wind we need. Take me there tonight? Please?

  Chapter 6

  As soon as the dream started, Brock knew he was in control, and although the edges of his vision were hazy, as if looking through water, the rest was clear. By the looks of what lay in front of him, God had done a perfect job setting the scene.

  He sat with Karissa on the west end of the vast lawn next to Woodland Park Zoo in north Seattle. It was the spot where he’d given her a promise ring during the summer of ’86 after they’d been dating for eleven months. Too soon for an engagement ring, but he’d decided to make it clear he wanted to veer onto the road of serious relationship.

  “Hey, are you with me?” Karissa leaned forward and tapped him on the nose.

  A moment later the scene faded and he found himself standing at the fifty-yard line inside the Seahawks’ stadium. He watched them score a touchdown on a screen pass that caught the other team napping. He shook his head. C’mon, you can do this!

  “Brock?”

  The zoo and lawn and Karissa undulated as if they were in a wave pool. “Yeah, I’m here. But feels like I’m dreaming.”

  He concentrated hard, and everything around him came into even clearer focus. Though Brock knew he was inside his own dream, the experience felt as real as it had the first time. As he stared at her, all the emotions and memories of that day streamed back into his consciousness. His frayed nerves at whether she’d even take the ring, his effort to figure out the right moment to give it to her, the hours he’d taken to make a little box out of wood to hold the ring. And now she held it, eyes bright.

  “Me too. Dream come true.” She raised her hand and let the sunlight play on the amethyst ring. “It’s perfect.”

  He stared at her dark-brown hair and the curve of her cheeks as they flowed into her neck. Skin so smooth, and those eyes. For Brock, it had always been about Karissa’s eyes. Three different shades of amber, depending on the light and her mood.

  “You trying to get serious with me?”

  “Without question.” He settled onto one elbow on the park’s thick grass. “Want to hear something crazy?”

  “Sure.”

  “This really is a dream. This day happened, but a long time ago.”

  Karissa frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “But I’m so glad I’m reliving it. I think you might be right. This type of dreaming might be able to bring healing. Because right now? I’m remembering how in love I am with you.”

  “You’re not making a lot of sense.” Karissa shifted on the lawn and frowned.

  “Probably because I’m fifty-three years old.” He laughed at himself. “My mind was a little more supple at twenty-four.”

  “You’re fifty-three, huh?” She pulled her head back a few inches.

  “In real life, yes, but not here. Here I’m young again. Pretty nice, actually.”

  Karissa’s frown was now tinged with fear. “This isn’t funny.”

  “Sorry, forget I said anything.” Brock rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. “But I’m going to do this again. Come back into the past and visit us. It’s definitely a good thing.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “I just told you.” Brock turned his head, opened his eyes, and squinted at her through the sunlight framing her head. “To remember what it was like.”

  He let his head settle back down on the warm lawn and closed his eyes again. So easy to forge
t where they’d come from. What a gift to be able to go back and repour that foundation. When he woke up he’d have to call Morgan and thank him.

  “Here.” Something landed on Brock’s stomach and he opened his eyes. He lifted his head and spotted the box the ring had come in. He picked it up. The ring was back inside.

  “Keep it a little longer, okay?” Karissa stood and brushed off her shorts.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She slipped on her Disneyland sweatshirt and gave him a plastic smile. “I need to go.”

  “What are you doing?” Brock clambered to his knees, then to his feet.

  “I’m fine, I just need to go.”

  “Is it something I—”

  “Yes, absolutely it’s something you said.” She waved her hand at the spot where they’d sat. “All your talk of being old and not really being here, and it being a dream, and bringing back what we once had makes me uncomfortable, okay? I’m not ready to talk about us being married in the past tense. I don’t know if I’m even ready to talk about us being married in the future. Can we slow this down?”

  It was a rhetorical question, so Brock didn’t respond. She gave an exasperated sigh and shook her head. “I’ll be fine, but be back to being Brock next time I see you, okay?”

  Karissa turned and trudged off.

  “Karissa, I didn’t—”

  “We’re good, don’t worry about it. Really.”

  As Brock watched her go, he realized there was a great deal he needed to learn about lucid dreaming. But interacting with the Karissa from his past was a great way to practice, because the feelings of being with her again in the early days had certainly created a welcome breeze. If only he could figure out a way to keep it blowing.

  Chapter 7

  MAY 16, 2015

  Early morning light angled through the kitchen windows as Brock stirred a rich concoction of hollandaise sauce and glanced at the eggs simmering on the stove. Every Saturday morning from the time Tyson was young, Brock had made his own special concoction of eggs Benedict. Karissa had never been into cooking beyond the basics, but Brock couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t enjoyed exploring the vast landscape of what could be created in the kitchen. He had a gift for it. It wasn’t much different from what he did for Black Fedora. But cooking offered so much more variety than developing new flavors of coffee.