Storiesonline.net
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                           Repeat Performance
                               by Coaster2

Copyright© 2010 by Coaster2


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Description: Lee North suffers a fifty year setback after an accident. Fifty years into his past, he's having to start his life over again. It wasn't going to turn out the way it did the first time.

Codes: MF cons TimeTr slow
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How many of us have wondered what would happen if we could go back in time a number of years and know what we knew in the present? Almost every one of us, I suspect. The idea of going back and changing our life's path is probably the subject of a thousand stories. With that said, I offer:

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Chapter 1: Accidents Will Happen


I maintain that the eye and the brain can absorb an enormous amount of information in a millisecond. I believe this from my own experience. For instance, the front of a dark green 50's era Ford flatbed with stake body sides as it hurtles toward my passenger side door is one of those indelible memories. The yellow grille bars were nicely painted I recall. Unfortunately, it was the last thing I would recall for some time.

I thought it was odd that an almost sixty-year-old truck would pick that particular moment to run through that particular stop sign and slam into me. It seemed so incongruous. Why would anyone put that much effort into restoring a relic and then drive like an idiot? It didn't compute.

When I woke up, I knew immediately I was in a hospital. Not a very modern one by the look of the walls and ceiling. The bed looked like an old-fashioned type as well. I didn't have a clue which of the five or six regional hospitals I might be in, but one thing was certain, this wasn't one of the newest. That, plus the fact that it smelled of disinfectant.

I had a couple of very uncomfortable tubes in my arm. One was an IV drip I guessed, but the other was out of my line of sight. I relaxed as best I could and tried to take stock of my injuries. Ribs, for sure. I remember the cracked ribs I had from playing football, and I was sure that was probably mild compared to what had happened to me this time. Head? Yeah, mostly neck though, maybe whiplash? I had a cut on my forehead by the feel of the bandage on it. The rest of me was just sore. Sore as hell.

I was pretty groggy, wondering if anyone had called my wife, or the kids. Kids? They were in their forties. I searched for a call button, but there was none to be found. The hell with it. I just closed my eyes and drifted off into dreamland. Weird dreams they were, too. How did my parents get into them? My brother was there as well. I hadn't seen him in years. The hell with it.

The next time I came to, there was a nurse in my room. She was fussing with something, but I was too out of it to figure anything out. Whatever they were giving me for pain was working like a charm. Of course, trying to remember what happened took a monumental effort. I decided to start with the basics.

Name? Lee North. Age? Sixty-eight. Home? West Vancouver, B.C. Occupation? Retired factory manager. Married? Yes, to Belle. Her age? Sixty-six. Children? Mark, age forty-six. Occupation? Civil Engineer. Second son Philip, age forty-three, CAD designer for an engineering firm. Grandchildren? Four: James, Randal, Joshua, and Matt. First three are my oldest son's. Matt is Phil's only son. Daughters-in-law? Two, Ginny with Mark, and Carol with Phil. Not bad. I got them all.

Okay, so the brain is still working ... not very fast, but ... still operating.

"Nurse, where am I," I croaked in a voice I didn't recognize.

"You're in the east wing of the Lions Gate Hospital in North Vancouver. How are you feeling?"

"Punchy. I don't know what I'm on, but whatever it is I'm feeling no pain ... literally or figuratively."

"I'm sure the doctor will be along in few minutes to check in on you. Is there anything I can get you?"

"I need to pee."

She turned to and simply said, "Go ahead." She grinned then, explaining, "There's a catheter installed. It'll hurt a bit, but just relax and let it happen."

"Thanks ... I think."

I relaxed and closed my eyes as I willed myself to do something I had spent the better part of sixty-eight years trying to avoid. I just let go. She was right. It wasn't pleasant, but like the saying goes, it feels so good when you quit. Plus, my bladder was saying thank you.

I began to notice some things I hadn't at first. My hands, for example. They were smooth, and the lump of cartilage covering a bone spur on the back of my left wrist was missing. So were the liver spots that had come with advancing age. Surely the accident hadn't caused them to disappear? My nails were bitten almost down to the quick. I hadn't done that since I was a kid ... a teenager. What the hell was going on?

I carefully felt my head to determine what other injuries I might have. Aside from the cut on my forehead, I couldn't detect anything, but one side, at the temple, felt like it was badly bruised. I didn't want to touch it any more than necessary. As I ran my hand over my head, I realized I had hair on top. I hadn't had any hair there since before I was fifty. Now I was really confused. I wondered if I was hallucinating. My father had suffered from that when he had his heart surgery. The Meperidine made him imagine all kinds of things that weren't real.

I slumped back and tried to relax again. I was sure the doctor would have some answers for me. As I lay there, I noticed an angry scar on the inside of my right wrist. When I looked at it, I knew what it was. I had fallen skiing at high speed, and my ski pole had snapped off and gone airborne, landing in my wrist like a well-thrown spear. I was seventeen years old when that happened. Suddenly, the scar from the surgery to repair the tendon looked fresh. What the fuck was going on?

I tried to calm myself. Was this some hallucination caused by the pain killers, or was something else happening? I'd been hit on the head, at least once. Had that rattled my brain pan? This hospital had me confused. The more I looked at my surroundings, what I could see of them at least, the more I wondered just how modern this place was. Something was horribly wrong, but ... what?

I tried to relax and not think about the weird situation that I was in. My thinking was muddled and confused, obviously. This wasn't a rational set of circumstances confronting me. I tried to concentrate, but it was futile. I closed my eyes and drifted off once again.

I'm not sure when the doctor finally got around to visiting me. There was daylight outside, so I assumed I hadn't been out very long.

"Master North," he said in a deep, resonating voice, "I'm Doctor Wooley. How are you feeling?"

"Goofy. Whatever you're giving me for pain is really messing with my mind."

"Morphine will do that sometimes. I'll cut the dosage back a bit. Let the nurse know if the pain is too much."

"What happened?"

"You were in a traffic accident, I understand. You were very lucky. The other driver didn't survive. You've been here since yesterday afternoon. I suppose you were driving home from school," he said, looking at his notes.

"School? What school?"

"I'm assuming you are a student at Sentinel Canyon High School. Yesterday was the last day of the year. Not a good way to start your summer vacation."

"Are you out of your mind? I'm a retired salesman. I haven't been in high school since 1959. If this is your idea of a joke, it isn't very funny."

He pulled out a penlight and examined my eyes, shining a beam into them. Great! Now I had spots before my eyes to go with my other problems.

"I'm guessing your head has taken quite a hit. A concussion probably. That might cause you to be disoriented. Why don't you try to rest? I'm sure your parents will be along later today. Maybe that will help you remember."

"My parents? My parents died ten years ago. Has everyone gone crazy in this place, or is it just me?"

"I think it's safe to assume that it's just you," he smiled. "Take it easy, son, you'll recover soon enough. Don't let these little things bother you."

Jesus, just what I needed ... a condescending doctor trying to humour me. There were way too many questions that needed answering, and right now I wasn't getting any help with that.

I slipped in and out of sleep over the next few hours. The nurse came and went. A different one this time. Much prettier, but dressed in an old-fashioned uniform.

They finally brought me something to eat. I had no idea what time it was, but I was hungry. Hungrier than I expected to be. I looked under the metal lid and nearly lost my appetite. Whatever it was didn't look like human food. It might have been meatloaf, some kind of sloppy mashed potatoes and carrots. It smelled something like food, but only just. There was no gravy and no salt. I tried the meatloaf, and knew I wasn't going to be very happy with this meal. There was a cup of milk, and some kind of custard for dessert. It looked like a rabbit had shit in it recently. I had visions of starving to death in the next few days.

I forced myself to eat as much as I could. The carrots were overcooked, the potatoes were tasteless, and enough said about the meatloaf. The milk was homogenized with plenty of milk fat, and tasted like cream to me. I'd been weaned off that a long time ago, drinking skim milk for years. I couldn't bring myself to try the dessert. I seldom ate more than four or five desserts a year. It was my good fortune not to have a sweet tooth.

They took the tray away and left me to my thoughts for a while. I assumed I would have visitors, but no one had shown up yet. I wondered why. Perhaps doctor's orders.

I wasn't prepared for what happened next. A woman, about forty or so, and a slightly-built man entered the room. It took me a moment, but all the pieces fell into place. It was my parents. My long-dead parents. They were younger, but it was them all right. I didn't know how to react. This had to be a hallucination. It couldn't be anything else.

The woman, my mother, had tears in her eyes and she was afraid to get too close to me it seemed. My father ... that's who he was for sure ... stood back and nodded, just as I remember him doing so often all those years ago. The proof that it was him was the nicotine stains on the fingers of his right hand. He was a chain smoker. Eventually, it would catch up to him. I remembered how often he tried to quit and just couldn't make it stick. I could feel the tears forming in my eyes.

"Oh Lee, we were so worried," my mother cried. "I thought you had been killed. I didn't think anyone could survive that crash." She leaned over carefully and kissed me. It felt good. For the first time, I quit worrying about what was going on and let things happen to me.

"I guess the car is pretty messed up, eh? Sorry, Mom."

"I don't care about the car. The only thing I care about is you getting better. The doctor says you will be in here for another week, but you'll be able to come home after that."

"Mom ... you were ... I mean ... you are a great cook. When I come home, I'm counting on you to make up for the awful food in this place." I gave her a smile in an attempt to cheer her up. It worked.

"You can have anything you want, as long as you get better."

"Dad ... has anyone said what happened? All I remember is seeing the front end of a truck coming at me. I don't remember anything else."

"It was old Ray Hodgson, Lee. Apparently, he had a heart attack and lost control of the truck. He probably died before he hit you. It was a brand new truck, too. They'd just finished painting the company name on the door that morning. A real shame. We'll miss him. He was a fixture in this community ... just like Hodgson's Lumber Yard."

"I'm just glad he didn't take me with him," I said. I could only barely recall Ray Hodgson. "I guess the car is a write-off."

"They looked at it and decided they couldn't repair it for what it was worth. We'll get a settlement from the insurance company in a month or so."

I relaxed, now knowing I was an actor playing a role. I needed some more information, though.

"What day is it? I mean, the date?" I asked without looking at them.

"It's June 20th. Yesterday was your last day of school. You're finished high school and you'll be going to UBC in the fall," my mother stated proudly.

That was a key piece of information. It meant it was 1959 in this strange world where I was captive. I decided to play the role to the hilt. I needed additional information.

"I seem to have lost parts of my memory, so you'll have to excuse me if I ask some dumb questions. Do I have a summer job?"

"Yes," my father said. "I talked to Tommy French, and he's given you a job at the brewery on the packaging line."

I remembered that job. It was great. Eight to four, under-filled beer at morning, lunch, and afternoon breaks. The drinking age was twenty-one, but everyone looked the other way as long as you didn't do something stupid. It was going to be a good summer ... assuming this was real.

Ah ... that was the question. Was any of this real? I remembered my mother's kiss and I touched her arm as she stood by me. That was real enough. The smell of cigarette smoke in my father's tweed jacket was real too. Fifty years of my life had just vanished. But ... and it was a big but ... I knew what my future would be. If this was my new reality, I knew what would happen in the future because it was really my past.

There was only one problem with that logic. I had never had an automobile accident ... ever. And, I certainly didn't spend any time in hospital either. This was a whole new ballgame and I couldn't be sure anything would turn out the way it had before. Before? Before what? Before this new life, maybe.

By day three, I had quit trying to figure out what had happened to me. The new world I was living in was authentic enough. The hospital food was proof of that. My mother, bless her heart, smuggled in some goodies for me, and that was a big help. My brother John came to visit, giving me a hard time. He was just as I remembered him. Carefree, not a worry in the world, with endless numbers of friends, unlike me.

"Jeez, you'll do anything to get out of cutting the lawn," he said with a grin.

"Too bad, bro. It's your job for a while. Help keep you in shape for football season."

"Man, I hate that job. I wonder if I can con someone else into doing it?"

"Your problem, John. Good luck with that," I grinned through the pain in my chest.

By day six, they had removed the catheter and I was able to get out of bed to go to the bathroom. The doctor told me the blood in my urine was gone, another good sign. What a relief. My ribs were on fire, but I toughed it out. I didn't want too much more morphine, fearful of an addiction. It was probably an irrational fear, but it had stuck in my mind for over fifty years and I couldn't shake it.

The larger shock was seeing myself in the mirror. I was indeed the callow youth with the blonde brush-cut. Six foot one, one hundred and seventy-five pounds, I remembered. Some acne, but luckily not serious. I hated it, but I knew I would grow out of it.

A couple of my buddies from school came to visit as well. That was strange. At least I remembered their names. Ted, Jack, and Bob. We talked about being finished with school. Bob was going to art school in the fall. Jack had a job as an apprentice cameraman at the local independent television station, while Ted was going to college with me. I remembered we had agreed to car-pool and we were looking for a couple of other riders to share the load. None of us but Jack owned a car, so we would be borrowing our parents' cars to commute to the campus.

My best friend, Mike Douglas dropped in. He was going off to Western Washington University in Bellingham. His parents had divorced and his father was living in Lynden. He was also footing the bill for Mike's education. I wouldn't see much of him this summer, since he had an out-of-town job with B.C. Hydro.

"Hey, man. How you doin'?"

"Just great, asshole. How do you think I'm doing?" I cracked, trying to grin.

"How long?"

"Three ... maybe four weeks."

"That stinks."

"Like a ripe turd," I agreed. We were speaking in our own code. It was coming back to me quickly for some reason. Why could I remember this and not so many other things from my past?

"When you headin' south?"

"August twentieth. Registration. Got a car lined up. Livin' with the old man for now."

"Won't be all bad, then."

"Nope. I can handle it."

Mike hung around for almost an hour as we talked about inconsequential things. I knew he would go on to be someone important in an international company's I.T. department and move to Cleveland. I didn't envy him that, but later on, he made his way back to Seattle and we saw each other at least once a year. He was one of the very few people from my high school days that I kept in touch with.

It was strange how some memories came back clearly, and others remained in the mists. I wondered why. I was trying to think of the girlfriends I had at the time, but no names except Belle's came to mind. I had met Belle at the May Day dance. We'd been out once since then. I had been too busy cramming for exams to see her until school was out.

I knew for certain that I was a virgin still. I was eighteen, but in the late fifties that wasn't unusual. I was led to believe that all that would change when I went to college, but I recalled that it wasn't necessarily the case. At least, not for me. It didn't stop me from thinking about bustin' my cherry, but thinkin' and doin' were two different things.

That idea reminded me that nothing was going to be the same anymore. I was sixty-eight going on nineteen. I couldn't count on things working out the way they had in my previous life. If that was so, what kind of life was I going to have? If it wasn't my original "past," then how much could I control about my new "future?"

With time on my hands as I lay in the hospital bed, I began to mentally sketch out what I might do in that new future. If I was trapped in this time, I had valuable knowledge that I could use for my own benefit. At least I thought I did. However ... there was no guarantee that the world was going to evolve the same way. But if it did, with a little foresight and some patience, I could make a great deal of money in the next few years. That assumed, of course, that I was going to be staying in this altered state. Well, if not, it would be interesting as long as it lasted.

To begin with, I would set aside enough money for my tuition and books. If I remembered correctly, tuition was $365 per year, and books would be another $100. It was another of the little factoids I could recall. Ridiculously inexpensive compared to today; assuming there was a "today." The rest of my money could be invested in a car and the stock market. Both my parents put some money in the market, with very spotty results. I, however, had an advantage. I knew some things about young companies that they could not.

I was finally released just before July 1st. Getting around was still a slow and painful process, but my now-young body was recovering much faster than my old one would have. I had to take it easy for a couple more weeks, but I was cleared to start my summer job in mid-July, so I would have almost seven weeks of work to earn some money.

During my rehab, I walked quite a lot, hoping to regain my fitness. I had some thinking to do as well. I made some resolutions about my future life-style. I wasn't going to smoke. I had from the time I was twenty until I was almost forty. I was going to exercise. I hadn't really done anything from the time left college until I quit smoking. A twenty year lapse. As a result, I had ballooned up to 225 pounds. That had to be corrected as well. I was going to eat healthier food. Our family history was riddled with heart disease, and I was no exception. Exercise and a better diet would help that immensely.

There were some other questions floating around in my head as well. I had married Belle Caulfield a year after I quit college. I had only gone two years and didn't take it very seriously. We had got engaged when I took a job, and married the next spring. Our first son was born a year after, and the second two years later. If I changed things, it was going to affect that ... possibly erase it entirely.

Why change it? I always kicked myself for not completing my education. I short-changed myself in the process and missed out on a lot of my youth. Married at twenty-two, two children at twenty five, mortgages, debts, all the things that conspired to take away the opportunity to go back and fix a mistake. I could correct that now. I knew what to expect, and I would be ready for it.

Did that mean I wouldn't marry Belle? If I didn't, I would never know the two fine sons that we sired together; both bright and talented, with good marriages, and solid families. Another unknown thrown onto the pile. The unanswered questions were beginning to stack up.

And what about my marriage? I had to examine that as well. It had been pretty good up until the last few years. Certainly long-lasting, but lately it seemed we were going in different directions. She was often moody and even surly. I had taken to calling her "Snarly" under my breath. In fact, I had even considered separating a couple of times. We were living separate lives together. We shared the same bed, but little more. It seemed that she was critical of anything and everything, often without reason.

I can remember the exact day when it nearly came apart. It was a Sunday morning, and I had been brooding for most of Saturday about her miserable attitude and what I should do. I finally decided in the middle of another sleepless night that I would get it all out in the open.

"Belle, we need to talk."

I'm sure those four words are as foreboding to women as they are to men. She looked at me, wondering what this was all about. I took my coffee into the living room and sat on the sofa. She followed me, eventually sitting in a chair, watching me carefully.

"I have to tell you, Belle, that I'm just about at my wits end when it comes to your attitude. I don't know what's wrong with me, but you don't seem to be happy with anything I do or say. You snap at me for no good reason. You never say please or thank you any more. At best, I get a grunt of acknowledgement when I do something you approve of.

"Whether this is post-menopausal problems, or something else, I'm getting to the point where I don't care. You've done nothing to deal with your unhappiness and I'm past the point of trying to get you to face up to what you've become. We don't have that many years left, and I'm sure as hell not going to spend them with someone who is perpetually miserable.

"I've thought about it and thought about it, and the only thing I can come up with is that I'm the source of your problems. So the solution is simple. I'll leave. I take myself out of your life and maybe then you'll be happier."

"You'll leave?" Her look of disbelief was unmistakeable. "But ... where would you go?"

"What difference does it make? I'd be gone."

"But ... where?"

"Belle ... you don't seem to understand. We would separate. You would be on your own and so would I. We wouldn't be living together." I was getting frustrated with the one-sided conversation, but I hadn't raised my voice.

He face had changed from disbelief to misery. This was something she had never expected.

"Is it that bad?" she asked, still struggling with my announcement.

"Yes. For me ... it's that bad."

She was silent for a while, and I didn't interrupt. Her eyes couldn't stay on mine for long. There was a lost look about her that I had seldom seen. Perhaps when her mother had suddenly died it was there.

"I don't want you to leave," she said at last. "I'll try and be ... better."

"I don't want to leave either, Belle. I love you. We've got fifty years invested in ourselves. Forty seven years married. Two sons, four grandchildren. That's a big investment. I don't want to leave, but I can't go on the way things are. You have to change. I'll give you another chance, but... you have to change."

I remembered that conversation as vividly as anything in my life. It was two years ago; at least two years ago in my previous life. Now I was faced with another decision. Belle had tried to be more positive, but lately, she had begun to slip back to her old ways. I was fearful that before long, she would be the same unhappy woman she was before our talk. Should I abandon Belle in this new life? There was nothing at stake yet. One dance and one date. I had no obligations yet.

I realized I wouldn't be going to bed and waking up with a warm, female body beside me. If there was one thing that I would miss more than anything, it was the scent and warmth of Belle in our bed. It began to dawn on me just how much I had lost. But, did I want to go back to the way things were? Could I do better? Could I change that future?



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Chapter 2: Playing the Role


The trouble with a sixty-eight-year-old mind in an eighteen-year-old body lies in having too much information. Too many ambitions, too many plans, too many distractions. I had to settle down and get used to living in the summer of 1959. Just the thought of that gave me the "willies." How the hell was I going to exist in a world fifty years in the past?

In my "real life," I had been a customer service rep, a salesman, a sales manager, a product development manager, and the general manager of a manufacturing operation. Despite my lack of a complete college education, I had worked myself up through an organization by performance alone. When I retired at age sixty, I was running a plant with three hundred employees, and producing almost one hundred million dollars in product. We had never seen a losing year in my fifteen year tenure.

It was my forty-fifth birthday when I was given the promotion and a salary that I never imagined I could achieve. I was scared to death that I had stumbled into this job without the slightest clue whether I could handle it. But that was then, and this was now. Would I get the chance to achieve all that once more? Another unanswerable question.

In the two weeks before I started my summer job at the brewery, I had plenty of time to think. I was less than two months away from going back to college for the first time in fifty years. I wasn't ready for it. I had forgotten more of what I had learned than I remembered. I needed to catch up, and catch up fast.

I borrowed Mom's new car and drove out to the university to see what courses I could take, and which ones were mandatory. Mom's car wasn't really new, just new to her. It was a '57 Dodge two-door hardtop with a big, cast-iron V8, sporting a 4 barrel carburetor the size of a dinner plate. Why my father would buy this for her I had no idea. It was nothing short of a hot rod, and my mother drove in such a fashion as to be in danger of being arrested for loitering.

Anyway, I went with a list of questions to the registrar's office. Were there any pre-registration orientation sessions? Could I buy my books in advance? Could I select my electives now? If I knew my courses now, I could do some pre-study to catch up on what I would have long forgotten from my high school courses. I was in luck. There were no mandatory foreign language courses, one math course, one science course, and one English course. I was certain I would have to do some preparation for both science and math, but the English course was literature, and I was confident I hadn't fallen out-of-date on that.

I bought the necessary books and took them home to begin my crash course on catching-up. It turned out to be a smart decision. My former real-world job had forced me to have good work habits. Whether it was planning sales and marketing campaigns, working toward new product launches, or just running and planning the day-to-day operations at the plant, I didn't have trouble dedicating time to study, nor making it effective.

I don't know when Mom and Dad figured out that something was different about me. It could have been a number of things that tipped them off. I was using expressions that they had never heard before.

"You seem to be spending a lot of time in your bedroom studying, Lee," my mother observed.

"Yeah ... well ... just getting myself ready for college. Everyone says it's going to be a big adjustment."

"Maybe if you'd spent that time during high school, it wouldn't be such a hassle now."

Great! Now my mother was second-guessing my improved study habits.

"Look, Mom, don't get your panties in a knot. I'm just trying to be prepared, okay?"

"There's no need to use that kind of language with your mother, Lee," she said, walking off in a huff. I realized I had probably been a little over-the-top with the panties reference. I had to keep reminding myself not to use slang or references that weren't from the era I was now trapped in, or typical of what a teenager might use with an adult.

I suppose I wasn't behaving like a hormonal teenager, planning only his next female conquest. It's not that the urges weren't there, they were just being held in check as much as possible while I concentrated on preparation for college. I dealt with them on my own in the shower. My last few years with Belle had accustomed me to going without sex, so it was the recapturing of my youth that I had to deal with.

Not only was I taking my college future seriously, I wasn't watching TV very much. In all honesty, I figured I'd go blind watching a semi-focused black-and-white twenty-one-inch screen.

I didn't drive the car like a teenager. I had outgrown that when I was a sales rep. Too many hours in the lousy front seat of some broom-peddler's special cured me of it. I started talking about diet and nutrition with my mother. I was carefully trying to use my sales skills to see if I could get her to modify our diet to something a little more reasonable. Portions were too large (for me), too much fat in the meat, too much salt, overcooked vegetables, too much fried food. I'm not sure I had any influence on her, but she was polite enough to listen.

It was pointless to talk to my father about quitting smoking. I know he tried many times, but he was hooked, and nothing I said would help him get over the hump. If he made another attempt, I would look for a way to support him and encourage him. My mother smoked as well, but not anywhere near as much, so I knew if Dad quit, she would too.

The other thing I did was to pore over the newspaper each evening, gleaning everything I could about current events, the world economy, business in general, the stock market, sports, and almost anything that looked like it would be newsworthy. I had some serious catching-up to do, and realistically the newspaper was my best source.

I never realized how much I depended upon the Internet for information. Without it, I was almost lost. The thought of going to the library, or some other ancient source for information was frustrating, to say the least. I had become accustomed to instant gratification when it came to extracting data on almost any topic. I voiced my frustration more than once, and it caught the attention of my parents.

"Lee, I'm wondering if you shouldn't see a doctor about the after effects of your accident. You seem very different to your mother and me. It's not all bad, mind you, but it is different," my father said. The concern was written on his face.

"Sure, Dad. I think that's a good idea. Just to make sure, you know." I was smart enough to know that my response would end the conversation and give them some confidence that I wasn't being uncooperative. I knew I was acting very differently from the son they knew back in the day, but I had a different outlook on life now, and I was hoping they could get used to it.

With the tools and techniques available at the time, I was sure they wouldn't find anything wrong with me, and I could easily concoct a story about the accident being a life-altering incident that caused me to reassess both my outlook and behaviour. After all, my parents recognized my changes were for the better, so why mess with them.

My first day on the job at the brewery was a forecast of what would be a stupefyingly boring summer job. I was assigned to the packaging line. I was to sit on a stool, place two one-dozen cartons side-by-side directly on a platen, and press a foot pedal to raise the platen and the cartons up to a cluster of thin metal fingers. The top of the open cartons would trigger a release and twenty-four 12 ounce bottles would drop into the cartons. I would then release the foot pedal and the cartons full of beer would be lowered and pushed by hand down the conveyor. I would then reach for the next two cartons to repeat the process, and so on.

As I watched the operator work, I wondered how long it would take before I became a complete zombie at this job. I was quickly to learn that having any kind of thoughts about what I was doing was a direct hazard to the successful completion of my task. As I sat on the stool for the first time, I slowly went through the motions. Center the cartons, push the pedal, let the bottles drop, release the pedal, push the cartons, and repeat the process. Repeat the process over and over again.

The minute I started to think about this practice, I was in trouble. I could collect the cartons and press the pedal just fine, but if I let the pedal go too soon, the cartons would drop before the bottles. The chance of twenty-four bottles dropping directly into twenty-four snugly partitioned openings exactly right from two feet was zero. As a result, several bottles would fall off the carton onto the very hard concrete floor. Ker-Blammo!

Now, I had an under-filled pair of cartons, a mess at my feet soaking my pants and shoes in beer, and the line would have stopped. Fantastic! My previous experience told me that the ideal person to run this machine was mentally handicapped. It could be quickly taught, they wouldn't over-think the procedure, and all would be perfect. Unfortunately, anyone with a higher than average I.Q. would struggle. I struggled. All morning long, I struggled.

"Fuck, kid. Is this job too fuckin' hard for you?" my supervisor asked.

"It shouldn't be," I snarled. "I'm sure I can dumb myself down to handle it."

"Well, that better happen fuckin' soon, kid. You broke more beer than we sold today."

I looked down at the floor. He was right. I was soaking in beer from the knees down and my shoes were literally covered in broken glass. When I finally took a break, I leaned back and tried to remember if it was like this when I had this job fifty years earlier. It must have been. How did I cope then?

I figured it out later that morning. Think about anything except what you were doing. Become a human robot. It must have been how I coped back in the day, so I adopted the same plan now. It worked. By lunch time I was fine. I got a good working over in the lunch room, but I expected all the "newbies" got the same treatment.

What startled me was how well paid these guys were. They were making almost four dollars an hour. On top of that, they were getting benefits up the kazoo. Sick days, accumulated time off, medical, dental, free beer. Shit, they had it great ... way better than almost anyone but a longshoreman. So, listening to them talk about a strike that summer for even more seemed unreal.

I never asked what I was getting paid until I signed up. All I was told was I would get the same as any new union member, even though I wasn't in the union. They didn't want any "slave labour" in the plant getting less than they were. I was getting $3.15 an hour for doing a dumb-ass job. My best buddy, Mike, was only getting $2.50 an hour working for the Hydro company. I didn't have the guts to tell him how much I was earning.

I refrained from the "shorts" during the morning breaks, and not because I didn't like beer. In my many years in the manufacturing industry, I had seen the consequences of alcohol on the job. Too many calls to the paramedics for guys and gals who put their hands and hair and other body parts in the way of machinery. A half at lunch and a half at afternoon break was plenty.

It wasn't all alcohol related, but why would I have my hands two inches from machinery and think an accident couldn't happen. If I was going to drink beer, it would be after my shift. Since I wasn't of drinking age to begin with, I held my consumption down and kept a container of Sen-Sen in my pocket to keep my mother from smelling my breath. I don't know why I bothered, since inevitably my clothes smelled of beer anyway.

I spent my off hours preparing myself for college, and studying the stock market for opportunities. I had worked out a comprehensive budget on a hand-written spread sheet. It took me back over twenty years, but I remembered doing this for my sales forecasts. Computers in those days were big, cumbersome, room-filling machines that were good for accounting and sales statistics, but only if the input information was accurate. The average Joe didn't have access to them for their personal use. They would be years in the future for me.

As expected, my examination by the doctor was pretty conventional and resulted in a verdict that I was "fine." I knew that, but I think my parents had their doubts. I decided to try and allay their fears at the supper table one evening.

"Mom, Dad, I know you've been a bit concerned about the changes in my behaviour. I also know that the doctor said there was nothing wrong with me that he could detect. I just wanted you to know that I'm fine, but I admit I've had a change in attitude since the accident.

"I know I might have been killed that day, and I'm still amazed that I got off so lightly considering the damage that I saw on your car. Somebody up there was looking after me, I guess. But ... it got me to thinking. You only get one go-around in this life and maybe the accident was a wake-up call. I guess I'm looking at things a little more seriously now than before. Can you understand that?"

My father nodded, his face one of understanding and approval. My mother just shook her head. She might not have understood, but she weighed the pluses and minuses and decided it wasn't all bad.

"Just make sure you have some time to have fun, Lee," my mother said. "You seem to be so ... serious these days. You need a girlfriend," she finished with an air of finality about her opinion. "Whatever happened to that nice girl you met at the May Day dance?"

I wasn't expecting that question. I had been avoiding Belle. Perhaps because my most recent frame of reference was the unhappy state she seemed to be in before my accident. But I was torn. I couldn't help but think of my sons and their families. Was I going to write them off just like that?

I frowned and shook my head. "I've been meaning to call her," I lied. "Right now, I've got other priorities."

"That's another thing," my mother continued. "You talk differently. I don't know how to say it, but you sound ... older. You don't use the language you used to use before the accident."

I shrugged. "Like I said ... I have a different outlook now. Maybe that's just a symptom of it."

"See, Father," she turned to Dad. "That's what I mean. He sounds like a professor ... or something."

My dad laughed out loud. "No ... no ... maybe a bit more adult, but definitely not a professor."

My mother looked chagrined at my father's put-down, but remained silent.

I thought about my language and word choices. Fifty years of change had altered much of my vocabulary. I was never a fan of clichés or the usual temporary hackneyed phrases that came and went. In fact, I studiously avoided them. I don't remember when that started, but it was at least thirty years earlier when I began writing my own letters and proposals for my job. I had to learn punctuation and grammar rules once again, but with the help of a couple of books, I could look back on my written work years later and be satisfied that it held up.

I did, however, have some fun with little word phrases that I could use to punctuate a point I wanted to make. If I thought someone did something stupid, I would offer the opinion that the person wasn't "the brightest candle on the birthday cake." That usually got a laugh and a look of "where did that come from." Now and then I would throw in a "no way, José!" or "no shit, Sherlock!" if I was with my friends. I would carefully manage the number of those comments as to not raise a lot of questions.

Aside from that, however, I was being more careful with my conversations. I couldn't resist predicting the outcome of events, though. I couldn't remember many specific sporting events, so I picked the ones that I could easily recall. The world series winner in 1959 would be the Dodgers. The Colts would beat the Giants again in the NFL title game. Errol Flynn would die in Vancouver in a swanky apartment in the company of a very young bimbo. I knew JFK was going to beat Nixon next year, but not by enough to brag. Khrushchev's shoe banging incident at the UN would be the same year.

In the meantime, I'd be carefully watching the stock market and the emergence of new companies. I hadn't spent a dime so far. I wanted to confirm my recollections of certain IPO's that were coming forth at the time. I couldn't remember when Texas Instruments came on the market, but I had a feeling it wasn't too far in the future. I'd have the wait quite a bit longer for Microsoft, but Polaroid's spike wouldn't be too far away as I recalled. A vigilant watch of the listings was my current strategy, along with monitoring the business news.

My father was a remarkable man. I didn't appreciate it at the time, but he had an incredible general knowledge that he could call upon at any time. There were very few subjects that he couldn't comment upon. If he felt it was something he was missing, he would research the topic to make himself more familiar. He was the senior editorial writer on our biggest daily newspaper, The Sun. As such, he had a great deal of say over what he would write and which opinions he would hold. If his view was at odds with the editorial board of the paper, he would decline the assignment. His status and seniority gave him that privilege. As an eighteen-year-old boy, however, I knew nothing of this.

Over the summer of 1959, I could almost feel my father's gaze as he watched me. I know that he was curious about my change in behaviour, but he never once broached the subject. He would just sit and observe as I went about my daily routine. I wished I could have told him what was going on, but I knew that was impossible. First, he would never believe me, and second, even if he did, I would have a very difficult time holding back information from him that I knew about his and our futures. I would just have to keep my strange life to myself and see what became of it.

I had read enough science fiction over the years to recall something that was commonly referred to as the "space-time continuum." The idea was that if you went back in time, anything you did would alter the future, no matter how insignificant it might be. Well, I was living that role and it was too late now to fix it. I had changed a number of things from my past, so whatever the outcome, I would have to live with it. It was with that thought that I began to wonder about my future. Not just tomorrow, but a few years down the road. I was really going to mess up that continuum if I stuck to my plan.

My wounds healed slowly but steadily. I remembered that I played football on the freshman squad back when I attended college, but that was definitely out this time around. My ribs were still sore and just turning in bed was an effort for most of the summer. The cut on my forehead healed fairly nicely with the scar being almost hidden by my hairline. I was allowing my hair to grow, planning to get rid of the brush cut I normally wore at that time.

By the end of summer I had worked a total of 325 hours, at a pay of $3.15 per hour, big money in those days. Over $950 after deductions. I was happy to see almost $850 of it in my savings account. I had spent almost nothing over the summer other than some clothes for college. I had some spending money and some investment money, even after I paid my tuition and books. I thanked Mr. French personally for the job, and he offered it to me next summer based on my good performance. I told him I would be available for short-term duty at Christmas if he needed me, and he said he would take note of that.

I had been spending most of my free time studying for my first semester at college. I had forgotten more math and science than I had remembered, so I had a long way to go to catch up. I had always been good with figures. I could do basic math in my head quite readily, so my concerns were calculus, statistics and probability, and some geometry. I worked hard to try and catch up, but the proof of my efforts would come at the end of the first semester and the written exams.

Science wasn't so difficult, at least not chemistry and physics. I wasn't interested in biology, so I chose courses which relied upon the first two options. Along with that, I chose English, and the Economic History of Europe. We had travelled to Europe several times since I had retired, and I had a pretty good grasp of its history. This course would be more interesting than a conventional history course.

I was under no illusion that returning to school was going to be easy. I might possess improved study habits, but the information I needed was fifty years in my past and that was going to be a challenge. As it turned out, my preparation was a critical step in my ability to adjust to classroom life. I had already re-familiarized myself with the campus layout and the location of the classrooms and lecture halls. Now it was a case of getting down to it and making it happen.

Since I was commuting each day, almost two hours were taken up in the car. I had a two-day driving assignment, since we only had four in our carpool. I was Tuesday and Thursday's driver, while Ted looked after Monday, a girl named Wendy was Wednesday, and another girl, Ann, looked after Friday. The reason for only four in the pool was simple. Both Anne and Wendy drove small imports with only room for four, and even then it was a squeeze. Mom was good enough to let me use the big Dodge twice.

I was struck by just how little traffic there was during "rush hour." I don't mean the roads were empty, but compared to the congestion of fifty years later, driving to and from the campus was far easier and less stressful than it had been in my last experience. I wondered what they would think of what was to come in the next half-century.

I hadn't really given myself much time to dwell on my bizarre state of affairs. I had accepted that I was living fifty years in the past and there didn't seem to be a thing I could do about it. I wasn't happy, but I had to try and make the best I could out of it. Lemonade out of lemons, and all that. But from time to time, I was melancholy, thinking of Belle and my boys and their families. Was I destined to have to start all over again making a life for myself? It looked like it.

And what about Belle? I had been stalling and evading calling her while I thought about what my alternate future might be. Did I want to try and repeat my past, or move on to something ... or someone ... new? It wasn't something that was far from my mind.

My sex drive hadn't been suppressed by my strange new life, but the sight of all the nubile young co-eds striding around the campus brought it roaring to the forefront. Yes, raging hormones were active in my now eighteen year old body, and only Rosy Palm and her five sisters were looking after that for the time being.

Even in their period dresses, hairdos and other paraphernalia, the girls still looked attractive. I guess I was adapting to the times, but it begged the question ... what to do about it? Neither of the two girls in our carpool was of any interest to me, and I got the same message from them. That was probably just as well.

I hadn't called Belle yet. The truth was, I was uncomfortable and uncertain about us. I had no idea what to say to her. In some ways, I missed her, but the woman I missed was the one from long ago, not who she had become. She was in her senior year of high school, so we weren't likely to bump into each other. My memories of her very sexy young body were strong motivation to make contact with her, but I wasn't sure I wanted to.

What I really needed was someone to talk to about this whole crazy situation. But who? Once again I thought about my father, but I couldn't think of any way to broach the subject that wouldn't alarm him and cause more problems than it solved. It took a while to figure out a solution, but it came in a strange and fortunate turn of events.



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Chapter 3: A Place to Talk


I've never been much of a joiner, but my carpool mate, Ted, was the opposite. He hungered to be in a fraternity, while I wanted no part of one. Neither of us was what could be called the "in crowd," so we weren't likely to be rushed by any of the elite houses. However, Ted was a science fiction fan, and he found there was a weekly discussion group that anyone could join. He wanted to find out what it was about and in doing so, dragged me along with him. It was my turn to drive, so I could hardly leave him. I let the two girls know we would be leaving a little late, so they headed for the library to study until we came to get them.

I think if Ted had suggested this when I was really 18, I'd have told him he was nuts and I'd wait for him at the library with the girls. However, I was actually living what might be described as some kind of science fiction existence, so I had more interest than I might otherwise have had. We walked into the room of the old WW II Quonset hut and found twenty or so students, both male and female, sitting at desks while some guy acted as moderator. It was their first meeting, and he was outlining the "rules and procedures" of the group, trying to give it some manageable structure I suppose.

I looked around and saw a smattering of what I thought to be the usual geeks and keeners I expected to see, but at the same time, I saw some other faces that didn't fit the profile. More ordinary, I suppose. More like Ted and me. An interesting mix. An idea was beginning to form in my mind, but I would have to wait to see if the format of the meeting would allow me to express it.

The first hour was taken up almost exclusively with questions about what was or wasn't an appropriate topic. Flying saucers were in ... but little green men were out. More importantly, I got the impression the moderator wanted to steer the discussion in a philosophical direction. How does man deal with the unknown? What are the ramifications of time travel? That one got my attention. Are we alone in the universe? Is there a parallel universe? The more he led the discussion, the more interested I became.

The group was scheduled to meet once a week on Tuesdays at the Quonset hut near the physics building. I would have to let my carpool group know that they could plan on being an hour later leaving the campus each Tuesday. It didn't seem to be a problem, at least not at first.

If I had learned a useful skill during my years in sales and management, it was to become a good listener. In my youth, I was far too anxious to jump into a conversation without really knowing what it was all about. It was an often useful exercise to shut up and find about what other people are saying before diving in. For the first two meetings of the SciFi Club, as I called it, I just listened. I wanted to get the drift of both the moderator's aims and the input from the other students. It was a good decision.

Far from the ramblings of geeks and weirdos that I had originally expected, the discussions were thoughtful and very complex. Most of the members were very well read, citing Asimov of course, along with Bradbury and Heinlein. I knew their names, but had little knowledge of their work. If I could find the time, I would search out a couple of their books on the topic of time travel and see what they had to say. At the end of the session, I approached the moderator, one David Meehan.

"Mr. Meehan, I was wondering if you could recommend a couple of books that focus on time travel; specifically travelling backward in time. I'd like to try and get a scientific view rather than a romantic view, if I could."

He looked at me carefully before answering. "I think I might have something for you," he said solemnly. He turned back to his desk, pulled a file folder from a collection scattered across the top, extracted a piece of paper and said, "This should give you a good overview. If you would be so kind as to copy this and return it to me for our next meeting, I would appreciate it."

"Sure thing ... I'll just Xerox it and have it back in no time."

He looked at me as if I had two heads. "You'll just what?"

Instantly I realized my mistake. Ain't no Xerox machines in 1959. "Uhhm ... I mean, I'll write out the suggestions and return it to you right away. Where can I find you?"

"Right here in this classroom. I'm a teaching assistant, so I'm here everyday."

He was still looking at me strangely, but hadn't moved to retrieve the paper. I thanked him again and quickly headed for the door. Shit! I didn't need to make

those kinds of mistakes in front of smart people.

The discussion group got much more interesting the following week when Meehan requested we bring in topics for discussion and he would choose a few to discuss over the course of the semester. It was the opportunity I had hoped for, so I spent some time wording my suggestion to have maximum impact on the group.

The title of my topic was: The psychological impact on an individual transported fifty years into the past. I drafted an outline of the circumstances that mirrored mine, but didn't define any dates. It was a matter of waiting to see if it was chosen as a suitable topic. I didn't have long to wait.

David Meehan opened the meeting. "I've received a great number of submissions, many of them very intriguing and thoughtful. I won't be able to deal with them all, but I'll try to choose the most compelling and clearly stated ones to begin with. Please don't be offended if I don't choose your topic.

"Mr. North has submitted what I think is a very well conceived topic," he said, surprising me. He read the title and the synopsis before the group, then asked for comments. Immediately almost half the hands in the room shot up.

I listened to the comments from the members, ranging from one end of the spectrum to the other. It was either a great piece of luck that the individual could take advantage of, or the worst thing that could possible happen to someone. The debate raged back and forth, with no shortage of strongly-held opinions.

I was listening intently, wondering what, if anything, I could learn from this exercise. Naturally, there were some questions directed at me. Would this be a permanent time-shift? I suggested that for the purposes of the exercise, it should be considered an everlasting condition. Was it a male or a female? A male, I answered quickly. How old was the person? I shrugged, suggesting perhaps to use our age as the destination, so add fifty years to that.

The discussion was still in full flight when the time ran out, and I was surrounded almost immediately by a number of the club members, quizzing me on the details. I answered generically, then begged off with my responsibilities as a driver for my group. I hadn't expected the reaction I got to the topic, and yet, they hadn't really dug into the core of the question: the psychological effect. I decided to visit Mr. Meehan the next afternoon.

He looked up and smiled as I knocked on his partially open door. "Come in, Mr. North. Good to see you."

"It's Lee, if you're okay with that," I suggested.

"Sure ... and it's Dave to you. So what did you make of that free-for-all yesterday?" He grinned once more.

"No shortage of audience participation, that's for sure. But it never got around to the core of the question. The psychological effect on the individual."

"I'm not surprised, but first I wanted to thank you for giving me a great topic to begin with. Everyone was involved and that's not always easy in these types of groups. Your question and synopsis were easily the clearest and most interesting of the bunch."

"Thank you."

"I have to say, you don't seem like the average student that comes to one of these groups. You seem to be looking a little deeper into the issues than just the surface," he mused.

"Well, to tell the truth, I'm not what you'd call a science fiction fan. But I am interested in psychology, so I thought the question fit the parameters of both your needs and mine."

"Hmmmm. That's pretty deep ... for someone who, I assume, is still a teenager."

"Yeah ... still stuck with the label for another year. You're pretty young to be a teacher too."

"Oh, not these days. I had dreams of being a physicist, but the jobs are few and far between, and I didn't really have a solid idea of what discipline I wanted to explore. So, here I am, teaching freshman and sophomore physics."

"You have any thoughts on my topic, Dave?" I was anxious to see if he could come up with anything insightful on my situation.

"I can't think of anything more difficult than being displaced from your own time period ... either forward or backward. The stress of just trying to cope with a situation that no one would understand or believe would be monumental. My sense is that once it was established that this was a permanent condition, the best plan would be to accept the situation as it was and try to adapt to it. It's the one thing humans are particularly good at ... adaptation."

"Yeah. I don't have any better ideas myself. I was hoping that the group might provide some unique suggestions, but if they were there, I missed them."

"No ... you didn't miss them. They got off on tangents that didn't address the key questions, as you correctly identified." He paused for a moment, then looked at me carefully. "I hope you'll continue to come to our sessions, Lee. You have different and thoughtful views, and I think the group would benefit from them."

"Well, I intend to continue at least until the end of the semester. At that point, my grades will determine just how much free time I have."

He nodded. "Somehow, I don't think your grades are going to be a problem." He stuck out his hand and I shook it. I now had a friend in the faculty, and someone to talk to about my problem, at least on a theoretical basis.



-------

Chapter 4: Belle and John


I had to do it, sooner or later. I had to contact Belle, if for no other reason than my peace-of-mind. I had been lying in my bed at night, desperately trying to remember our early dating days. I didn't have much money then, so a movie was just about all I could afford. We used to go up the mountain to the ski lift parking lot. It was a popular spot for necking, and we were regulars after a while. The problem was, I couldn't remember how long it was before we became regulars.

I had no trouble remembering her great body. She wasn't very tall, just a little over five foot two, while I was a head taller. But what she packed into that lovely frame made a lot of guys envious of me. That part I clearly remembered. I was never really sure why she chose me when I knew a dozen other guys who would happily date her. Was she telling them no? I never did find out from her. It was one of the very few secrets she kept from me.

It took me until Thursday to screw up the courage to make the phone call. I had no plan on what to say. I would try to explain about the accident and my need to prepare for college, but after that, I'd just have to wing it.

Her father answered the phone and I immediately remember his gruff, no-nonsense voice. Mel and I got along very well and, although I was intimidated by him at first, I quickly learned that he was more bluff and bluster than tough. I found out what his interests were (golf and fishing) and made sure I included them in my conversation. Happily, my father was an avid golfer and member of a private club, so I had some knowledge, even though I didn't play the game myself.

"Hello, Mr. Caulfield. My name is Lee North. I wonder if I might speak to Belle, please."

"Just a moment," he said, seeming satisfied with my politeness.

"Hullo?" I could recognize her voice anywhere. My heart caught in my throat and I could feel tears forming in my eyes.

"Uh, hello Belle, it's Lee North calling. I wonder if you remember me?"

"Oh ... hi Lee. Of course I remember you. How are you?"

"I'm fine, now. I'm all healed up."

"Healed up? What from?" She was obviously unaware of my accident.

"Oh ... I was hit by a truck. The driver had a heart attack, and ran through a stop sign, wiping out my mother's car."

"That was YOU?" she exclaimed in shock.

"Yeah. I spent some time in the hospital, then some more at home. But I'm pretty much all okay now."

"I saw the picture in the paper. I didn't realize it was you. I'm so sorry. I would have visited you. I thought you might have forgotten all about me. We only had that one date after the May Day dance."

"No ... I didn't forget about you. I should apologize though. I've been very preoccupied with my first year of college and I haven't given myself much time for dating or other social things. It wasn't very nice of me to take you out, then not let you know what happened. I'm sorry I didn't call sooner."

"That's all right. I'm just glad you're better. When I saw your car, I thought the driver might be dead. I didn't want to read the story, so that's why I didn't know it was you."

"Uhhm ... I know it's short notice, but would you like to go out with me on Saturday? We could go to a movie, or something else if you prefer." God, was this ever high school stuff. I thought I was past this.

"Sure. I'd like that. A movie sounds fine. Any one in particular?"

"Well, I know you like British comedies, so we could try the latest at the Studio."

"How did you know I like British comedies?"

Oops! "I guess you must have mentioned it to me. Anyway, I hope I'm right," I added lamely.

"Yes, I do like them. What time will you pick me up?"

I had looked up the schedule in the paper and the early showing started just at eight. "How about seven? That will give us lots of time."

"Sure. I'll see you then. Thanks for calling," she said, sounding like she meant it.

I hung up the phone in the kitchen. This was weird. I was asking for a date with my wife of forty-seven years, except she wasn't my wife and didn't even know me very well. I had no idea how this was going to turn out. I had a million things I wanted to ask her but didn't dare. I could feel the pressure building.

By Saturday afternoon I was a basket case. I had made a dozen plans and pitchforked them all. I had thought about all the things that might alter the way our early and later relationship would take. I had the outline of a plan, but no solid script that filled in the gaps.

Annabelle Margaret Caulfield was something of a contradiction, at least to me. She was a sexy little thing, with a walk that teased any guy watching. A lovely, prominent set of breasts in front, and a saucy little butt in back. Tight skirts were common in the day, and she wore them and snug-fitting blouses to the distraction of many.

On the other hand, she was very conservative. She had pledged her virginity to her wedding night, and no amount of wheedling or cajoling would shake her from that commitment. She was fun loving with a nice sense of humour and not above being a bit disobedient at times, but still not willing to go too far. Her parents kept a tight rein on her, recognizing the two dangerous traits she possessed -- her physical appearance and her occasional rebelliousness.

The difference was, of course, that I had a fifty year exposure to her ways, and I knew what to expect ... and what not to expect. Despite her voluptuous body and mannerisms, she was not a highly sexual woman. Our sex life was ordinary, if I had to describe it. She was not particularly interested in trying new things or in experimenting. As hard as I tried, I could not get her to reciprocate with oral sex, despite the fact that she seemed to enjoy it when I performed it on her.

She reluctantly permitted sex from behind on occasion, but not very often. She said it wasn't comfortable, but any suggestions I made that might have alleviated her discomfort were ignored. It wasn't all plain vanilla. She did like to ride me, and she did enjoy me taking her from behind when we were on our sides, perhaps because I couldn't penetrate as far as with conventional "doggie style."

Thus, I was determined to see whether a second attempt with Belle was in the cards. I knew what to expect, so I wouldn't waste a lot of time on trying to seduce her when she had no intention of allowing it. Instead, I thought about trying to "educate" her in some of the options that happily married couples might enjoy. I would have to be patient and subtle, but if successful, it would be worth it.

I walked up the once familiar steps to her parents' front door and rang the bell. Within seconds, Belle answered, swinging the door wide and inviting me in. I nearly had a heart attack. I had almost forgotten how beautiful she was at that age, and I could feel the blood begin to stir in my loins. I was light-headed until I forced myself to calm down.

"Hi ... you look great," I said, amazed that I could get that much out without stumbling or stammering.

"Thanks. You look good yourself. I like the shirt."

I had picked out a pale blue button-down cotton dress shirt and my best khaki pants. My loafers were shined, so I was fairly sure I would look okay. Belle was wearing a tight skirt and a nice blouse with some stitched design on it. It was all I could do to not stare at the prominent projection her breasts made, almost straining the buttons on the blouse. Only the top button was undone.

I said my hellos to her parents. It was good to see Mel and Emily again. They were fine people and had become very good friends with my parents. That was something I was very grateful for over the years. Mel gave me the once over and decided I wasn't too dangerous looking. I had to admit my hair was a bit unruly. I was growing out my brush cut and not all of it was cooperating with the plan.

After a brief introduction we left, and I walked Belle up the path to the big Dodge and opened the door for her. She smiled at me, perhaps unused to this courtesy. I couldn't remember if this was normal for me at that age. Probably not. I quickly walked around the car and slipped into the driver's seat and we were off.

I don't remember much of the movie. I was too absorbed by Belle and my thoughts about our future. It didn't really matter. We had collected a bunch of these old black and white films of the late fifties and early sixties on DVD, and played them regularly. I knew the plot and outcome of this particular movie, School for Scoundrels, and I also knew it remained one of our favourites.

During the movie, she was leaning toward me, and I took the chance and put my arm around her. She smiled up at me and I relaxed. I couldn't have been this uptight when I was first dating her, could I? God, she smelled good. What I wouldn't have given to take her home, undress her, and make love to her. On the other hand, we were just getting to know each other.

It was too soon to take Belle up to the "lookout" for a necking session, so I asked if she'd like to go to the White Spot drive-in and have a snack. She was happy with the suggestion. These were pre-seatbelt days and I realized she was moving a little closer to the middle of the bench seat on the Dodge. That was interesting ... particularly on a second date. Perhaps I had been bolder on that forgotten first date after all.

On an impulse, I reached out with my right hand to her and she took it. It was warm and dry and seemed amazingly small and soft. We drove along that way until I turned into the drive-in and found a place to park. It was car-hop service only, so we didn't have to move. I almost forgot to turn my lights on to request service when I saw the sign just about the billboard menu. Within a minute, we had a uniformed guy leering at Belle and asking her what she would like. I was an afterthought.

We had both ordered a burger, but declined the fries. I chose a milkshake while Belle decided on a cola. When the food arrived, she slipped even closer to me, and I was beginning to wonder just what did happen on that first date. We ate slowly, trying to make the time stretch, but soon enough, we were done and ready to leave. Just the same, Belle hadn't moved, and was now sitting directly in the middle of the bench seat, only inches from me.

I looked at my watch and saw that it was ten-thirty. I couldn't remember what her curfew was, but I thought it was eleven.

"What time do you have to be home?" I asked.

"Eleven, same as always," she said, looking at me as if I should have known.

"I'm sure you told me, but I still have some parts of my memory that aren't all there yet," I lied.

"That's okay. I'm just glad you're okay now. I mean, you look okay and pretty much sound okay. Just a little different," she said enigmatically.

"We've got a few minutes. Why don't we park along the beach and we can talk before I have to take you home."

"Sure. What do you want to talk about?"

"Uhhm ... well ... I thought I should tell you a little bit more about me and what's going on in my life. You know, the reason why I'm maybe not the same as I was when I first met you."

"Okay. But ... you don't have to explain. I can't imagine how it must have felt to be in that crash, and then the hospital. I'm just glad you're still alive," she said in a moment of revelation.

"You are?"

"Of course," she replied quickly as if her response was normal.

"Nice to hear it," I smiled. "I'm glad too." It was an attempt at humour, but I'm not sure it succeeded.

"Did you enjoy this evening," I asked.

"Yeah. I did. I do like those English comedies. I think Terry-Thomas is hilarious."

"Yeah ... me too," I said, wondering if I could elicit more from her about our date.

"We could do other things, you know. It doesn't have to be the movies," I suggested.

"Like what?"

"Oh ... I don't know. Go sailing, maybe dinner and dancing. Depends on what you like to do."

"Do you play golf?" she asked.

"No ... but I'm planning on taking some lessons very soon. My dad and mom play. So does my brother. I wish I'd taken up the offer of lessons when I qualified as a junior at Dad's club. Do you play?"

"Yes, but I'm just a beginner too. I've had a few lessons and my coach is hopeful. He says I've got a good swing."

"I'll say," I snorted.

She looked at me, then laughed into her hand.

"Well, maybe we could get together for lessons, then. It would be fun to have another neophyte to learn with."

"What's a neophyte?" she asked, a bit perturbed.

"A beginner. That will be me. You have a couple of lessons on me, so you'll soon be in the novice category."

She smiled then, realizing I wasn't making fun of her. "My next lesson is tomorrow afternoon at four o'clock. Why don't you join me?"

"Uhhm ... I don't have any clubs or shoes yet."

"That's okay. They have clubs you can use until you decide what kind you want. Just wear some sneakers and you'll be all right."

She talked me into it. In my real life, as I liked to think of it, I didn't pick up a golf club until I was thirty years old and then I was too stubborn to get lessons. As a result, I was always happy to break one hundred on a regulation course. This was my chance to fix that.

I drove her home and opened the car door for her. She smiled as she got out and we walked quietly up the walk. The porch light was on, but I couldn't see any lights on in the house. Perhaps her parents had already gone to bed. There were no lights on in her sister Helen's room either.

"So, I'll see you tomorrow at the golf course at four o'clock then," I said, wondering just what to do next.

"Yes."

She was looking up at me expectantly, but I wasn't sure for what. It was time to take a chance. I bent down and kissed her gently on the lips. It felt wonderful, and I hated to break it. I was about to pull away when she wrapped her arms around my neck and gave me a much more emphatic kiss.

When we broke, she smiled, "Thanks, I really enjoyed tonight. See you tomorrow."

With that she turned, put the key into the lock and went inside. I was still frozen in place on the porch, wondering what hit me. I saw the light go on in her bedroom, but the curtains were drawn and I reluctantly turned and walked back to the car. I'm not sure how long I sat behind the wheel before I started the car and pointed it toward home. My emotions were all tangled up in knots. My stomach was rigid and my heart was beating at some incredible rate. It took me over an hour to fall asleep that Saturday night.

I arrived at the pro-shop just after three-thirty. I identified myself to the manager and asked about the availability of lessons. No problem, he said. Thirty-five dollars for five lessons, then twenty-five for the next five. They were group lessons, not individual, so that explained why, in my view, they were so ridiculously cheap. I handed over the cash, picked up the most likely set of clubs I could find in the rental bin, and walked out to the practice area.

Belle was already hitting some balls with a mid-iron. Her instructor was right, she had a great swing ... in more ways than one. She was never going to be a long ball hitter, but I could see she would be able to keep it on the fairway, and with lots of practice, probably be quite good.

I decided to wait for the instructor, not wanting to demonstrate the ugly swing I had learned over the years. He showed up promptly at four and introduced himself to me and another older fellow who were first timers. He went over the basics of swing mechanics for all of us one time, then asked that we begin by hitting five irons.

I attempted to choose a place behind Belle, but was beaten to it by some guy who obviously wanted to watch her swing just as much as I did. I was a little chagrined, but tried to pay attention to the instructor as he repeated the mechanics as he watched each of us. The forged-blade irons were very unforgiving compared to my modern cast and cavity-back, graphite-shafted set. They demanded to be hit on a rather small sweet-spot, and it required all my concentration to make that happen more times than not.

The instructor watched me for a while before coming over to make a couple of suggestions with my stance and my head position. I did my best to follow his guidance, and lo and behold, I began to hit the ball better. Not always straight, and not always far, but better. If I could learn to hit these irons, surely the new cavity-back irons to come would be easier. By the end of the session, I thought I had learned a couple of valuable things that I would try to remember and practice.

I haven't said much about my brother in this monologue. John was just sixteen, two-and-a-half years younger, but three years behind me in school due to a quirk of our birthdays. He and I were polar opposites. In my real life, I was an "A type" personality at that age, while he was a "B." I was a bit of a loner, not a joiner, and with just a few friends. John was an athlete, not a student. He scraped by high school with no interest in going to college. But friends? He had them in droves. Not just guys, but girls as well.

Looking back, I was pretty sure he lost his virginity at a fairly early age, maybe as early as sixteen. Unlike me, he wasn't looking for a relationship, just a good time for a short time. I didn't recognize it at the time, but it was a pattern that he would hold almost until his fiftieth birthday, when he found a woman that he want to keep, and she felt the same way. He lives with her on a ranch in southern Alberta, raising horses, and as far as I can tell, as happy as a man can be.

In my new life, we didn't see each other much, despite the fact that we slept in adjoining rooms. He was always out with his pals while I was studying, or on campus, or out with Belle. In the past, we had a strained relationship that never really matured until I was in my late thirties and he was settled as a confirmed bachelor in Montreal. It always amazed me that he maintained most of his friends from school in Vancouver, while making several new ones in his new Quebec home.

I resolved to improve our relationship while we were both still living under one roof. My mother had told me later on that John had looked up to me and admired me, while I had little time for him and his troupe. I was the older brother, and expected to be the leader. I think he understood that better than I did. We had some common interests, and my decision to take up golf to replace my football playing days at least gave us something to share.

John was a very fine junior golfer, playing to a high single-digit handicap at a difficult mountainside course. There was no school golf team, so his competition was other city and district juniors, and he always did well. He thrived on the challenge and yet, win or lose, he had fun and didn't beat himself up when things went wrong. I wish I could say the same about myself, but it wouldn't be true.

In any event, I made it my goal to refrain from criticizing him or looking down on him as I once did. He was my only brother, and as I came to recognize later, someone to respect and love for his strengths, and to forgive him for his weaknesses. It turned out to be a difficult decision to keep, but I was glad I had made it almost twenty years earlier than originally.



-------

Chapter 5: Accepting My Fate


As I read over this journal, I'm struck by the impression that you must have about how I have so easily adapted to my situation. Nothing could be further from the truth. I was desperately lonely despite the family I had regained, as well as my friends and acquaintances at college. There was no way I could just wipe out fifty years of my history and not feel hollow and incomplete. But as time passed, I began to accept the likelihood that this altered universe would now be my "real" life, and the other was gone, perhaps forever. It took me a long time to come to terms with that possibility, but gradually I began to acknowledge it.

I passed my first semester exams without difficulty. My preparation and disciplined study habits had paid off and my marks were surprisingly good, even in math and physics. Math was just hard work and application. In physics, however, I had a helpful friend, Dave Meehan. As the fall progressed and we met weekly at the SciFi club, he and I spent more time together as he volunteered to give me whatever assistance where I was having difficulty.

Whatever Dave might have wanted to be before he took this job, I couldn't think of anything he was more suited to than teaching. Perhaps it was his age, or more likely the patience he showed with anyone in the class who really wanted to learn the material but was struggling.

The SciFi club would continue over the full year, so Dave and I could get together weekly. We spent a lot of time discussing philosophy mixed with physics. I hadn't really associated the two subjects; one a "hard science," the other the opposite, but Dave had obviously given it a lot of thought, and I suspect I was a sounding board for some of his theories. I often wondered why he would expect a nineteen year old student to grasp these concepts, but he did and I was pleased.

With the Christmas break imminent, Tommie French called to ask me if I was interested in some work over the holidays. Naturally, my answer was yes. I had some objectives for Christmas presents that needed funding, and Mr. French's offer was exactly what I was hoping for.

On top of that, I was planning to buy a car for myself. I was constantly borrowing Mom's or Dad's car, and I know there were times when that wasn't convenient. I hadn't found any investment opportunities that jumped out at me, so I decided to spend my surplus cash on a used car. I had very little to spend, but then cars didn't cost anywhere near as much as they do now. I was confident I could find a very serviceable five-year-old sedan for under a thousand dollars.

As it turned out, one of my dad's golfing partners was a part-owner of a GM dealership in the village, and he found the ideal car for me. It had been the only transportation for an aging gentleman who could no longer drive. Out of pity, Roger, who had originally sold the man this car, agreed to buy it back. It was a little rough on the outside, but it had only eight thousand miles on it, despite the fact it was seven years old.

I was about to become the proud owner of a 1952 Pontiac Catalina two door hardtop with a 239 cubic inch, 90 hp, flathead six, and a hydra-matic transmission. I wondered why the old man had chosen this model, but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I laid down $750 cash, licensed it, insured it, and drove it home. Between the car and my Christmas shopping, I was down to less than a hundred in my bank account, but my brewery job would replenish my cash.

Most of the car's outside damage was minimal and cosmetic. Some of it I could erase with a cut-polish job and a little judicious metal-beating from the inside. I had no illusions about the performance of this machine. It was heavy and slow, possibly getting up to about 80 downhill with a tailwind, but based on the tires, suspension, brakes, and steering of the day, I wouldn't dream of attempting that.

It had a lovely wide front bench seat of vinyl, trimmed in leather. It was a cream and blue two-tone with white wall tires and full hubcaps. By the time I had invested several hours in cleaning it up, removing most of the scratches, and knocking out most of the "door-dings," I was satisfied it was a nice ride despite its age.

As Christmas approached, I was growing more confident with my progress at college and in adapting to my new life. I wasn't, however, making any progress with Belle. I was being very careful with her, of course, not pushing her too far or asking for too much in the way of intimacy. I restricted myself to petting and kissing, a frustration for a hormonal nineteen-year-old. I had a decision to make soon. Get more aggressive with Belle, or find someone else.

I worked at the brewery all through the Christmas and New Years break, amassing the tidy sum of almost $230 after taxes, thanks to overtime and double-time on holidays. The brewery had sold more than anticipated over the period, and needed to restock their inventory before stepped-up demand came from the stores. I was back with a flush bank account once again.

I bought my mother, father, and brother fairly nice gifts that they appreciated. I didn't get too extravagant, but I knew them so much better than I had at that age, so I was more thoughtful in my selection. I bought my father a "coffee table book" on exotic automobiles. He was a car nut, among other things. When my brother and I left home and were safely out on our own, he bought one of the last production Mercedes Benz 190SL roadsters. He loved that car like he loved my mother.

For my mother, I bought a very nice Italian Merino wool sweater, after consulting with my father on colour choice. She loved it, but was upset that I had spent so much on something so lovely. I told her I bought it on sale (a lie) and couldn't take it back, and that put an end to her objections.

For my brother, I had to think long and hard. I finally decided on a nice ski jacket. He and I had been skiers since we were just into our teens, and this was the first year that I wouldn't be up on the mountain with him. He thought it was great and thanked me very much.

All together, I had spent a little more than I planned on, but when I think of all the sacrifices that my parents made for me over the years, it made the decisions easy. I told my mother the sweater was to thank her for allowing me to use her car for those early months when I was carpooling twice a week. She accepted that and gave me a big hug in appreciation.

That left just Belle to complete my gift list. We always celebrated Christmas on Christmas morning, so I told her I would be over in the early afternoon before heading home for a family dinner. I wrestled with my decision about what to get her. We had been going together for just three months, and while we were exclusive to each other, it wasn't at the serious stage. The gift couldn't be too personal, but not too frivolous either.

I finally decided on a pair of Italian leather gloves I saw in the same shop where I bought my mother's sweater. They were incredibly soft, just like her hands, and I thought she would enjoy them. I was right. She loved them, and she wore them many, many times. It was a personal gift, but not too personal.

My job at the brewery hadn't changed. I was still on the packaging line, doing mindless, repetitive work. I wondered how anyone could do this year after year without going crazy. I did give me time to think, however. Perhaps that was a dangerous thing, because I began to wonder what other life I might create for myself. I was beginning to get frustrated with the relationship between Belle and me, and wondered what to do about it.

What changed everything was an incident shortly after I returned to college in the New Year. I had been oblivious to other females for the most part, although I couldn't ignore the steady parade of sexy young things that graced the campus.

Near the end of the first week back, I was sitting near the back of the lecture hall at my Economic History of Europe class when I became aware of someone arriving a little late and plunking themselves down beside me with a whoosh of captured breath. I turned to look and saw a spectacular looking girl with cobalt blue eyes, long straight blonde hair and a flawless movie-star-like face. It took me a moment, but I remembered that I had seen her before on campus. Who could forget her? I knew she was tall, almost six feet, and had one of those lithe, perfect bodies for a model.

I smiled at her and she smiled back and I turned back to the lecture. Professor McGowan, a sour old sot, droned on and on while I desperately tried to glean even a sliver of information from him. It was a lost cause, but fortunately for me, I was enthusiastic about the course, if not the lecturer, and I was doing well in spite of his wretched performance. I pitied those who were trying to get their information from him. It was an almost impossible task. It turned out one of those poor souls was the gorgeous young woman sitting beside me.

As the lecture ended, she flopped back in her chair and let out another long, protracted sigh.

"Tough sledding, huh?" I said turning to her.

"Worse. I haven't a clue what he's talking about. I've been reading the text and I'm trying to pick up what he's getting at, but I'm beginning to think I'm wasting my time. I barely passed my first semester exams, but I don't think I'm going to make it this time," she said in despair.

"Don't give up. What's in the book and a couple of other references are what you really need to concentrate on. His lectures are hopeless, but I come because every once in a while he says something that interests me. I really like the topic, or I'd have torched this course long ago."

"You really like this course?" she asked in a disbelieving voice.

"Yeah. Europe is a fascinating and complex place, with so many historical reference points. I plan to travel there when I'm finished school. I took this course because I already know quite a bit of European history, so this would be some additional information that I didn't have."

"I wish I felt your enthusiasm. Right now I'm about ready to quit."

"Don't do that. If you want, I'd be happy to help you. Give me an hour or so in the library once a week and I'm betting I could get you back on track," I said, wondering what in the hell I was suggesting.

"You would? Why?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe because I think I can help. You've made it through the first half. All you have to do is make it through the second half and it you can kiss it sayonara."

She looked at me for a few moments before saying anything.

"That's very nice of you. When would you want to do this ... tutoring?"

"Well, Thursday afternoon is usually the lightest for most students. Would that work for you?"

"Yeah. I don't have any classes on Thursday afternoon. We'd meet in the library study hall?"

"That's the best place. All the reference material is handy and we can talk a bit without disturbing too many people. Besides, it would be out in the open and you'd be safe."

"Safe? What do you mean?"

I stopped immediately. I was putting a modern reference to an as yet uncommon issue. I struggled for a reasonable answer.

"Well ... uhhm ... you don't know me, so ... uhhm ... you wouldn't feel uncomfortable with just the two of us together," I tried. I cringed at what I might have put in her thoughts.

"Oh ... I see ... well ... I'm not really worried about you, if that's what you mean."

"Yeah ... that's sort of what I mean. But ... why wouldn't you be a little suspicious of my motives?" I asked, this time with a smile.

"Because I have a very big boyfriend who is very protective of me," she giggled.

She had easily defused the tension.

"Okay ... I've been warned," I grinned. "Anyway, we've missed this week, so why don't we plan on meeting at one-thirty next Thursday in the library and between now and then, you can think of where you want some help and we'll go from there."

She gave me a thousand watt smile and nodded enthusiastically. "Great, I'll see you then."

"Uhhm ... just one thing. I don't know your name."

"Zoe. Zoe Braithwaite."

"I'm Lee North. Nice to meet you, Zoe."

As I walked to my final class of the week, I thought about the conversation I had just had. She was a spectacularly beautiful woman, way out of my league at any age. But she was also vulnerable. She wasn't trying to get by on looks alone. She needed help, and instinctively I offered it. I was looking forward to my future Thursday afternoons.

That was just he beginning of a series of situations that caused me to change my outlook and reassess my plans. The following week, in the SciFi group, one of the girls approached me. I remembered that her name was Diane, and she was quite attractive.

"Hi Lee. Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Uh ... sure. It's Diane, isn't it?"

"That's right, Diane Williams," she smiled. "I'm surprised you remembered."

I didn't respond, but waited for her to continue.

"I was wondering ... would you like to have coffee ... or something ... at the Student Union Building?"

"Uhhm ... well ... sure ... I guess so. To what do I owe the honour?"

She smiled, almost in relief I thought. She had sucked up her courage to ask me if I would be interested in being with her, even briefly. I was surprised, but flattered.

"Oh, nothing. You're kind of a cool guy and ... pretty smart. I know you and Mr. Meehan are friends. I'd just like to get to know you better." She was nervous, but trying hard to disguise it.

"Well, when would you like to get together?

"Would tomorrow be okay? Maybe we could have lunch together."

She was upping the ante. I smiled at her, both intrigued and interested.

"All right. Lunch it is at the SUB. I'll see you there just after twelve."

She broke out into a wide smile and then blushed, turned away and left the room.

"What was that about?" I said aloud to myself.

"I'd say it was about a young lady who is interested in getting to know you," came Dave Meehan's voice from behind me.

"You heard?"

"Some of it. Enough. She is pretty."

"Yes ... she is."

My math class wasn't far from the SUB, so it was just after noon when I entered the cafeteria and looked for Diane. I spotted her before she saw me and waved to let her know I had found her. She smiled immediately and rose from her chair.

Both of us packed our lunches and usually bought only soup or drinks from the counter. Diane wanted only milk, so I volunteered to look after that while she held our place for us. It would be crowded in the cafeteria within minutes and she had obviously arrived early to get a prime location. I chose the clam chowder, and two milks, and was soon back at our table. I remembered to bring napkins and glasses for the milk.

"Thanks," she said as I passed her a glass, napkin and her milk carton.

We went through the routine of opening our sandwich bag and looking to see what we had. My mother continued to insist that she would pack my lunch, despite my willingness to do it for myself. She said she wanted to make sure I was eating properly, but I doubt that she really meant that. I think it was more likely a way of staying in touch with me.

We ate almost in silence until Diane summoned up her courage and asked me a very direct question.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Uhhm ... yes ... sort of," I said. I had no idea why I added that last bit. There was no "sort of" in Belle's mind I was sure.

"Oh. What does sort of mean?"

"Well, I know her from high school, and she is in her last year, so we don't see each other very much." Again, another lie.

"Is that the girl I saw you with at the Freshman mixer?"

"Yep. That would be her."

"She's pretty. Very ... sexy too."

I nodded, careful to say nothing and let Diane go where she wanted to go.

"Do you think it might be serious ... I mean between you two?"

"Hard to say. I have my doubts some times. She's still very young and ... well ... she's still very young."

"Does that mean I have a chance?" she asked, again boldly.

"Why would you be interested in me?" I asked, genuinely interested.

"You're cool. I mean, you don't act like a freshman. There are times when you sound like Mr. Meehan. You know ... really smart. Older."

"Oh. Are you looking for someone older?" I forced myself not to smile as I asked.

"Maybe. How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"No! You can't be." The look on her face was one of complete shock.

"Yes, ma'am. How old do you think I am?"

"I don't know. Maybe twenty-five or so. It's hard to tell. You look young, but you don't act like it. Like I said ... you're really cool."

"Well, thank you for the compliment. I'm flattered." I was, too.

"Would you be interested in going out with me," she asked, again summoning every ounce of her courage.

"Under normal circumstances I would, but I have to resolve my situation with my current girlfriend. I'm sure you can understand. I would never want to do anything behind her back, or anyone else's for that matter," I said pointedly. "If we did go out, you'd want to be able to trust me completely."

I saw her eyes widen. She was listening intently and I was apparently giving her some hope along with some assurances. If we did go out, there wouldn't be any sneaking around with anyone else. If we did go out.

"I don't want to be the reason for you breaking up with her ... but if it happens ... you know where to find me," she said with a shy smile.

The rest of the lunch was spent in small talk and discussions about classes. It sounded like Diane was headed for a degree in education and was doing well in class. She lived in New Westminster, miles from my West Vancouver home. There would be some logistical obstacles to overcome if we were to date. However, my ego was boosted when she had been so bold as to approach me and suggest she was interested in me. I had never before thought of myself as cool, but Diane, and when I remembered, Zoe had suggested I was.

My first session with Zoe was difficult. She had done as I had asked and prepared herself with the areas that she thought she was weakest. But sitting beside her and smelling her wonderful perfume and being within inches of her amazing body, I was having a great deal of difficulty in concentrating. It took me some time to clear my mind and get down to business.

I brought a couple of reference books with me, and used them to help her with some of the problems she was having. I took three examples from the text and went over them individually, explaining their significance and the lasting effects they would have in later years.

Zoe wasn't dull. In fact, she was pretty smart. Once I began to show her how to link one issue to another, and find the necessary references, she quickly began to make some progress. We didn't get much done on that first session, but by the end of an hour, she looked a lot more positive about her prospects. I guessed that it would take three or four sessions to get her on track, but then she would be able to cope with the course and pass without problem.

"Lee, I can't thank you enough for this. Even after just an hour, I can see how you approach it differently than I do. It's really nice of you to give up your time to help. I'll have to think of some way to repay you," she said.

"You can repay me by passing this course. I have a feeling that in a couple of more sessions, you're going to be well on your way."

"Oh, I hope so. I certainly feel better with your help. I think I have a chance now," she beamed. Then, unexpectedly, she leaned over and kissed my cheek.

I know I flushed, probably beet red. It was unexpected, and I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. If they had, I couldn't tell. Mind you, my brain wasn't functioning at full capacity then. We parted with the promise that we would meet again next Thursday. I was sure I wasn't going to miss it.

So, once again, I got another surprise the next morning. I stopped into the SUB to get a coffee and as I sat at the table by myself, reviewing my notes for math class, three attractive young girls approached my table and stopped right in front of me.

"Hey, good lookin', how did you get so close to Zoe Braithwaite?" the middle one said. She was playing the role of ringleader I assumed.

I looked around with as much of a bewildered expression as I could fake, then said, "Are you talking to me?"

"Well who else?" the girl said with a don't give me that look.

"Oh ... well ... I can't ever recall anyone calling me good looking, so you caught me unawares."

"We saw that kiss in the library yesterday. That just elevated you to interesting status," she said confidently.

"Ladies, you have me at a disadvantage. My name is Lee North. I'm a freshman, and I was tutoring Miss Braithwaite in European economic history. She had asked for my help. Does that explain it?"

"It explains everything except the kiss. Are you really a freshman? You sound a lot older. You talk like you're a lot older."

I shrugged. "You still haven't introduced yourselves," I continued.

"Merilee Pound," the leader said. "And this is Jeanette Loganis and Paula Winestock. We're sophomores, so that's why you haven't been noticed until now. I have the feeling you're going to get a lot more attention now," she smirked.

Again, I shrugged. "Nice to meet you, ladies. I guess time will tell about your prediction."

The threesome said goodbye and walked off out of the cafeteria, leaving me once again in a surprised state. I was attracting more attention in one week than I had in my entire life. And it appeared to be positive. My association with Zoe had changed my status, and as word got out, I wondered if I would get a visit from her very large boyfriend, whoever he was.

The following week, I was sitting in the cafeteria once again, this time at lunch, when I felt a shadow cast over me. I looked up to see a huge blonde-haired man standing over me.

"Are you Lee North?" he asked in a husky voice.

"Uhhm ... yeah," I answered warily. I had taken a guess at who this might be.

"Hi ... I'm Paul Michaels, Zoe's boyfriend." He stuck out his hand and instinctively I took it. He shook it heartily with a firm but not painful grip. "I just wanted to thank you for agreeing to help Zoe with that history course she's struggling with. I looked it over, but I couldn't take the time to help her with it. I'm in pre-med, and it's a killer in its own right."

I began to breathe again. He was genuinely grateful for my help. "Can I get you a coffee?" I asked.

"No ... no thanks. I just wanted you to know that I'm glad she found some help. She said you were really smart for a young guy, and that she was sure you could help. Zoe's a junior, but she needed some extra courses and for some reason she chose this one. She says the prof is a real dud."

"That he is. However, Zoe is smart enough to get through it anyway. She just needs a few pointers in the right direction and she'll be fine."

"Great to hear that. Gotta get goin' but thanks again."

The hulk moved off and I remembered him from my original time at this school. He was the starting offensive right tackle on the football team, and there was some talk that he might be one of the first ever Canadians to be drafted by the NFL. I had scrimmaged with him in my freshman year training camp when he was a junior. On the outside he was a big, friendly, tousle-haired bear. On the football field, he was tough, strong, and relentless. I had been happy to be on offense with him.

Over the next weeks as I tutored Zoe, I got repeated "looks" and the odd comment about my association with her. Some of the guys were giving me a hard time, but there was a strong undercurrent of envy that I got to spend an hour or so a week with her. They didn't know that Zoe had become my seat-partner in class. The girls were giving me the once over as well. Wondering what I had that gave me a seat with the campus's acknowledged beauty queen.

I loved the status, of course, but I didn't count on the stories getting back to Belle. She wasn't quite as thrilled. On top of that, we hadn't been making any progress on a personal level in the past months. As spring approached, we were still stuck in neutral, and to be honest, I was getting tired of it. I had some opportunities on campus that I passed up because of my commitment to her, but now I was beginning to question if that was going to continue.

I had begun to form an idea about my future with Belle. It was risky and could spell disaster for us, but in this situation, I decided that I had to take the chance. Belle was still very young, just eighteen, while I was almost twenty, but quite a bit more mature, naturally. I had thought about breaking it off with her until she was a bit older ... say twenty one. It would give her a chance to mature and maybe by then she would be more willing to explore her sexuality.

It was, as I said, a risky proposition. She might get angry and have nothing to do with me, then or in the future. She might decide she could do better and look for someone else. I couldn't predict the outcome, but I could predict that she wouldn't be happy. I spent a lot of time deciding how I would go about ending our relationship.

What blew my plans all to smithereens was word getting back that I was now some kind of stud that attracted women. It wasn't true, of course, but that's how rumours and stories go. There's a game called Chinese Whispers. A group of people, eight or more usually, sit in a circle. The first person whispers a rumour in the ear of the person in the next chair, and that person repeats the rumour to the next person, and so on. By the time the rumour has made full circle, any resemblance between the original story and the one the last person tells is purely coincidental. Such was my fate.

"I hear you're quite the ladies man on campus," Belle said when I phoned her for a Saturday date.

"Where did you hear that?"

"Never mind where, it looks like I can't trust you out of my sight. You get to be the big deal at college while I'm back here, kept in the dark. I guess you didn't figure on the word getting back to me, did you?"

"Look, Belle, I don't know what you heard, but I'm not dating anyone but you. There hasn't been anyone else."

"That's not what I hear. I hear you've gotten really friendly with some blonde babe, and you see her every week."

"That's Zoe, and I'm tutoring her in European history."

"You're tutoring her. That's a laugh. You're a freshman, not a senior. Who are you trying to kid?"

"No one." I paused, realizing this wasn't going anywhere I wanted. Then, I made a fateful decision, one that I would question for a long time.

"Look, Belle, I'm sorry if you're hurt by this. It doesn't seem to matter what I say, you've made your mind up. I think it would be best if we took a break from each other. I can't fight rumours, and to be honest, I don't want to bother."

"So, that's your answer is it? Just quit and walk away. I didn't think you'd be like that, but I guess I was wrong. Goodbye, Lee."

I sat in the kitchen, staring at the phone for a long time after she'd hung up on me. I knew what the implications of this might be. It could mean the end of the family I had known; our sons, their sons, our daughters-in-law. There was an empty feeling in my stomach that told me this wasn't a good thing. I may have intended to break up with her for a while, but not this way and not with such finality.

I was back in class the next day, Thursday, my usual day with Zoe. When I sat down with her in the library, it was the best I was going to feel all day. She could do that for me, and I was grateful. She saw my mood instantly and reacted.

"You look down, Lee. What's the matter?"

"I broke up with my girlfriend last night. Or rather, she broke up with me," I finally admitted.

"Oh ... I'm sorry. Did she find someone new?"

"No ... just the opposite ... she thinks I have. I think some of her friends have been hearing stories that aren't true, but you know what it's like. It's hard to fight rumours and half-truths."

"Yes ... I can imagine. Well, I'm very sorry. I hope you'll be feeling better soon. I know there's lots of girls out here who would love to date you. You can pretty well have your pick," she said, surprising me.

I looked at her and smiled. She was genuinely concerned and it helped. She might have been the subject of the rumours, but I wouldn't have changed a thing about our strictly platonic relationship. She was good to be with and good for my self esteem. I smiled, picked up the text and we began our tutoring session.

It took me a week to get past what happened during that phone call. I was being a hypocrite, I know. I planned to break it off with her, but she beat me to the punch, and it didn't end on the pleasant note I'd hoped for. So much for my great idea. Men plan and the gods laugh. But it would leave a hole in my gut for a long time.

The following Tuesday I ran into Diane Williams at lunch.

"Hi Lee, mind if I join you?"

"No, not at all," I said, happy to have some company. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks. How are you? There's a rumour going around that you broke up with your girlfriend."

"I don't believe it. How the hell would anyone know about that?" I was angry that it appeared I no longer had a private life.

"Take it easy, Lee. I didn't start the rumour. I just heard it. Must be one of your ex's friends who's spreading the word."

"Yeah, the same friends who said I was fooling around on her and caused her to break up with me. Some friends," I spat.

"Oh ... sorry to hear that. I think I know you well enough that you wouldn't do that."

"Thanks. I thought she knew me well enough to know that too. But ... apparently not. Someone has it in for me, or her, or us. I wish I knew who."

"What would you do?"

"I don't know. Give her a piece of my mind in a very loud voice, letting everyone know just what a destructive bitch she is."

Diane shrank back from my vehemence. I hadn't been loud, but I had been emphatic.

"Sorry, Diane, I'm not mad at you. It isn't the end of the world, but ... it hurts the way it happened. I don't do that to women. I don't sneak around when their backs are turned. That's just not me. Now ... a number of people think it is me. That stinks!"

She nodded her understanding. "Don't worry. I think the people who really know you know the truth. You got any jealous ex-girlfriends out there that might be trying to cause you trouble?"

"Nope. I've haven't had a regular girl until I met Belle last May. All the others had just been one or two dates, and nothing special. I don't know who I pissed off, but whoever it is ... they're doing a fine job of getting even."

"Do any of your girlfriend's friends go to school here?"

"Nope. They're all in the same grade at high school," I said, as I searched my memory for a clue. Then, a piece of information came back to me. One that I had only picked up a few weeks ago. Diane must have seen the look on my face and reacted.

"What? What did you just realize?"

"Belle's sister, Helen, is here. She's in fourth year nursing. But I'd be amazed and hurt if Helen was spreading rumours. That's not like her. But one of Belle's pals has a sister out here, now that I think of it. It might be her."

"You're going to drive yourself crazy with this if you don't watch out."

"Yeah, you're right. I've got to stop it. What's done is done. I'll just have to move on."

"How would you like to move on with me this Saturday night? There's a dance here and I don't have a date," she smiled.

I looked at her and grinned. "Good idea. I'd love to take you to the dance. Let me know where and when, and I'll pick you up. I'll look after the tickets too."

"Don't bother," she smirked, holding two tickets up in front of me. "I've already looked after it."

I began to feel better. Not great, but better.



-------

Chapter 6: Diane


My date with Diane was great. She was quite a bit more grown-up than Belle, and had some expectations about what kind of escort she wanted. She had chosen me because she thought I was much more mature than the young guys she had been dating. I couldn't tell her just how much more mature, of course.

We danced, and by the second slow dance, she made it plain she wasn't afraid of a little body contact. In fact, she wasn't put off by a lot of body contact, most of which she initiated. I spent most of the time on the dance floor with an erection, which she couldn't have failed to notice. On the other hand, she wasn't the least bit put off by it, so I quit worrying about it. It was the hint of things to come, as it turned out.

I had picked her up at her New Westminster home, so we had a good thirty minute drive from the campus to her home after the dance. I offered her a snack, but she declined, saying she wasn't hungry ... at least for food. She directed me to a road leading down to the river as we neared her home and I began to realize what she had in mind.

"There's a nice place to park just around the bend here," she pointed, sitting close to me, as she had since we had gotten into the car.

I saw the place she was referring to, a long sandy strip of beach with a gravel area off the road. There was room for several cars, but we were the only ones there. I pulled up to a spot and parked the car. We just sat quietly for a few moments, with me wondering just what my next move should be. Diane took that decision out of my hands.

She wrapped her left arm around my shoulder and then surprised me when she let her right had drop onto my crotch.

"You've been hard all night, Lee. That's a very nice compliment," she said softly.

"You're a very attractive girl, Diane. It was a very natural reaction."

She was rubbing my crotch now and I was responding. I turned to her and put my hand behind her head, pulled her to me and kissed her soundly, testing her with the tip of my tongue. She opened up and we were quickly trying to outdo each other as we locked together. All the while, her massage of my now rigid cock was continuing.

I didn't want to frighten her or jump the gun, but I decided to leap a couple of steps ahead and began to undo my belt. She picked up on that immediately and undid the top button on my slacks, then pulled down my zipper. Within seconds, she had my erection in her hands and was stroking me nice and slowly.

"That feels very good. What can I do for you?" I asked.

"What would you like to do?" she challenged in that sexy tone she used often.

"I'd like to give you a couple of orgasms with my tongue. Have you ever had anyone treat you to oral sex?"

She pulled back in surprise. "No ... never. You'd do that?"

"I'd love to. It's something I really enjoy and, with any luck, you will even more so."

"Are you sure? I've heard some of the girls talk about it ... but ... I've never really understood what it might be like. It seems so ... icky."

"Trust me. Once you've experienced it, you'll understand why some women can't get enough of it."

"If you're willing to, then I guess I'd like to try it. At least once."

"I'm going to take your panties off first, then I want you to lie back on the seat and spread your legs. Make sure you're comfortable. I have a pillow in the back seat for your head."

I reached over the seat and grabbed the pillow and put it up against the passenger side door. Diane sighed and lay back against it as I slipped my hands under her skirt and deftly removed her panties. They were pretty ordinary white cotton panties, but I put them in my pocket before I resumed my moves. I had left her skirt up around her waist, exposing her pussy to the cool night air. She had a light dusting of hair on her mons as I moved my head forward toward my target.

Diane jumped and twitched as I made first contact with the inside of her thighs. I gently kissed my way up and across to each side before I made the move to her pussy. I wanted her to become accustomed to my touch and start to relax a little, but she was almost rigid in expectation and I was going to have to take that away with more direct action.

As I touched her labia with my tongue the first time, she jumped again. There was no protest and no attempt to push me away, but she was still tense and waiting for what came next. I slowly began stroking in slow, vertical licks, using the flat of my tongue for the first few minutes. Gradually, I could feel some of the stiffness drain out of Diane's body as I continued.

I searched for her clit, and I flicked it with the tip of my tongue, causing her body to jerk in reaction. She was wet now, and well lubricated. I gently parted her lips with my fingers as I continued my tongue action. I don't think she noticed since she didn't react. On the other hand, I could hear her breathing and I knew she was becoming aroused.

I continued with my actions slowly and steadily. As I heard her breathing deepen, I felt her body begin to respond. Her hips were moving slightly, almost as they would if I had been inside her. I looked up briefly and her eyes were closed and her head was thrust back into the pillow. She was on her way. As gently as I could, I slipped one finger into her and began searching for her G-spot. She wasn't a virgin, that was certain.

Her responses continued to grow slowly and I added a second finger, now curling them upward, looking for that little patch that could set her off. I found it, and began to stroke it with the pads of the two fingers. Now her movements became more pronounced. Her hips were almost thrusting up at me and she was beginning to groan. Her hands were now on the back of my head and she was pushing herself at my mouth.

As my tongue continued to tease her clit, and my fingers stroked in and out of her, her actions became more random and exaggerated. She was gasping and letting little yips and yelps out as I continued my assault on her. She was almost there. It wouldn't be long now before she would let go. I just kept on doing what I was doing until she reached that point.

"Oh god, Lee! Oh god! I can't stand it! I'm going to explode!" she cried.

"Just hang on a little longer, girl. Just let it happen. It'll be great. Trust me. It'll be the greatest."

She howled her protest, her hands alternately trying to push my head away, then pulling it back to her. I increased the pressure and speed of my fingers in her pussy and she let go. It was a long cry of pleasure and release as she became almost rigid for several seconds before flopping back on the car seat. She was gasping for breath and holding my head tightly as if it were a life preserver. I removed my fingers and gently kissed her pussy and inner thighs several times before I sat up and reached for her hands.

I didn't say a word. I wanted her unsolicited opinion, but I had a pretty good idea of what it might be. I doubted she had ever had an orgasm approaching the one she had just experienced. She didn't disappoint me.

"I had no idea," she finally managed, still trying to calm down from her high. "That was crazy. I've never felt anything like that before in my life. I didn't know it was possible to feel like that."

I smiled down at her as I lowered her skirt. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. It's just one of the ways you can enjoy sex without too much risk."

"What about you?" she asked after a while.

"Don't worry about me. I wanted to give you the most pleasure I could, and it looks like I succeeded."

"Who are you? You don't act like any guy I've ever known," she said, as she propped herself up in the seat, swinging her legs under her.

"Do I scare you?"

"No ... not really. But ... I don't understand you."

"What's to understand? I'm a guy. I like pleasing my girl. Tonight was about pleasing you."

"So ... I'm your girl?"

"If you want to be."

She thought long and hard before answering. "Yeah. But I still don't get you."

"Maybe you never will. Maybe I'll always be an enigma."

"What's an enigma?"

"A mystery," I laughed. "That's me ... mystery boy."

"You're no boy. Not after what you did tonight. No boy could ever do that ... whatever it was."

"It was oral sex. The proper name is cunnilingus. I don't like that name. It sounds cold."

"How do you know all this stuff?"

"My head is filled with useless and random information. It's an affliction that has been with me since birth, I suppose."

We were quiet for a while, until Diane spoke.

"When I was in the middle of that crazy part, I wanted you to put your cock in me. If I could have reached it, I would have put it in."

"That might not have been a good idea. I wasn't wearing any protection."

"You mean a french safe? I didn't care. I just wanted you inside me. I still do."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Have you got a safe?"

"Yes."

"Put it on. No ... let me put it on," she said confidently.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out one of the three condoms I had brought. I wasn't expecting to use them, but then I wasn't expecting anything that happened tonight. I handed it to her, and watched her tear open the package and put the rolled up latex over the end of my still rigid manhood. She had done this before. She easily rolled it down over most of my length, then pulled me over to her side of the front seat. She straddled me, taking my erection in her hand and guiding me into her.

She was hot, very slick, and snug. Within seconds, she was moving up and down on me, her arms wrapped around my neck, her lips making contact with mine in short, soft kisses. She was completely involved, her eyes hooded, her breathing once again audible.

I slipped my hands up the back of her blouse and undid the catch of her brassiere. My hands worked their way around to her lovely, modest breasts, trapping the enlarged nipples between my fingers and gently pinching them. It had been a long time since I had enjoyed sex, and I was sure I wasn't going to last very long. I surprised myself, though. I did last a few minutes before I warned Diane that I was getting close to the end.

I increased my strokes and gripped the cheeks of her ass as I tried to spear myself far into her. She reacted by grunting and pushing back as hard as she could. I came in a rush, my vocalizations enough to tell her that it was over. I heard her sigh, then relax in my arms. We sat there joined for a few moments until she turned her head to me and kissed me deeply, with a lot of tongue.

"That was nice. Thank you," I whispered.

"Yeah. It was nice. You keep surprising me. For a young guy, you know how to treat a girl right."

"I read up on the topic," I laughed.

"Yeah ... sure. Tell me another one," she laughed along with me.

"It was fun, Diane. I'm glad you thought so too."

"Yeah. Better than just fun. We have to do this again. Especially that first part."

"What would you like to do? I mean ... go to a movie?"

"After tonight, I'd just like you to pick me up and bring me down here and do what you did to me all night long."

"Hmmm. That might be difficult. After a while, the tongue gets a little tired."

"Don't worry. You'll get lots of breaks. I thought you wouldn't mind if I returned the favour."

"Really? You want to?"

"Only fair. I'm not the world's greatest, but ... maybe you can teach me."

"That would make an interesting evening."

"Yeah. Mind you, neither of us would be able to walk the next day," she giggled.

"Sunday is a day of rest anyway."

We talked a bit more, then I started the car and drove her home. It was almost one o'clock when I arrived at her front door.

"Are you going to be in any kind of trouble being out this late?"

She smiled. "No. I'd be in trouble if I didn't come home without calling first, but ... no. My folks treat me like an adult, so they expect me to act like an adult."

"Lucky you. Good night," I said, kissing her soundly once again. "See you next week."

I was feeling pretty good as I started the long drive home. Diane was worth the effort. The sex was great and she was an adult woman. I felt we were going to get along very well.



-------

Chapter 7: Summer Plans and More Surprises


I got a few hours in over spring break at the brewery, and that helped restock the bank account. Dating Diane with the longer travel and other entertainment was costing more than dating Belle had, but it was worth every penny.

I had a nice surprise when Mr. French called me into his office and asked me if I was interested in a different job at the brewery this summer. He was very pleased with my work, but felt I was being wasted on the production line. He wanted me to work in distribution. I was to supervise and check outgoing loads to the various outlets. That included case stock as well as draft barrels. It would be a more demanding job, but it paid more as well, and the hours were regular weekdays only. I jumped at it.

When I worked out my summer budget, I figured I would have over fifteen weeks at $150 a week salary. That should net out to more that $2000. I was damn pleased with that. I knew the salary was based on what the union guys were paid, but since I was non-union, I kept that information to myself. I got along with the guys fine since I did my job, didn't make waves, and tried to be as invisible as possible. They knew I was a college student, so little was said to me about it.

I still had a hole in my gut about Belle. I finished my golf lessons just as we broke up, so I didn't see her at all afterwards. I was regularly commuting to New Westminster now, so I wasn't hanging around home very much. Again, that limited whether I would see her or not. I had a number of sleepless nights as I thought about the consequences of not being with Belle, but I didn't see any easy way to resolve the problem until she was older, and hopefully, a little more mature.

Diane had told me that she liked sailing, but didn't have the opportunity to get out very often. I liked sailing as well. I had a school chum who was allowed to use his parents' 36-foot sloop quite often. We had a lot of fun on that boat, even though we only knew the rudiments of sail handling.

I thought about Diane's wish and stored it away until I saw an ad in the paper about sailing lessons in Boundary Bay. They weren't cheap, but I had always wanted to have a sailboat and never had the opportunity. I drove down to the address in the advertisement and talked to the manager of the marina. I was looking for something that Diane and I could do together and as luck would have it, the lessons were based on two persons per boat.

I played the "poor student" card and we negotiated a rate I could afford rather than having to pay for two full sets of lessons. I got the impression he wasn't flush with customers. When I called Diane, she nearly jumped through the telephone.

"You mean we're going to be sailing together this summer," she nearly screamed.

"Yes, dear. Assuming one or the other of us doesn't drown. It might even be fun," I taunted.

"Oh god, Lee. This is wonderful. How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing. My treat."

"No, Lee, I can't let you do that. At least let me pay my share."

We argued back and forth and finally I gave in, and quoted the discounted second seat price I had negotiated.

"I can't wait. When do we start?" she asked, still on a high.

"Next weekend. Saturday afternoon at one."

"I'm going to go crazy waiting for next Saturday. Oh, Lee, I love you for this. You are so cool. You keep coming up with ways to surprise me. You're going to get a very big reward for this ... I promise."

"I don't know how the reward could be any bigger than being with you," I said, hoping she could hear my sincerity.

"I'll find a way. I promise," she crooned. "You are so good to me, I can't believe it."

"Well, hold that thought. This is only Tuesday and I have the rest of the week to work. Gotta get that beer to the hotels and taverns on time, you know. Then, Friday night ... and playtime."

"Yeah. Playtime for both of us. Two nights with my guy. I just wish you didn't have to drive so far."

"Me too, Babe. Why don't you ask your folks if I can sleep over with you? That would save me a lot of time."

"Very funny. But one of these nights, I might just sneak you in and keep you captive 'till morning."

"Don't tease me like that. You can't know how much I'd love to wake up next to you in the morning. We could make love, then have a shower together. I might even have some fun with you in the shower."

"Stop it, Lee. You're driving me crazy."

"I know. I'll trade my car in on a van. We can put a mattress in the back and play to our heart's content."

"Now you're talking. Just remember ... no windows!" she laughed.

"The way we'll have the van bouncing around, there won't be any doubt about what we're up to."

Our conversation went on for another few minutes while trading naughty scenarios for our trysts. It was fun for me. It was fun for me because it was fun for Diane. She enjoyed sex, but she absolutely loved our being together and pleasing each other. I had told her in the beginning that my definition of great sex was tied up in the ability to please your partner. Sex was the opposite of selfishness, I told her. She bought into my philosophy and we had the most delightful sessions any two people could possibly have. It was probably better than any sex I had experienced in my previous life, and I was loving every moment of it.

Diane wasn't interested in golf, so I kept that part of my recreational interests to myself. I would go to the driving range once or twice a week and work on my recollection of the lessons I had taken. I was pleased that I was hitting the ball more confidently, but I hadn't played a full game yet. I was wondering when that would happen.

As it turned out, I was invited to the brewery's golf tournament. It was held at a public course in Richmond, and the foursomes were made up of various staff persons. Union members were not invited. Several of our largest customers were, however. I got an interesting reminder of what the business world looked like in those days.

The tournament was scheduled on the July 1st weekend, Dominion Day. Happily, it was on the holiday Friday, so I wouldn't miss my regular sail with Diane. I explained that I wouldn't see her on Friday night, and she wasn't pleased, but understood that it was one of those "business things" that were unavoidable.

If there was one thing you could count on at a brewery golf tournament would be the almost unlimited supply of beer available. Now I like beer as much as the next guy, and that had been true throughout my previous life. However, I had been taking it easy for the past year since my accident and it was a conscious decision that I hadn't chosen to break.

One of the things about being sober when everyone else around you is in some state of intoxication is the ability to learn things. People will reveal the most damaging secrets under the influence of alcohol. The golf tournament was no exception. I wish I had a mini-recorder to keep track of all the dirt I could have collected.

In the meantime, being sober helped my golf game considerably. I played reasonably well on a flat, uninspiring course that had lots of room for my mistakes. My new lessons helped my tee shots and irons, while my old skills with the chipping and putting kept me in the game. I'd put a couple in the water, but I wasn't that unhappy because they came when I had hit the ball much better than I expected on a pair of lay-up shots. What I wouldn't have given for my Ping irons and my Big Bertha driver that day.

So what did I learn that Friday afternoon? I learned that my boss, my dad's friend, Tommy French, had a mistress. Apparently, a very fine and voluptuous mistress. I would never have guessed. I also learned that I had been put in the Distribution department hoping I could spot any hanky-panky. Apparently, there were regular discrepancies between shipments and billings. I had to admit, I hadn't noticed anything, but then, I wasn't on the lookout either. That would change come Monday.

The bigger surprise was that when I graduated, Mr. French would be offering me a job. A very nice, well-paying job, as an administrative assistant. Why? Because he was sure I was honest and I would be smart enough to weed out the various forms of thievery that had been going on in the operation for years. The fact that it would be a dangerous assignment wasn't lost on me. Well, I didn't have to accept the job, but it sounded like I had a secure part-time job at the brewery as long as I wanted one. That was certainly good news.

I arrived at Diane's house at noon Saturday. As usual, my mother had packed us a picnic lunch and we were off almost immediately.

"How was the golf tournament, Lee?"

"Fine. I played well ... better than I expected to. I won a dozen golf balls as a prize. How was your day?"

"Okay. I missed you last night. I had very horny dreams. I think my period is starting. It may mess up our plans for this weekend. I hate that."

"Don't fret, girl. We'll find a way to make it up. In the meantime, we'll have fun this afternoon. Lots of sunshine and fresh air out on the boat. I hear our instructor wants to set up a race among the students."

"Really? Oh ... I hope so. Do you think we could win?"

"I think we'd have a good chance. You're very good, you know. I think we make a great team."

She looked at me as I drove along toward the marina. "Yes ... we do make a good team ... don't we," she said quietly.

We came second in the race, but if you talked to Diane, you'd have thought we won. She was happy and proud of our accomplishment, while I was happy for her. She was a fine young woman and I counted myself lucky to have her as an intimate friend.

The summer seemed to pass quickly. Between my job during the week, and my weekends with Diane, I was on the go all the time. I was surprised when I looked at the odometer on my Pontiac and saw that I had passed thirteen thousand miles. Over five thousand miles since I had bought the car only eight months earlier. And lately, with my trips to New Westminster and college, it was adding up much more rapidly.

I got a nasty shock in early August, however. Diane announced that her father had been transferred to Calgary and they would be moving in September. Diane would be transferring to the University of Alberta, Calgary campus. I was going to lose my lover and good friend. It really took the fun out of the last part of summer. I tried not to be down in her presence, but both of us were unhappy about the break-up. We tried to make up for the imminent separation with every moment we had alone, but we knew our time was coming to an end.

"I hate to see you go, girl."

"I hate to go. If it wasn't for my parents paying for my education, I'd stay. I don't think I'm ever going to find someone like you again, Lee."

"You never know. Maybe when you're done with college ... well ... who knows. But, we can keep in touch. Let me know your new address when you can. I'll write."

"I guess that's all we can do for now. I'm going to miss you so much. I don't know what I'm going to do without you."

I nodded. "I know what you mean. I was just getting so comfortable with the idea that we were a couple."

She had tears in her eyes as she leaned against my shoulder.

"Diane, there's something I want you to promise me."

She looked up expectantly. "What?"

"Don't spend your life waiting for me. Don't give up a chance for future happiness if you find someone that's special. We can't know what's going to happen in the next few years. I want you to be happy, no matter what."

That brought another onslaught of tears. "I'll only be happy if I can have you again. I'll wait, Lee. I can do it. You are something special to me and I'll be patient."

I smiled at her, wondering if she knew what she was promising. Time would tell.

Diane left for Calgary on August 30th, and I went back to college for my sophomore year ten days later. I had talked myself out of being depressed mainly by reminding myself that this life I was living might just be a fantasy and nothing more. True, it had lasted over a year, but nonetheless I was trying hard not to take anything too personally.

That worked fairly well in every case except when it came to Belle. I had so much invested in our life together that I couldn't shake the feeling that I had to try to recreate it in whatever form I could manage. But for now, I reminded myself that neither she nor I were ready to resume our relationship. I had to be patient and wait for her to mature, while I had to hope she would still be free when I finished college. She was out of school now, and probably had found a job somewhere.

If there was one source I could count on to tell me if Belle was spotted somewhere, it would be my mother. She had a soft spot for her and made it clear that she thought I had made a big mistake breaking up with her. I tried to set the record straight, but mother had her own version of what had happened and I was the culprit.

So it was a minor surprise when I found out she was working in the Royal Bank at the shopping centre. The surprise was because that is where I had been doing my banking. Why hadn't I seen her? Probably because I did all my banking in the late Friday hours on my way home from work. She may have finished by then, and I would have missed her.

When I thought about it, it seemed the wrong job for her. Knowing her strengths and weaknesses as I did, I thought the ideal role for her would have been in a fabric shop, or with a seamstress, or a kitchen shop, or even a caterer. She had two undeniably great skills. She could sew and she could cook. What's more, she enjoyed it.

I had encouraged her to go into business for herself when the boys had left home, but she couldn't gather the self-confidence to do it. I was mindful that it would sound very sexist suggesting she should devote herself to these old homemaker arts, so I never really said what I was thinking. Despite the era, it was what she was good at and could succeed at. In 1960, it wouldn't have raised an eyebrow.

Knowing she had a job and was still in the neighbourhood, I was sure my mother would keep me informed of her activities. Since she also used the same bank, Mom would quiz Belle on a regular basis, and I wondered if Belle would do the same with her. If something big happened in Belle's life, I was sure I would hear about it almost immediately. It allowed me to relax somewhat and live a normal, college-boy life once more.



-------

Chapter 8: The Sophomore Blues


And so I began my sophomore year on my own again, but not for long. Right off the bat I ran into Zoe, and we renewed our acquaintance over coffee at the SUB. I might as well have had a neon sign over me after that. Zoe was still the same beautiful, sweet girl I had first met in class, and she was still very attached to Paul Michaels. Listening to her, I knew those two were in it for the long haul and they would be great together.

I had selected a creative writing course for my second year, and I was really looking forward to it. In my "old" life, I was writing as a hobby, thanks to the high school typing class I had taken and the wonders of the word processor. I had found a couple of volunteer editors who were very good and I could see my writing was improving as time went on. Now, I had a chance to go back and see what my knowledge would produce in a formal class environment. I could also practice in my letters to Diane.

I had purchased a used manual typewriter the summer before starting my freshman year which I kept on my desk at home. Any electric typewriter was far too expensive, so I was stuck with the old "basket of strikers" type machine. It was helpful, but I hated the fact that any error had to be erased and typed over, so I quickly learned that I had to slow down my speed in order to reduce the number of "white-outs."

On top of that, when I re-read my copy, I would often find awkward sentence structure that needed correcting, and that meant re-typing a whole page or more. If it resulted in one positive thing, I was much more thoughtful about what I was writing than before. On the other hand, it seemed to take forever to complete an essay or a class assignment. I would just have to plan my time to allow for that.

At the end of my second English class I was approached by a dark haired young female classmate.

"Hi ... are you Lee North?" she asked carefully.

"Yes, I am. And you are... ?"

"Oh ... Sandy Rossi." She seemed a bit shy, and yet wasn't really displaying nervousness.

"Hi Sandy, nice to meet you," I said, hoping to put her at ease.

She was quite an attractive girl, the dark brown hair framing a dark complexioned face with deep brown eyes. When she smiled, her perfect teeth shone in contrast. When I looked at her hands, I could see the same darker tone to her skin and I realized it was her natural coloring, and not some summer tan.

Sandy did have a striking figure to complement her looks. She was something over five foot six, with fairly large breasts and wide hips. When I thought about it, she had a Mediterranean look that I had often admired. She was destined to be an earthy, full-bodied woman and naturally my thoughts turned to lust.

We were walking together and it was just before lunch, so I turned to her and asked, "Would you like to join me for lunch? I don't really enjoy eating alone."

"I can't imagine you eating alone," she said, looking at me with a wrinkled brow.

"Oh. And why is that?"

"Well ... I mean ... you ... you are so ... well known. Every girl knows who you are."

"They do?" Then it dawned on me. It was the Zoe syndrome. "Never mind. I know what you mean," I chuckled. "Anyway, despite my ... reputation, would you care to join me at the SUB?"

She looked at me again, and a smile replaced the questioning look. "Sure. I brought my own," she said pointing to the bag on her shoulder.

"Me too. Mom insists," I grinned, wondering if that would make her wonder just how worldly I really was.

We had a nice lunch together and got to know each other a bit. She was from a large family in East Vancouver. Her parents ran a restaurant on lower Commercial Drive that specialized in pasta dishes. They had emigrated from Italy right after the war when their town was destroyed in the fierce fighting between the Americans and Germans.

She had two sisters and one brother. All were older than her, and she was the first to attend anything past high school. Her brother, Louie, was a construction worker, while her oldest sister, Tina, was married and already had two children, both boys. That made both Mama and Papa very proud. Her middle sister, Marianna, was engaged to a nice man, but not Italian. It was a cause for some concern in the household. But not as much concern as there was for Sandy.

Her proper name was Alessandra, a lovely name I thought. Her schoolmates named her Sandy early on and she now preferred it to her given name. It was a sign of her rebellion against the old-world values of her parents and grandparents, all of whom lived in the same house.

And rebellion was what Sandy was all about. Her parents objected to her furthering her education, expecting her to find a nice Italian boy and marry him and produce more grandchildren. Sandy wanted no part of that scenario. She had her eyes on a career, and marriage could wait until she found the right man, regardless of whether he was of Italian descent or not.

That lunchtime chat we had was very revealing; surprisingly so, considering we had just met a few minutes earlier. She confessed that she was a bit of "wild child," although she didn't call it that. I got the impression she wasn't a virgin and not embarrassed about it at all. She'd had several boyfriends, but was vague about anyone currently. She thought most of them were too immature.

"So, I know you're very friendly with Zoe Braithwaite. And you used to date Diane Williams when she was here. Are you going with anyone now?" she asked boldly, having quickly lost her shyness.

"Nope. Footloose and fancy free." I gave her a nice smile to encourage her.

"Good. Maybe we can get together sometime then."

"Maybe we can. How about Saturday evening. Perhaps a movie?"

"Yeah. That sounds good. Can I pick the movie?"

I feigned a look of disgust. "I suppose it will be a chick-flick."

"A what?"

Damn, I did it again. "I mean, it will be one of those mushy ones."

She laughed. "You don't know me. I'm sure I'll surprise you," she said confidently.

"Well, then, it's your call. I'll trust you ... this time," I smirked.

I got a big smile in return and we began to discuss where and when I would pick her up. Right away I realized she didn't want me to meet her at her home. I could guess the reason, since I was about as far from being Italian as I could be. We agreed I would meet her at a corner drugstore just a couple of blocks from her home at 7:15, and we would go from there.

The rest of the week was taken up with getting settled into my new courses. Along with my creative writing course, I had decided to add political science, since I'd had an interest in politics due to my father's close association with it at the newspaper. Besides, it was going to be an interesting year in the U.S., with the upstart Kennedy running against the seasoned Nixon. Nixon wasn't a very likeable guy, and I could see why all the young people were supporting the handsome newcomer, but most of them couldn't vote, and they probably had no idea how close this election was going to be.

My third new course was psychology. I had taken it during my first year back in the day, but held off until this year because I knew I would ace the course just as I had fifty years ago. However, in order to get to the next stage, I had to get past the first, so it was Psych 101 all over again.

If it sounds like there wasn't any sense of direction with the courses I selected, then you'd be correct. I was sampling, I guess you could say. I had a wide variety of interests throughout my life, some of which were influenced by my father, and some by the jobs I had held. I wasn't going to worry too much at this early stage of my college career. I had plenty of time to make up my mind on what path I might choose to follow. Even if it was just a Bachelor of Arts, I would still have that degree and the sense of accomplishment.

I had thought about Business Administration as a likely future course, since I had succeeded in business in spite of my limited education. I wondered what I might learn that would have enhanced my progress and pushed me even further. So there it was; psychology, creative writing, political science, and math. Kind of a strange brew mixed with chemistry, but when I thought about, maybe not so much.

I picked up Sandy at the drug store exactly at seven-fifteen, just as planned. She looked very nice with a loose skirt and snug, v-neck sweater, emphasizing her very prominent breasts. I was already planning on getting at least my hands on them at some point. Maybe not tonight, but soon.

"You look great," I said as I held the door for her.

"Thanks. You like the sweater?" she asked, turning to me with a knowing look.

"Damn right. Nicely filled," I replied, thinking that was what she was fishing for. Apparently it was.

"I thought you might."

"So ... where too, m'lady?"

"To the Capitol, sir."

I'd looked over the line-up of movies available this weekend, but I couldn't recall what was on at the Capitol. Perhaps because it was something I was sure she would never choose.

When we drove past the theatre on the way to the parking lot, I saw the title. The Time Machine. What the hell! Is she trying to tell me something, or is this just a fluke.

"Well ... I didn't expect that one," I admitted. "But ... it's a good choice. I like science fiction, so I'm all for it."

"Great. Me too. Looks like we're going to get along just fine," she said, pressing her shoulder against me as I parked Mrs. Pontiac. That was her new name, by the way. An elegant old girl at that.

I took her hand and she gave it willingly as we walked to the ticket booth. We were seated after a quick stop at the concession counter to get some popcorn and a soft drink. The whole tab came to a dollar-and-a-half, unlike today when you usually needed a credit card to get away from the cashier.

I enjoyed the movie more than I remembered from seeing it on TV. It was fantasy, of course. No resemblance to my situation. But it was fun and despite the physical attraction of Sandy, I generally paid attention to the story. When it ended, I took my arm from behind her shoulders where it had rested for most of the movie and led her out through the crowd.

"Care for a snack?" I asked as we walked back to the car.

"Sure. How about the White Spot near the park?"

"Let's go."

Up to this point, Sandy was a cheap date. She ordered a side of fries and a coke at the drive in, and I had the same. When we finished, I saw it was just ten-thirty, so I asked her if she had a curfew.

"Yeah ... midnight. We've got lots of time. Why don't we drive through the park and see if we can find a nice place to stop and park for a while?"

I got lucky and found an open area near Second Beach. In seconds, Sandy was all over me.

"I've been waiting for this since you asked me out," she said, her hand on my crotch, stroking my already hard cock.

"Oh ... and just what have you been waiting for?"

"You should know by now that girls talk. Diane made it plain that you had a special talent no other guy had. She called you 'TT.'"

"TT?"

"Talented Tongue!" she laughed.

"And she told you and some of the other girls about what we did ... in private?"

I was starting to get upset. I didn't realize my intimate affairs were being broadcast around the campus, at least to the female half.

"Well ... yeah. When she knew she was moving, she was moaning about losing you and she kind of told us about how great you were and how much she was going to miss you. I mean, she wasn't in love, you know. But I guess you really impressed her with your TT."

"I see. So that's why you're here tonight?"

"Well ... that ... and you are a nice guy and I did want to go out with you."

I sat there for a few moments, just looking at her and wondering if I shouldn't just pull up stakes and take her home. I didn't get the chance. Sandy must have sensed what I was thinking and suddenly began to pull her sweater out of her skirt, then up over her head, revealing a very sexy, fully loaded bra. At that point, I knew I wasn't going anywhere.

She didn't have a single inhibited bone in her body, other than the one I was going to place there in a few minutes. In the meantime, I was busy with my mouth and fingers, and Sandy was busy confirming my reputation. She was writhing and groaning and arching her back and generally responding very aggressively to my attentions. When she came, it was a biggee, and I felt I had upheld her expectations.

After she came down, I continued to stroke her pussy and, having pulled down the cups on her ample brassiere, licked and sucked on her nipples and surprisingly large areola. She was sensitive there as well, at it wasn't long before she had a grip on the cock and was rolling a condom onto me. She had brought her own, not willing to take a chance I suppose.

The sex was good, and she responded well to all the moves I made in my attempts to please her. I didn't think she had another orgasm, but I couldn't be sure. When it was over, we sat together as she slowly put her clothes on and relaxed against me.

"That was great. Diane wasn't kidding. You are much more mature and experienced than any other guys I've been with. The first orgasm was wild. I've never had one like that before."

"So ... maybe we can do this again ... sometime soon."

"No ... sorry ... I don't think so. My boyfriend would object if he found out, and around this part of town, he would find out."

"Your boyfriend?"

"Yeah. We've been going together for almost two years."

"Then ... what was tonight all about?" I asked in a somewhat demanding tone.

"Don't get upset, Lee. I just wanted to find out what all the fuss was about. You were great, but this was just to see what my boyfriend still had to learn. I'm going to have to teach him just what you taught me," she said with a firm look.

"I can't believe it. You just used me for ... demonstration purposes?"

She looked at me and even in the dark she could tell I was pissed. She shrank back in the seat towards the passenger side door and I started the car, yanked it into reverse, ripped back onto the road, jammed on the brakes, and pulled away from the parking area. It was barely a ten minute ride to her house. I couldn't have cared less who did or didn't see or hear us. I got out and opened the door for her. She looked at me sheepishly and began walking up her front path. I slammed the door shut, making as much noise as I could.

"Sandy!" I called. "Tell your so-called friends to stay the hell away from me. I don't want anything to do with you or any of them. Understood?"

She had been looking back at me. I couldn't tell if she acknowledged my demand, but I really didn't care. I went around to the driver's side, piled in, and slammed that door shut as well. I thought I heard a groan from my old girl, but perhaps that was just my imagination. I had never treated Mrs. Pontiac this roughly before. I started the engine, revved it several times to make the maximum amount of noise, dropped the clutch, and chirped the tires as I took off down the street. I was hoping I would have got the attention of someone in her house, but I wouldn't be around to find out.

When I lay in bed that night, I was really pissed off. I had been used, and now I knew what some women must feel like when it happens to them. Instead of being flattered, I was angry that they had so little concern about something as intimate as sex. I thought that was a product of the following generations, but now it didn't seem so. I vowed to be more selective in my dating, if I could. And as far as any more letters to Diane ... forget it.



-------

Chapter 9: Moving Along


I didn't date for several weeks as a consequence of Sandy's hurtful admission that I was just being used for "information purposes." I was wary of the women who approached me, even if their motives seemed innocent and directed at school work rather than personal.

As October ended, I attended a Halloween mixer at the SUB, and although stag, I had plenty of opportunities to dance with several pretty young girls. Some of them asked me and I was happy to oblige, not having any plans further than the dance floor. I did see a very attractive redhead several times. She seemed to be unattached, but for one reason or another, we never made contact. I would, however, keep her in mind for future reference.

I found my courses and study much easier this semester. It seemed like my habits and my ability to concentrate on work helped a great deal. I was putting in less effort and still getting good results. That gave me some free time that I hadn't had the previous year. I decided I would plan how I should use that time.

I would be spending my Christmas break working at the brewery again, happy to do so even though my bank account was quite nicely packed compared to last year. I started to think about investing again, since there was some spare cash and I had the time to devote to it. I renewed my search of the financial pages and found a couple of starters for myself.

I didn't want to use the same broker as my parents. Who knows what information would be passed back and forth, and I just didn't need the hassle. If they were interested in where I was putting my money, I would happily tell them and give my reasons as well. Otherwise, I would be tight-lipped.

Dave Meehan and I had remained in contact, and I knew he was investing in some blue chip stocks with money his grandparents had left him. I dropped in to see him on a dreary Tuesday afternoon when I knew he would likely be alone in his office.

"Hello, Lee. Good to see you. Here to brighten up my day?"

"I hope so. Looking outside, I think we could both use it," I grinned. "Actually, I was interested in the fellow you were using as a broker for your investments. I wondered if you were happy with him and if so, would you mind if I contacted him."

"No ... of course not. Tony Alardyce is a good guy, not one of those penny-stock pushers that hang around the Vancouver Stock Exchange. He was recommended to me by my grandparents when they bequeathed me that inheritance. I've done well with Tony, but only because I listened to him. Tell him I gave you his name. He'll look after you."

"Great. Thanks, Dave. I haven't got a huge pile to invest, but I'd like to get started when I have a few bucks to risk."

"Well, the only advice I can give you is not to borrow to invest and listen to Tony. He won't steer you wrong."

"I will take his and your advice," I smiled.

We exchanged some small talk about what had been going on since the last time we had seen each other in September. I told Dave about Sandy and how upset I was. He was interested in my reaction. It was different from what he might have expected, I think.

"I can understand how that bothered you. It was pretty callous of her. Do you think this reputation of yours is the problem?"

"Yeah, no doubt. On the other hand, I guess I could just go along with a bunch of one-night-stands and take advantage of it."

"That doesn't sound like you, Lee. I don't think you're looking for a lifetime commitment, but you seem to have higher standards than just taking advantage of whatever comes up."

"Yeah. I know I wouldn't feel good about it. I just want something ... someone ... I can have as a friend for the next while. It doesn't have to include sex, but that would be a bonus. I thought that's what I had with Diane. We both knew what it was about and were happy with it."

"How's Belle?" he asked, changing the subject.

I had told Dave about Belle and my decision to allow her to mature before getting involved with her. He seemed to think it was the sensible thing to do.

"I haven't seen her in months. She's working at the Royal Bank in the shopping center. It's where I do my banking, but I'm usually in there late Friday, so she's gone by then. I've been meaning to drop in a say hello some day. I just haven't gotten around to it."

Dave didn't offer any comment. Again, he changed the topic and we chatted about a number of things, including my courses. I didn't have any physics classes this semester, so only my occasional visits kept us in touch. We'd become close despite the age difference. He was someone I felt I could confide in and he didn't seem to mind my doing that. On the other hand, I learned little about his private life. He was very guarded in that regard.

It was a sunny Thursday afternoon in mid November when I finally decided to see Belle. I had no classes scheduled, so I drove to the shopping center and pulled up to the front of the bank just before two pm. I was a bit nervous, as it had been a long time since we had spoken, and that had ended badly. I was hoping our conversation this afternoon might be a little more civil.

I walked into the bank and saw her immediately. She was at one of the two open teller windows and she had three people waiting in line. I walked over to her line and stood behind a fairly large man who would block Belle's view of me. I wasn't trying to surprise her, but I didn't want her to see me and start to wonder why I was there. It would be a distraction for her and that could cause problems.

"Hello Belle," I said quietly as the big man moved off.

She looked up in surprise. "Hello Lee. Nice to see you. How can I help you?" She was a bit rattled, I thought.

"Two things. I'd like to make a deposit, and I was wondering if you get a coffee break this afternoon. Maybe we could talk?"

"Oh ... uhhm ... my break is two-thirty. There's a coffee shop next door. I could meet you there."

"Great. Let's do that. Here's my deposit and my book. I'll see you next door at two-thirty."

She was a bit flustered as she handled my request, but gradually, I could see her calm down. She was still the beautiful young woman that I fell in love with all those years ago, and I felt tense about our meeting. She continued to have that effect on me after all was said and done.

I stood as she entered the coffee shop and held a chair for her. The waitress took her order for a hot chocolate while I nursed a coffee I'd been drinking for the last fifteen minutes, killing time while I waited for her.

"Nice to see you again, Belle. You look lovely as always," I smiled.

She nodded but said nothing, probably wondering what I wanted to say. That made two of us. I was really unsure of why I was here, other than to see her again. I thought several times of clearing the air with her, and maybe this was the time to do it.

"The last time we talked, it didn't end very well," I started. "You were upset, and I was not very patient. Over the last months, I've wanted to see you, but to tell the truth, I never got up the courage. I guess the first thing I should do is apologize."

She looked at me questioningly. "Why. You didn't do anything. I just lost my temper and didn't give you a chance to explain. I've been kicking myself ever since."

I must have had a very surprised look on my face. "It was so long ago, that I really don't remember all the details, Belle. I just remember you feeling that I was going out with other girls behind your back. I wasn't, but I know how rumours can get started. I gather your girlfriend's sister was the source of your information."

She nodded. "And my sister."

"Now that's a surprise. Helen is a senior. I didn't think she'd even notice me."

"I got the impression everyone noticed you, Lee. You caused quite a stir that first year from what I hear."

I was relieved that she didn't seem to be getting angry again. She was more controlled and even a bit sad if I was reading her right.

"Anyway, that was then and this is now. I'm not seeing anyone at present. What about you? Are you dating?"

"Now and then. Nothing serious," she answered, avoiding my eyes.

"Good. No need to get serious." I almost said 'at your age, ' but managed to hold back.

"Why do you say that?"

"Belle, you're eighteen. There's no rush. Play the field. Find out what you really want in a guy. Look for Mr. Right," I said in as earnest a voice as I was able.

She looked at me, then looked up at the clock on the wall. "I've got to go. My break is almost over."

"Yeah. Thanks for joining me. I'd like to do this again sometime."

She looked at me for a moment before answering. "Sure. Whenever you get a chance," she said as she rose from the chair. I couldn't read the expression on her face, but it wasn't one of happiness.

I watched her walk out and turn toward the bank. That feeling in my gut wouldn't go away. You don't spend fifty years with someone and not have a strong pull whenever they leave. I wasn't about to let that happen, but I wasn't about to rush it either. I was risking our future on letting her mature, hoping that she wouldn't find a different Mr. Right before she was ready for the one Mr. Right I intended for her to discover: me!

I returned to my routine at school and home. On a sunny and warmer-than-usual late November Saturday, I took advantage of the weather to wash and vacuum Mrs. Pontiac. All the while my brother was sitting on the rock retaining wall, watching me work. We were back speaking to each other again.

Against my better judgement, I had been letting John use my car now and then if I didn't need it. He never put a dimes worth of gas in it, but that was largely because he usually didn't have a dime. Unlike me, he wasn't interested in a part-time job, so he was living off his allowance, for which he also did nothing. I found I was still the official grass cutter, leaf raker, snow shoveller, garbage taker-outer, etc. I used to resent it, but now, living this second life, I had just accepted that was the way it was.

Our falling out had occurred in October, when I ran out of gas for the mower and had to borrow Dad's car to run down to the village and get some. As I was filling the metal jerry can, I saw Mrs. Pontiac go rolling down the street with at least seven or eight kids in it, my brother at the wheel, squished up against the door and just barely able to steer.

When he finally brought the car back that afternoon, the inside was a trash pit and the outside not much better. I laid into him right then and there. I let him know in no uncertain terms that he wouldn't be using my car in the foreseeable future. I also told him he had a half hour to clean it up to my satisfaction, especially the inside. I had seen John's outside wash jobs and I would be better off doing it myself.

He did a half-assed job of cleaning up the inside and I let him know about that as well. I also landed on him both boots about how many kids he had jammed into a two door coupe and how dangerous that was. I might as well have been talking to a brick wall. He didn't get it and didn't hide his lack of concern. As far as he was concerned, I was his over-reacting asshole brother with a superiority complex. He didn't even seem to care when I told him he could forget about borrowing my car again.

When my mother asked me the next week why John and I weren't talking, I told her. She was very unhappy with my brother and apparently, in private, lit into him not much differently than I had. She also banned him from using her car for a month. No one borrowed Dad's car except me. It was an MG TF with a crude, four-speed transmission. Not the easiest car to drive.

The result was that I was getting the silent treatment, not to mention a complete lack of co-operation on his part when it came to the chores around the house. He had decided to teach his smart-assed brother a lesson. He had no idea what little impression it made on me. I'd seen it all before and I just let it go. He'd get over it soon enough. He always did. The car ban would remain, however.

So, as I towelled off the remaining water on the old girl, I almost did a double-take when I heard him ask, "You mind if I borrow your car for a couple of hours this afternoon?"

I bit my tongue and refrained for letting him have it both barrels once more.

"Do you recall our last conversation about your borrowing my car?"

"Yeah ... I remember. I won't have all those guys in it, I promise."

"And what about the mess it was in when you brought it back?"

"I'll make sure it's clean, too."

I could see he was almost holding his breath, waiting for me to lose my temper and tell him to go to hell. I didn't. I don't really know why. Perhaps it was because it took so many years for us to find each other and reconcile our differences. I had a different frame of reference for our relationship than he did.

"I suppose it would be too much to ask you to put some gas in it before you bring it back?"

"I'll do that too," he promised.

"You need it now?"

"If I could."

Once again, against my better judgement, I tossed him the keys and walked back into the house.

Three hours later as I watched the end of a bad movie, the phone rang. I heard my mother answer it, then all hell broke loose. She was calling me in what I could only describe as a terrified voice.

"John's in hospital. There's been an accident. He's hurt. I've got to go to the hospital," she said, turning and looking around, clearly in a daze.

"Okay, Mom. Settle down. I'll drive. Leave a note for Dad. He'll be back from the golf club soon. On second thought, I'll leave a note. You get your coat and purse and we'll go right away."

I think I surprised my mother in the way that I had taken charge of the situation. It took the responsibility out of her hands and she could now worry full-time about the condition of my brother. I assumed it was an automobile accident and that my car was damaged. What neither of us knew was how badly hurt John was.

"Who called you, Mom? Was it the hospital?"

"No ... it was the police. They said he'd been in a car accident and they'd taken him to Lions Gate Hospital. Oh Lee, I'm so scared. He might be badly injured ... or even ... even..."

She couldn't bring herself to get that last horrifying thought out.

"Take it easy, Mom. We don't know anything yet. We'll be there in a couple of minutes and I'll let you off at the front door. Go to the Emergency desk and ask about him. Make sure they know you're his mother. Understood?"

"Yes. The Emergency desk."

I could see and feel the fear my mother held for her youngest son. She and John were always close, while my father and I were more alike and better connected. Nonetheless, Mom never favoured one of us over the other. She treated us exactly the same and in my child-rearing years I came to respect her ability to do that. It isn't easy not to pick one child over another.

I dropped my mother off at the hospital entrance and watched as she nearly ran to the door. I drove her car to the parking lot and within a few minutes, we were together in the lounge.

"He's in surgery. They wouldn't tell me what was wrong with him. They said the doctor will come and see me when they are finished with him. The only good thing is that he's not listed as critical."

"That's good to hear, Mom. Let's just wait and see what the doctor has to say."

It was a half hour or so before a green-clad man came out to the lounge and approached my mother.

"Mrs. North?"

"Yes," she answered in a fearful tone.

"I'm Doctor Grisham. Your son will be okay, but he's still unconscious. He's had a bad bang to his head and a cut in his scalp. He's going to have a nasty headache when he comes to, and he's not going to want to comb his hair anytime soon, but he'll be fine in a couple of weeks. We're going to keep him overnight for observation, but you can probably pick him up tomorrow and take him home. The nurse will call you when to come and get him."

I thought my mother was going to collapse in relief. I saw the air go out of her when she finally realized John was going to be all right, and I wrapped my arm around her shoulders to support her as she sat back down in the chair. She had tears in her eyes and was blinking, trying her best not to lose control.

"Come on, Mom, let's go home."

She nodded wordlessly, and we walked slowly out to the parking lot and her car. It was a silent ride home, once more reflecting on what might have been the consequences, and thankful they hadn't happened that way. For my part, I was already thinking about what had to be done. First, I had to call the police and find out where the accident occurred. Then I had to find out where my car was. I shuddered to think of how much damage there might be.

Dad had just arrived home when we did. I filled him in on what we knew, which was very little. I told him I would call the police and get the details. He could look after Mom. She was still very shook up, and if I knew Dad, his short term remedy would be a pair of Manhattans, straight up.

I called the local police and they were reluctant to discuss the accident until I informed them that the car was mine and the driver was my brother, using it with my permission. The accident occurred a few blocks from the shopping center and apparently my brother had rear-ended a truck when it stopped at a crosswalk. With no seat belts, and his usual driving position hunched over the wheel, it was no surprise that he hit his head on the top of the windshield frame. No one else was in the car at the time. The police were considering a charge of undue care and attention, but were uncertain if they would get Crown Counsel's approval. Great! Just fucking great!

My car had been towed to an impound lot in North Vancouver and I was given a file number by the police so that I could inspect it and remove any items that I wanted. When I got there, I saw what was left of my car sitting forlornly by the side of the chain link fence surrounding the place. They hadn't even had the time to haul it into the compound.

As I walked around it, I knew my love affair with Mrs. Pontiac had come to an end. The front was totally destroyed. The radiator had puked its guts out and the engine was out of alignment having been knocked off its mounts. I could see all this because the front half of the hood had been folded back like a lightweight piece of cardboard. There was no way the cost of repairing the car would be less than its value. I walked slowly back to my mother's car and drove home.

I called my insurance agent, but he was gone for the weekend. I made a note to call him Monday morning and then started to think about how I was going to get to college for the next little while. I couldn't borrow Mom's car every day, so I needed an alternative. I pulled the classifieds out of that evening's paper and started to look for another car. I was depressed knowing that I wouldn't find as nice a ride as the lovely old girl that I had depended upon for the last year.

My Dad is a really good thinker, and I like to believe I had developed some of those skills later in life as well. I got another example of his talent on Sunday morning.

"Lee, I called Arnold Bentley this morning. He and Marge are flying down to Palm Springs on Monday afternoon. I told him what had happened to your car and he volunteered to let you use Marge's car while they were away. All you have to do is drive safely, keep the tank filled, and keep it clean. The way you treated your car over the past year, I don't have any doubts you can do that," he grinned.

I was speechless. I couldn't imagine someone just giving me a car to use like that. Marge Bentley's car was a 1956 Pontiac Laurentian four-door sedan in bronze and white. It was an automatic with the newer six cylinder engine, power steering and power brakes. Nothing fancy, but a very nice car for me to use while I looked to replace my old one.

"I don't know what to say. That's an incredibly generous thing for them to do. How long will they be gone?" I asked my father.

"The month of December. They're back in time for the neighbourhood New Year's party. So figure sometime around the thirtieth. That should give you enough time to replace Mrs. Pontiac," he grinned again.

"I'll call them and thank them right away. This is really going to be a life-saver. Thanks, Dad. I know you had a hand in this. I appreciate it very much."

He nodded as he often did and then sauntered off to the kitchen where Mom was working on tonight's supper.

I called the Bentley number and got Mrs. Bentley. I thanked her profusely, all the while she was saying she was happy she could help. In the back of my mind I would need to think of something more tangible to say thank you to them. I had a month to come up with a solution. I arranged to pick up the car later that afternoon, and once again, I had the chance to thank both of them for their thoughtfulness. I don't think I left any doubt that I was grateful.

John came home that same afternoon, with a large bandage on his head and a strange looking haircut after they had shaved the area around the cut. That should be a reminder of his inattention for a while. I'm sure he was expecting a blast from me for destroying my car, but I decided to let him stew in his own juices. I said nothing. Then again, neither did he. I think he was afraid to say "sorry" for fear of how I might react. He got around to it a couple of days later, but by then, the fun had gone out of my silent treatment and I accepted his apology.

When I thought about it, this had never happened in my previous existence. There was no car accident and John was never injured. All these events were a consequence of how I'd changed the time-line. I might be living in a parallel universe, but it wasn't a duplicate universe. It had a path of its own, and I didn't yet know the destination of that path.

I contacted my insurance agent and told him of the accident. He sent their appraiser over to the compound and quickly identified that the car was unsalvageable. To my surprise, I would receive a cheque for $750, only a few dollars less than I had paid for it a year earlier. At the same time, I was informed that my insurance rate would increase by almost $100 annually due to the accident being my fault. It wasn't of course, but I was the registered owner, and that's where the liability fell.

Mrs. Pontiac had been laid to rest, and it was time for me to find a new lady to grace our driveway. Happily, I had cash in the bank, plus the money from the insurance, so I was a bit more flexible in my search. I wasn't pressed to make a quick decision, so I took my time in looking. It took two weekends, but I finally found what I wanted. A 1955 Chevrolet Bel Air two-door coupe, with a six-cylinder automatic, white walls, full wheel covers, and forty thousand miles.

It would need new tires soon, but in the trunk were a set of barely used snow tires that were worth a hundred dollars I would have guessed. The car had been reasonably well cared for. I didn't see any signs of unusual wear, repaired bodywork, or items that didn't function properly. It was on a new-car dealer's lot, so I felt a little more confident that it wouldn't be a lemon. They told me it had been traded in on a new '61 Chevy just a month earlier, and gave me a six-month warranty on it to help seal the deal.

I did some hard bargaining, but finally we came to an agreement on an even $900, including installing the snow tires. I left the two most worn tires in their care and drove off the lot in my blue and white ride. It was more powerful and easier to drive than Mrs. Pontiac, and it was certainly prettier, but somehow it just wasn't the same. I always thought the '55 Chevy was the nicest of the new-age designs that had come out in the mid-fifties. Simpler lines, less chrome, better handling. I was happy with my choice and I hoped she would be happy with me.



-------

Chapter 10: Dave and the Redhead


I picked up another four hundred-plus dollars over the Christmas break, but after buying presents, I was probably only ahead by two hundred. With Mom's help, I found something really nice for the Bentleys as a thank-you for their generosity in lending me the car. Mom and Marge Bentley were good friends and she knew just what to get her. I let Mom buy it since it was a very nice golf jacket, and she would know the size and colour that Marge would like.

I also knew Dad was getting tired of the quirks and foibles of the MG, and was looking around. All his life he'd been a car nut, or at least since he'd owned a motorcycle in the early thirties. When he proposed to Mom, the motorcycle disappeared.

I was curious about what he would choose because I knew it wouldn't be something conventional. After a while I figured out he was going for a VW Karmann-Ghia. The tip-off was the brochures. It was a nice little two door coupe with a standard VW engine and transmission. I remembered this car. He had bought it about a year before Belle and I married and let us use it on our honeymoon. It was no Porsche, but it was a nice compromise and a lot more reliable than the MG. A light blue and off-white model appeared in our driveway just after New Years.

I did buy something for Belle. It was a little more modest than the previous year, but I didn't want her to think I had forgotten her, and I didn't expect anything in return. I found a nice charm for the charm bracelet she often wore. It was a fox with a tiny ruby for an eye, and I was sure that Belle wouldn't connect the animal with the future term for a very sexy woman. She liked it, and called me to thank me. Her voice sounded a lot more upbeat and I suggested we get together for coffee the first Thursday in January. She quickly agreed.

This time, Belle was a lot more relaxed and charming when we met. I decided not to probe into the reason and just accept it as an improvement in relations. I quickly got the impression she wasn't all that thrilled with her job, however, and I asked her about it.

"No ... really ... it's boring. There's hell to pay if the cash drawer doesn't balance at the end of the day, and I can spend hours looking for a dollar or two. Not all of the customers are nice, either. I'm thinking of looking around," she admitted.

"What would you really like to do?"

"That's just it ... I don't know."

"Well, I know you can sew. You make a lot of your own clothes. I also know you are a good cook, because your mother told me so."

"She did? When?"

Ah damn. Did it again. "I don't remember, but anyway, I know it's true. Have you thought about working in some place that lets you use those skills?"

"Like where?"

"Well, a fabric and sewing shop for one. You would do really well there."

"I suppose," she said thoughtfully. It looked like the idea hadn't occurred to her before.

"As far as cooking goes ... there are kitchen shops in the department stores. That's another place you could use your expertise."

"Expertise? I don't know about that. I just know how to cook basic things."

"You know how to read a cookbook and follow instructions, don't you?"

"Yes ... of course. I do it all the time."

"I'm not suggesting you get a job as a cook in a restaurant, but there are catering companies that prepare foods in batches for parties and conventions. There could be a job in that area too."

She looked at me carefully for a few moments. "That's something to think about, for sure. It would have to be better than the bank."

"You won't know until you try. Check the want ads. Check around at the stores in the village. You never know, one of them might be on the lookout for someone with your skills."

She smiled at me. "Thanks, Lee. Those are good ideas. I'm going to try your suggestions."

"Good for you. And good luck."

Belle was rising to go back to the bank, her break time having expired.

"Thanks again, Lee. I feel a lot better talking to you about this. I hope I can find something."

She smiled as she turned to go. It was a much more pleasant parting than the last time. I hoped she would follow up. It wasn't her strong suit, but if she was that unhappy at the bank, maybe it would be the motivator to look for something better.

Three weeks later, she called me, all keyed up.

"Lee ... guess what?"

"I can't. What is it? You sound excited. Tell me."

"I found a new job. You'll never guess where."

"Come on ... don't make me wait ... where?"

"At Maurice's Bridal Salon. I'm going to be altering and finishing bridal dresses! Isn't that exciting?"

"It sure is," I said with genuine happiness for her. "How did you get the job?"

"I heard they were looking for a replacement for someone who left and I applied. I guess a bunch of women applied, but they gave us some test work to see if we could do what they wanted ... and I won!"

"Congratulations, Belle. That's wonderful. When do you start and where is it?"

"The store is in the shopping centre and the shop is in the back. It's just a two minute walk from the bank, so it's really convenient. I start in a week. I had to give the bank two weeks notice, but I had a one week vacation coming, so I took that. I'm really looking forward to this, Lee. It's a really good opportunity. They talked about maybe designing and making dresses right in the shop. I'd love to do that."

"It sounds just exactly what you wanted, Belle. I'm really happy for you. I know you're going to do very well there."

"Thanks to you, Lee. You were the one who got me to try. I won't forget that. I owe you," she said, bubbling over with enthusiasm.

"You did it all yourself, Belle. You have the talent, and they saw it. You've earned this chance, so grab it with both hands and give it your best."

"I will, Lee, I will."

We chatted for a couple more minutes, but I could tell Belle couldn't wait to call some of her friends and let them know as well. When I hung up, it was with a big smile and a sense of satisfaction. She had taken my advice and struck out on her own. Advice she was reluctant to take when she got older. This time, I had succeeded.

I dropped in to see Dave Meehan the following week. He was just finishing up with a student asking for some assistance and I waited outside his office. When the student left, I knocked lightly and got the usual cheerful greeting.

"Hi Lee. How are you? Happy New Year, by the way."

"Happy New Year to you, and I'm great, thanks.

"Passed all your exams then?"

"Yes. No problems at all I'm happy to say. I feel a lot more relaxed and less pressured this year."

"That's pretty common. Once you get the first year out of the way, you get a sense of confidence that you can do the work. Not that it gets easier, but you know how to handle the load."

I nodded. We chatted about what we did over the Christmas break. Dave had gone to visit his parents in Kamloops for Christmas, but was back here before New Years.

"Do you commute to the campus, or what?" I asked.

"I ride my bike. I live just outside the gates. I have a basement suite that I rent. Nice older couple own the house and I guess they're happy I'm a quiet tenant."

"No car?"

"No. A teaching assistant's salary isn't that much, so I'm waiting until I gain full status. Then maybe I'll bust loose," he grinned. "Really, though, I don't often need a car."

"I don't know, Dave. Riding your girlfriend on the handlebars doesn't sound like a good way to impress her," I kidded.

"Not a problem. No girlfriend."

"Oh ... well ... none of my business." I shut up at that point as I could see Dave had turned away and had a strange look about him.

"Lee ... can you keep a confidence? I mean ... an important confidence?"

"Yes. I think you know me well enough to trust that I will if I say I will."

He nodded, paused, looked like he was trying to decide something, then spoke.

"The reason I don't have a girlfriend is because I prefer the company of males."

"Oh." I wasn't a very imaginative response, but he caught me by surprise. Now I knew why he was so adamant about keeping a confidence.

"Does that bother you? I'm not going to make a move on you, Lee. I know you prefer women."

"No. It doesn't bother me. There were a couple of guys in high school I was pretty sure were g ... homosexual, but we got along fine. I'd hate to think that our friendship would be at stake. Your private life is your private life. I'm just pleased that we can spend some time talking. I feel I can share my thoughts with you ... and ... obviously, you feel you can tell me yours as well. I'm flattered that you would trust me."

Dave was shaking his head. "There are times when I think you are a forty-year-old in a twenty-year-old body. You keep surprising me."

"I'm a whole bunch older than forty," I laughed. If only he knew. "Anyway, I can guess the kinds of problems you would encounter if your lifestyle were revealed. This still isn't a very enlightened age when it comes to sexual preferences."

"Where do you get these words and phrases from? You keep coming up with interesting vocabulary and it all seems to fit."

"Ah ... nothing special. It's kind of a game for me. Looking for different ways to express the same idea. I hate clichés, and catch phrases that have a half-life that is usually far too long. So ... I invent my own," I lied.

"Amazing. So what's the word of the day?" he grinned, challenging me.

"Oh ... let's see," I said, thinking of something that would be readily explainable. "How about sustainability?"

"Okay. I have an idea what it might mean. But tell me how you would use it."

"When someone proposes a different or new idea or task, I ask myself if the method can be sustained. In other words, are there enough resources available to complete or continue a given project?"

"Give me an example," Dave asked, definitely interested.

"Well, we have an overtime parking bylaw in place. I've forgotten what the fine is, but somewhere back in time, the council passed a bylaw limiting the time you're allowed to park on the street. Now, to enforce the bylaw, you need resources. Generally it's people. You don't want to be assigning the police to handle it if you can help it. They already have plenty of more important things to do. So, how do you enforce the bylaw? How do you make it sustainable?"

The smile on Dave's face was almost a smirk. "Absolutely correct!" he exclaimed. "How many times have we seen councils pass bylaws and regulations that they know perfectly well they don't have the manpower to enforce? But, they get their name in the paper as a sponsor of some well-meaning proposal and they're satisfied."

We got into a long discussion about sustainability, and before I knew it, it was almost six o'clock. I asked to use Dave's phone and called home to tell my mother I was delayed and wouldn't be home for dinner. She thanked me for calling, saying that it was stew tonight and it would be even better tomorrow night.

"Got time for a bite to eat ... my treat?" I asked Dave.

He looked at me and nodded. "Sure. Let's do that. But ... how about Dutch. That way I won't feel guilty about taking money from a student."

Dave knew of a good Greek restaurant not far from his suite, so we stuck his bicycle into my trunk as best we could and took off for the restaurant.

"What made you decide to tell me," I asked him as we waited for the entrée.

"I'm not sure. I know you are so completely different from any student I've ever had, and so much more mature than your years that it seemed worth the risk. It could have been a very bad mistake, but somehow ... I don't think it will be."

"Thank you. That took a lot of courage and I'm honoured that you felt that way about our friendship. There's no way to know where I'm going to be in a couple of years, but I hope we don't lose contact with each other. I've never been someone who made friends easily, so I value them very highly."

That seemed to bring an end to that topic and we moved on to lighter and more upbeat topics. I told him about Belle's new job and how excited she was. Dave seemed pleased that our relationship had improved and that we were back on good terms. He may not have been interested in women, but he was interested in my life, and not with any ulterior motive.

He asked if I had any intention of adding physics courses in the next two years and I told him I wasn't sure. I wanted to see what they covered. I couldn't see myself as a theoretician, so it would have to be a more practical application to catch my interest. He gave me a list of the options for third and fourth year, and I promised to look them over. I wondered if it wasn't just a way for us to keep in regular contact. I had the feeling that he found our friendship to be as important to him as I did, despite the fact that we had a very different outlook on life.

Along the way, I had picked up a couple of male friends; Pat Hoover, known as "Vac" to his friends, and Charles Glaston, simply known as Charlie. Pat was in my math class, and he and Charlie had been friends for several years. They came as a pair. Pat acquired his nickname when his Little League coach once called him the "human vacuum cleaner" after a particularly good game at short stop. That became "Vacuum" and then just "Vac." They were a fun pair and it helped keep me up to date on what the twenty-year-old age group was thinking.

I was at the SUB, eating my lunch and reading my notes from the creative writing class when I became aware of someone sitting down across from me. When I looked up, I immediately recognized the attractive redhead that I had noticed at the dance during the fall. I had seen her several times around the campus, but always from a distance, and this was the first time I had seen her up close. She was a knock-out. I was sure I must have been staring, open-mouthed as she sat.

"Okay if I sit here?" she asked with a smile. "Looks like the place is full today."

"Yes ... yes, of course," I stumbled, recovering from her arrival. "I'm Lee North, by the way."

"Hi, Lee. I'm Shannon Monahan. Nice to meet you." She had a smile that would melt a statue. Perfect teeth, a sprinkling of freckles on her cheeks, dark red hair in ringlets, a turned up nose, lovely blue-green eyes, and a voice that was as pretty as a melody.

"Let me guess. Red hair and the last name Monahan. You might be Irish," I said as if it was an amazing deduction.

She laughed and nodded. "Can't deny it. Born in Galway, spirited away to this heathen land when I was a babe."

"You still are a babe," I ventured, suddenly thinking I might have overstepped my bounds.

"Are you always this cheeky?" she asked, still smiling.

"You've caught me by surprise, so I'm not sure of what I'm saying, to be honest."

"I find that hard to believe. The silver tongue of Lee North is well known around this college."

"Oh," I said with a sad acknowledgement. Once again, my guard was up. Was this another of the women that wanted to know me?

"Most young men would be proud to have the reputation that you have," she said, looking at me with a curious stare.

"It isn't all it's cracked up to be."

She continued the questioning look, but said nothing in response.

"I'm curious, Shannon. Just what is my reputation ... as you understand it?"

"Are you looking for compliments Mr. North?"

"No ... just trying to find out what I've done to earn all this unwanted and unwarranted attention."

"Well ... I think you've just demonstrated it."

"And that was... ?"

"Your language. You don't speak like most young men here. You have a very different vocabulary. I understand what you are saying, but it is so ... so ... sophisticated that I think it takes people by surprise."

"I've been told that. Do you think that's the only difference?"

She shook her head. "No ... just talking to you now ... I can tell you are much more ... adult ... than I would expect. More thoughtful. More serious in some ways, except ... you have a sense of humour. You are a mystery, Mr. North."

"Please ... Mr. North is my father. I'm just plain Lee."

"You are anything but plain, Lee. You are interesting and I suppose ... to some of the young girls here ... you must be a challenge. I get the impression you can't be manipulated easily."

"Now there's a nice, big word," I grinned.

"I learned it in psychology class."

"That must be second year. They don't use many big words in Psych 101."

"True. Are you taking that course?"

"Absolutely. In fact, the thought has crossed my mind that I might major in psychology. I seem to have an affinity for it."

"If you're just in 101 now, how will you get it done in four years?"

"I'll double up somewhere down the line. I may do 201 this summer, if it isn't too difficult."

"I can show you the text and the study notes if you like."

I looked at her and decided it was a genuine offer.

"That would be great. It would give me some idea of what I would need to do to catch up."

"How are you doing in 101?" she asked.

"Piece of cake."

She laughed. "I haven't heard that expression in a long time. Are you English?"

"Nope, but my father was born there ... in London. I guess I picked up a lot of things from him."

"What does your father do?"

"He's the editorial page editor for the Sun newspaper."

She gasped in surprise. "Your father is Thomas North!"

I nodded. "That's right."

"My father is Seamus Monahan. He works for your father. My father thinks your father is the smartest man he ever met," she said with a still-shocked look on her face.

I smiled. "Small world, eh?"

"Who would have thought?" she said, more to herself I suspected.

As we talked, I could hear the faint traces of the Irish lilt in her voice. It was almost music. I had never thought of voices being sexy, other than the exaggerated stage voices from old movies. But Shannon's had a very appealing sound, and I could have listened to her all day.

It was time to leave for class, and she thanked me for sharing the table and she would be telling her father of meeting the son of his mentor. When she rose to go, I was almost disappointed. It had been such a delightful few minutes and I suggested if the occasion arose, that we should do it again. She readily agreed.

Shannon Monahan had disarmed me. I had been on my guard for weeks following the incident with Sandy, but within a few moments, I had completely quit worrying about deception with my new friend. If she were conning me, she was an expert. I was beginning to think of another relationship like the one I had with Diane. The question was whether she and I would "click." I would have to wait and see.

To my surprise, Shannon showed up at the SUB the next lunch period and sought me out. Happily, I had a spare seat at my table. Her arrival immediately caught the attention of the two guys sitting with me.

"Okay, North. Just exactly how do you rate attracting beautiful girls like this?" Vac Hoover began.

"There's no way she could possibly be attracted to this dweeb," Charlie chimed in.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, calm down. Miss Monahan is my guest and I'll kindly ask to treat her like a guest," I intoned in my most formal manner.

"Miss Monahan, these two fellows are associates and classmates of mine, I regret to say. Please say hello to Mr. Glaston and Mr. Hoover." I was having a hard time keeping a straight face.

"How charming, Mr. North. You do attract the most unusual friends," Shannon said in her best imitation of a formal voice. It worked perfectly. Charlie and Pat were struck dumb by our act. They didn't know whether they were afoot or horseback.

Finally, I couldn't hold it back and longer and burst out laughing. Shannon followed me almost immediately.

"Sorry, guys. This is Shannon. She's a soph, just like us, but I would venture to say a cut above, wouldn't you?"

"There you go with the fancy talk again, North. Yes, I would agree she is a very attractive young lady and therefore way out of your league," Charlie said, having recovered from our little act.

"Isn't that up to me to decide," Shannon voiced with an arched eyebrow.

Charlie began to choke and Vac began to laugh.

"Nice goin' smooth talker," Vac cackled, smacking Charlie on the shoulder.

I was shaking my head at this circus, but I could also see Shannon was having fun as well, so no harm was being done.

"Do these gentlemen usually provide the noon hour entertainment for you?" she asked with a smirk.

"Yup. However, over the semester I've learned they are relatively harmless. I suppose you can tell that neither of them is encumbered with a girlfriend."

Shannon was about to say something, then stopped for a moment, probably making sure what encumbered meant before plunging on.

"Perhaps I can be of some assistance," she said, looking pointedly at my two bewildered classmates. "I know some quite respectable young ladies that might be willing to succumb to an introduction."

I laughed out loud, knowing neither Pat nor Charlie caught the meaning of Shannon's bow-shot.

"Uhhm ... actually ... I do have a girlfriend, Shannon," Charlie said meekly.

"Me too," Pat jumped in immediately.

They did, of course, although I didn't know how long-term either of them were. Neither was on campus, and I hadn't met them. The fun was over and Pat and Charlie bid a polite farewell.

"I brought my Psych 201 text with me, Lee. Did you want to have a look?"

"Yes, please. Thanks for thinking of me. I appreciate it."

"After that little bit of fun just now, I don't know how I won't be thinking of you. You are just as clever as your father by the sound of things."

"Oh no. Not by a long shot."

I spent a few minutes reviewing the text and asking Shannon a few questions. She was quick with concise answers and I quickly discovered that along with her good looks came a very active brain.

"What is you're long-term goal, Shannon?"

"I started out with an objective of becoming a doctor. But lately, I've been so interested in psychology and human behaviour that I'm seriously considering psychiatry. I'll still need a medical degree, but I think it's where I might be best suited."

She was quite a revelation. Thoughtful, smart, beautiful ... everything any guy could possibly want in a girl. I wondered if I dared get involved.



-------

Chapter 11: Shannon


"Dad, do you know a Seamus Monahan?"

"Yes. He's a very fine writer at the Sun. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I met his daughter, Shannon. She's a sophomore like me. We got to talking and discovered that her dad worked for you."

"He does editorials, but I'm trying to get some interest with the Managing Editor to have him write some feature pieces. He's a very talented writer and I'd like to see him get some exposure. I've seen a couple of his humour pieces and they are very good."

"Shannon says he admires and respects you a great deal. He thinks you're one of the smartest men he's ever met," I said, wondering how Dad would react to the praise.

"Does he now? Well, I think he has an inflated idea of my talents. I wish I were half the writer he is. He has a wonderful gift of the language and some of his prose is almost lyrical. I think he's wasted at the paper. He should be writing for The New Yorker, or one of those classy magazines."

"Sounds like a harmonious relationship," I laughed.

My father looked over at me and shook his head slightly. I think I still baffled

him but I couldn't help it. I was being less guarded with my language these days. I was going to have to be careful since I had a tendency to swear. What might have been acceptable in the nineties was definitely not in the sixties. I was growing accustomed to my surroundings in this second life, but I still had all the knowledge and tendencies of my first life.

Shannon became a regular at my table for lunch. Vac and Charlie stopped by once in a while, but I think they could see we were absorbed in our own world and they weren't going to be able to penetrate that. Zoe stopped by one day, and I introduced Shannon to her and we chatted for a few minutes. I could see Shannon was impressed with the big blonde, but even more interested in how I came to know her. After all, she was a senior.

"I helped her with a history course she was having trouble with."

"Was that this year?"

"No ... last year."

"You mean, when you were a freshman, you tutored a junior?"

"Yup."

"That explains a lot," Shannon said thoughtfully.

"You mean that reputation thing, I suppose."

"Yes. You are really quite remarkable," she said slowly, enunciating every word.

I shrugged but remained silent.

"Are you a genius?"

"God no! Far from it."

"That's hard to believe. There is something about you that is ... magnetic. You attract attention, even when you aren't trying to. It's like you were a guy from outer space or something. You look like us, but you don't talk and act like us."

I let out a big sigh. It was starting all over again and I didn't have the patience for it.

"Look, Shannon. I'm sorry if I'm weird, or different, or confusing. But frankly, I'm tired of apologizing for it. I'm not a genius and I don't have any special powers, and as far as I know I'm not from outer space. Now, you can accept that or not. It happens to be the facts!"

I didn't realize I had raised my voice and when I took the time to look, I could see the shock on Shannon's face. She wasn't ready for a tirade from me and she was clearly taken aback.

Shit! Now I had to defuse this too.

"I'm sorry, Shannon. I didn't mean to get on your case. I'm just a bit tired of being treated like I'm some kind of freak. I'm just an ordinary guy with ordinary ambitions. I like girls, I want to get a degree here, and someday have a wife, kids, a house and all that normal stuff. If I talk funny, well ... just think of me as some kind of DP, new to the country and English is my second language. Okay?"

She hadn't said a word, and the shocked look on her face was locked in place. I buried my face in my hands and waited for her reaction.

"That was quite something, Mr. North," I heard her say in what seemed to be an even more Irish lilt than normal.

I looked up and she was smiling, but not with happiness. It was more of a sad smile. She reached across the table and held my hands. It was a gesture I would long remember. They were soft and dry and held my hands gently, but with kindness.

I had nothing I could think of to say, so I did the one thing I learned in my previous life in this situation: shut up.

"This whole business of your fame hasn't been easy, has it?" she said softly. Again, there was more Irish in it than I was accustomed to hearing from her.

I nodded my agreement, looking at her briefly, but still saying nothing.

"I can't imagine what it must be like, but you're probably handling it better than I would. You have a nice sense of humour and I think that's your main protection, Lee. You can't let this get to you. You might not be a genius, but you're pretty smart, and if you don't mind, I'd like to be your friend. A girlfriend if you're interested."

I looked up at her in surprise. She was still holding my hands, but had been speaking in that almost whispering-soft voice of hers. I'm sure no one could have heard her. But I did. I heard her loud and clear. I let my brain kick in for once.

"I'd have to be crazy to turn down an offer like that, and I assure you ... despite what you might think ... I'm not crazy."

This time the smile was broad and perhaps with a tinge of relief. We were back on solid ground.

"Just for the record," I said quietly, "it isn't about fame. It's about reputation and the baggage that is carried with it."

She looked at me curiously, wondering, I suppose, what I was talking about.

"Reputations are largely about rumour. You know, second or third or fourth-hand information. The farther they get from the source, the farther they get from the facts. I don't really know exactly what other people are saying about me, but I know I'm a misfit. I don't slip into the normal twenty-something mould people have cast for me.

"I'm not used to it because it hasn't always been this way. Most of my problems started after an accident. I can't account for how I am different, and there are parts of my memory that aren't too clear, but I know that's when it all started. That was just as I was finishing high school. Maybe that explains why I react the way I do. I haven't even had two years to get used to who I am."

"That does help explain it," Shannon said. "I had a friend who had a fall and hit her head when skiing. She changed too. But not like you. She got very moody and unhappy with everything around her. She dropped out of school this year. I think she's getting some professional help, but I don't know much more."

"Well, I suppose I can be grateful that the only thing that happened to me wasn't that dramatic. I'm probably overreacting too. I guess I need to calm down and just get on with it."

She had propped her chin on her palm, her elbow on the table, looking at me from a cockeyed angle. She was incredibly lovely, and I smiled at her as she brought me back down to earth.

"You're good therapy, you know," I said with a sincere smile.

"Thank you. You can talk to me anytime and not worry about where it goes."

I nodded. "You'd like my friend, Dave. He's someone I can talk too as well. I'll introduce you when the opportunity arises."

She was smiling and the tension that I had created was now gone. I had a new girlfriend. One with ambition and direction in her life. It reminded me of Diane, but Shannon was very different in her personality. I wondered if the stories of redheads and their temper were true. I suppose at some point I would find out.

We began dating the following weekend with the usual movie and a snack. Shannon lived with her father in an apartment in the west end of the city. Her father often walked to work at the newspaper, just a few blocks from home. The first time I called on her, he answered the door.

"Hullo ... ye must be Lee," he said with a smile. "Come in. Shannon'll be roit along."

He had a thick Irish brogue, but I had no trouble understanding him. He wasn't very tall, perhaps five-eight, with a portly shape for a man likely in his late forties or early fifties. He had a weathered face and long sideburns in the same salt-and-pepper grey as the unruly mop of hair on his head. An unlit pipe hung from the corner of his mouth. His smile was kindly and relaxed.

"I admire yer da," he said conversationally. "He's a clever man, he is."

"He told me you are his best writer. Thinks you have the talent to do much more," I said in reply to his compliment.

"Aye. He's said as much. But ... Oi'm 'appy 'ere. Shannon has a good school, an' dis is a foin place ter live."

I often marvelled at the difference between his rich, deep brogue and his written word. It was like comparing Mickey Spillane with Winston Churchill. I wondered more than once if he wasn't affecting the accent for his own entertainment. The look of rapture on some of the women's faces when he spoke was something to behold.

Seamus Monahan had been a widower for over fifteen years. His beloved wife Mary had died suddenly and inexplicably from what would now be referred to as a brain aneurism. Shannon was five years old and both her father and she were devastated at their unexpected loss. What precipitated their move from Galway to Vancouver was a particularly insensitive parish priest who tried to assure Seamus that Mary's death was for the best and that she was in a far better place.

Seamus was outraged at the old fool, and wrote a scathing column in his local newspaper that vented his feelings toward both the priest and the Catholic Church. The grieving husband and father might have known that the church was the absolute ruler of all things in County Galway, and it wasn't long before the Bishop descended on the owners of the paper to announce his displeasure at their continuing employment of Seamus Monahan. He was give three months notice and asked to vacate the premises immediately.

It seemed a far reach from Galway to Vancouver, but that was where the Monahans found their new home. The Sun newspaper had hired him on the basis of his experience and the dozen samples of his work that he forwarded with his résumé.

At first he balked at moving eight time zones west, but knew it would give Shannon and him the new start they both needed. She might have been only five, but the young girl was well aware of her father's excommunication. There would be no jobs in Ireland for him. The bishop would see to that. And Irish writers were not in favour in England at that time either. There was little choice but to accept the distant opportunity.

Armed with their passports, the written job offer, his late wife's death certificate, and the few possessions they owned, they boarded a Canada-bound passenger/freighter and landed in Montreal. The five day train ride to Vancouver gave him an entirely different perspective on his new home. He had never imagined a country as large and as sweeping as this.

He had brought a thick notepad with him and had kept a journal of their voyage. Dozens of pages of notes, observations, and impressions were recorded over the two week journey from their Irish homeland. When they stepped off the transcontinental train early one Wednesday morning, he had $300 to his name and no place to live. He made a phone call to the newspaper, talked to the editor, and was directed to a modest hotel near the paper. The newspaper would look after the first weeks stay while he looked for permanent accommodation. Seamus began to breathe again.

WWII was barely over, and Ireland had been neutral, or so they claimed. The population was divided in their loyalties; the lasting hatred for the British against an unknown future with the Germans. Seamus was no fan of the British, but knew in his heart that German domination of Europe would be far worse. Fortunately, the war never found his homeland and now, safely in Canada, he had a sense of relief and acceptance for the new life he had chosen for himself and his daughter.

He found a boarding house not far from the city center, and knew that it would be temporary as soon as he looked at it. It was aging, and not too gracefully. Not well kept up in his opinion, and lacked privacy. The elderly couple who owned it could neither afford to make repairs, nor do the work themselves. It would have to do until he could find a better alternative.

The better alternative was an apartment building in Kitsilano, a very nice, quiet neighbourhood not terribly far from his office. In addition, there was an elementary school only three blocks away that Shannon would attend. His next worry would be how to look after his daughter when she was out of school while he was at work. The answer came quickly and easily.

Mrs. Monica Drysdale lived in the apartment across the hall. She was a widow, living on her husband's pension and an insurance policy. Her husband had died on D-Day at Juno Beach. They made their acquaintance when the Monahans moved in and almost immediately, she volunteered to look after Shannon after school. They would keep each other company.

Shannon took to the middle-aged woman immediately and they became fast friends. The young girl would happily relate her day at school and all the new friends she was making. Monica was delighted with her company and looked forward to her afternoon visits. Their relationship lasted until Shannon was fifteen when her father had found a newer and more spacious apartment closer to his office. Monica, as Shannon had been invited to call her, was heartbroken at the thought of losing contact with the young woman, and Shannon was also distressed to lose the only adult woman she had ever truly known.

But they kept in touch. It wasn't that far from her new home to the older three storey building, and Shannon made sure that she visited Monica often. Seamus was quietly pleased that she had chosen to do so. His daughter had been without a mother for ten years and Monica Drysdale was as close to being a surrogate as anyone could possibly be. At least, he thought, she could confide in the older woman with some assurance that she would give her good advice.

It was no surprise to the father that his daughter would do extremely well in school. She was dedicated and bright, eager to succeed. She had goals, one of which was to win a scholarship to college. She outdid herself with a full academic scholarship, a bursary sponsored by the school board, and a special scholarship dedicated to the sons and daughters of employees of the newspaper. No one was more proud and more tearful than Seamus Monahan when his lovely daughter stood before the assembled high school class and gave the valedictorian speech. His only regret was that her mother could not be here to witness her triumph. Monica Drysdale was her stand-in, and she too was in tears of happiness for the young woman.

By spring, I was completely smitten with Shannon Monahan. She was beautiful, to be sure, but far more than that, she was mature beyond her years. Perhaps it was that single thing that made her so attractive to me. I was operating with a sixty-eight year-old mind, while Shannon was acting more like thirty than twenty. We could talk about so many things that interested her and she was able to grasp new ideas so quickly that I began to assume she had a much higher I.Q. than I did.

I had reverted to my cautious approach when we dated. We had kissed, fairly passionately once or twice, but I was reluctant to try anything more. I wanted her to take the lead in our relationship, but I didn't know quite how to go about telling her that. As it turned out, she really was much brighter than me, and she caught on much quicker than I did.

"Lee ... you seem very reluctant to have us become more ... familiar," she said one evening as we sat in my car. I had my arm around her shoulders and we had been kissing, but nothing really hot.

I knew if she brought the subject up that I would address it honestly.

"I'm being careful not to overstep my bounds, Shannon. I'm not going to do anything that upsets or frightens you. You're much too important to me to risk that."

She looked at me carefully, I suppose trying to judge if I was spinning a line or sincere. She must have decided the latter.

"I'm going to be twenty-one soon. I'm still a virgin, but that's by choice. If I'm going to give myself to someone, it's going to be the right someone. Would you be surprised that I've decided you're that someone?"

I was completely taken by surprise. Her statement was so unequivocal and calmly delivered that I almost asked her to repeat it.

"That's a pretty big decision," I finally managed. "You must have thought about it quite a bit," I continued, stalling for time.

"Of course I did. This is a 'once in a life-time offer, ' as the saying goes," she giggled.

"You don't seem to be taking this very seriously," I tried, still stalling.

I thought for a moment she was going to lose her temper and I didn't want that. I didn't want her to think I was making light of what had to be an important choice on her part.

"Before you say anything, Shannon, I'm honoured. You are very dear to me, and I would never do anything to hurt or embarrass you. And I will admit I'm deeply attracted to you and I would love to make love to you more than anything I can imagine."

That brought a smile to her lips, although a tentative one I thought.

"Well ... that's a relief. I thought for a moment you were going to turn me down."

"I might have ... if I didn't think you meant it. It would have been hard, but ... I wasn't going to ruin our friendship."

"This is more than a friendship, Lee. At least, for me it is. I was hoping it was for you too."

"Oh yeah. Way more. I don't ever remember feeling this way about anyone before. I keep thinking of ways I can make you happy. If making love to you is one of them ... then I'm all for it," I smiled.

"Then it's settled. It's just a matter of where and when."

"Well, it isn't going to be in this car. That's just too tacky and inappropriate. Would you object to a motel room?"

"I guess not. We don't have many choices, do we?"

"Not when we both live at home."

"When do you want to ... do this?"

"Right this minute, if you want to know the truth. But let's find a nice place and see if we can find a way to spend the whole night together. Do you think that's possible?"

"Maybe. I could always tell Da I'm sleeping over at a girlfriend's house."

I slumped back in my seat for a moment. "This isn't right, Shannon. I don't mean about us, I mean about sneaking around and deceiving our parents. I'd rather both of us went to them and said we wanted to get away together for a weekend. Your father and my parents have invested a lot in our upbringing. I'm not happy about lying to them. Especially when it comes to something ... or someone ... as important as you."

I really only had a second to turn my head when Shannon was on me, her mouth pressed over mine, her tongue probing mine, and a killer head-lock keeping me from moving.

"You did it again."

"What?"

"The forty-year-old man in the twenty-year-old body," she giggled.

"You mean, you're not afraid for you and me to talk to your dad?"

"Not if you're there with me."

"Okay ... When?"

"Tomorrow. In the afternoon. Two o'clock?"

I nodded. I knew this would be the larger hurdle. Fathers always protect their daughters. Shannon must have been pretty confident of him to think he would give her permission to spend a naughty weekend with her boyfriend, no matter whose son he might be.

"What about your parents?" she asked.

"Well, assuming your father doesn't shoot me, why don't you come to dinner tomorrow with me. We can talk to them in the afternoon and I can bring you home after supper."

"Okay."

And that was that. Easier said than done, I thought. My parents had met Shannon once before and both of them were taken with her. I think my mother was already thinking about ordering a wedding cake the way she had looked at us. Our decision to spend the weekend together would only cement the idea in her mind.

"Well now, sawn, that's quoit a request. You'd be askin' my pormission to take me daughter off and have yer way wit her?"

"Well sir," I stumbled, "I hadn't quite thought of it that way ... but ... I guess the truth is ... yes."

"Wall ... at least yer honest," he growled, looking sternly at me. "And you, gorl, you want to do this?"

Shannon nodded solemnly, but still with her eyes fixed on her father's.

"I naver tot I'd hear the loiks of this in all me barn days."

The brogue was getting thicker and it was all I could do not to smile.

"And ye'll be responsible for her?" he turned to me.

"Yes sir." I was practicing minimalism. Say no more than necessary.

He was shaking his head as he thought about it. He looked back to his daughter.

"Ye've grown up so quickly, Shannon gorl." The brogue had lessened. "You're a woman now. I trust ye. I hope I can trust young Lee here. It's your decision gorl. And you, young man ... I don't know what possessed ye to come and ask permission. I wouldn't ha' done that in a million y'ars. Shannon is right. Ye are very different. But ... if ye don't moind ... please don't tell me what ye decide."

And that was the end of it. We left the apartment in a shocked state. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't what happened. In addition, the thick Irish brogue had greatly diminished when the seriousness of the situation dawned on her father.

We sat in the car for at least a silent minute before anyone spoke.

"That was the strangest conversation I've ever had," I said finally.

"I know. I expected him to get angry ... or maybe sad. I think he must have been so surprised that he didn't know what to think."

I nodded. I thought Shannon's explanation was closer to the mark.

When we met with my parents later that afternoon, the drama was gone.

"You've talked to Shannon's father?" my dad asked.

"Yes. I don't think he's thrilled, but ... he's given his permission," I stated. Shannon nodded solemnly as she stood beside me.

"I guess the times really are changing," my father said quietly.

My mother hadn't said a word, but the expression on her face was one I didn't recognize. It was almost as if she expected this. Maybe she did. What she wouldn't have expected though, was my willingness to admit what we were up to and to ask for their acceptance. That wasn't the "old" me. I'd have just concocted some cock-and-bull story about taking off with some buddies for the weekend and that would have been the end of it. Once again, I hadn't acted in character, and I'm sure it baffled both of them.

As I drove Shannon home later that evening, we talked about making plans for our weekend. I had an idea, but didn't want to get her all excited about it until I knew if I could pull it off.

I walked her to the lobby of her apartment building and turned to her.

"It might be a good idea to have a heart-to-heart with your dad. I think he was pretty shocked at our conversation this afternoon. I'm sure he will want some assurances that you're going to be safe, and this is something that you really want to do."

"Yes. I'm sure you're right. I'll talk to him."

We kissed passionately before she entered the lobby and pushed the button for the elevator. My drive home was a blank. I was lost in thought about what had just happened that afternoon. I wondered if there would be fall-out from it.

My memory was good. An ad in the newspaper had a pre-season special at a resort about two hours drive from the city. The price was reasonable and the package was for a Friday/Saturday night with breakfast included. The hotel had a heated pool and a dance band was featured on the weekends as well. It would make a great getaway for us. There was no problem booking the room, and I was happy to confirm it to Shannon at lunch that day.

I was probably just as nervous as any twenty-year-old when we checked into the resort on Friday afternoon. We'd cut one class to avoid the rush hour traffic and arrived at the front desk at five-thirty. By the look of the parking lot, the promotion hadn't attracted as many guests as I expected. The desk clerk informed us there would be a wedding party tomorrow, but that our room would be well away from their facilities and we shouldn't be bothered by any noise. I thanked him for his consideration.

We were both nervous, but for different reasons. Shannon, obviously because it was a significant step in her life, and me, because I wanted so very much to make this perfect for her. I had begun to admit to myself that I was falling in love with this woman, and it made everything I did with her that much more important.

I had a simple plan for her that evening. Foreplay. Plenty of foreplay to bring her temperature up, as well as her libido. She was happy not to face the prospect of me just diving in and taking her virginity. Her nervousness made it difficult for her to enjoy the act until my slow, but steady attention to her body with my lips, tongue, and fingers began to bring her around. By the time my face was comfortably nestled between her thighs, she was responding more actively.

I pride myself on my ability to bring my partner to orgasm with oral sex, and this time was no exception. Shannon was rapidly heading toward that excruciatingly erotic climax as I combined my fingers and tongue to help her complete the journey. When it hit, she was rigid with pleasure, and held herself off the bed for several seconds before collapsing in exhaustion.

"Oh, Lee. That was incredible. It was the best ever," she cried. I had practiced my oral skills on her several times before, but the combination of her nervousness and the comfortable setting must have produced the epic result. At any rate, she was happy and more importantly, very ready for the big step. I rolled on a condom, letting her know what would be next.

She knew to expect some pain or discomfort when I penetrated her hymen, and I was as gentle and careful as I could be before making that final thrust. She gave a slight yelp when I broke through, and I remained motionless afterward to help her get accustomed to the feeling my being inside her. It was she who took the initiative though, moving her hips slightly at first.

"Are you all right?" I asked softly, kissing her gently as I waited for her approval.

"Yes. It hurt for a moment, but I don't feel any pain now. Just you. It feels so big inside me."

"That's because it's never had anything in there before. You'll be a bit tight, but it will loosen as you get used to it," I assured her.

I was having a hard time keeping myself off her, so I suggested we roll over, with her on top for more comfort. I was still lodged firmly inside her when we did, and I heard her grunt and exhale when we moved.

"Still okay?"

"Hmmmm. Feels good. What do we do now?"

"We do what comes naturally."

I began to slowly thrust into her, just a few millimetres at first, but as she started to respond, I pushed in a bit further, and then further again. As I did, I could hear and feel her responses. They were positive and she began pushing back at me, seemingly demanding more. I resisted the urge to get aggressive and continued my slow, steady pace.

"Oh ... that feels good, Lee. That feels very nice."

We made love once more later that night, then again in the morning. I had put a towel under us when we first started, but there was only a little blood on it when I took it away before settling in for the night. We awoke in each other's arms and it took little encouragement from me to prepare her for another lovemaking session. I barely had time to put the condom on before she was above me and mounting me. She had already made a decision that she preferred the woman-on-top position.

By the time we had checked out of the hotel and begun the drive home early Sunday afternoon, we had packed a great deal of learning and experimenting into our time in bed. Shannon was an enthusiastic newcomer to sex, and she was anxious to try anything once, provided it wasn't painful. As a result, she discovered she liked doggie style a lot, provided I didn't get too rough. A couple of pillows under her seemed to guarantee I wouldn't hit the wrong spot.

Her orgasms varied quite a bit as I expected they would. None of them reached the peak that my original oral ministrations had achieved on Friday, but we generated both oral and intercourse variations that she enjoyed. She also willingly provided me with oral sex, especially when she learned it was the fastest way for me to recover after intercourse. We didn't get around to my finishing in her mouth, and she had to remember not to let her teeth drag on my cock, but otherwise I was the beneficiary of an enthusiastic blow job more than once.

Until the semester ended in mid-May, Shannon and I had to content ourselves with back-seat-sex in my car. Once my parents were away for the weekend, and we were able to squeeze in a couple of comfortable sessions on the downstairs sofa, but we were always on the lookout for my brother. It took some of the fun and spontaneity out of the evening.

I was back at the brewery for the summer, working 8-5 weekdays and earning the same as the previous summer. There would be darn few students who would have better paying jobs than I did. I managed to come up with some suggestions for cost savings in distribution, and I also twigged to a couple of the drivers running a scam on deliveries of kegs. I reported my suspicions to Mr. French, and he had someone verify what I had observed. The two drivers were fired, but not before the union put up an almighty fight to have the men keep their jobs.

Shannon and I were together during the weekend and spent many Sundays sailing, just as Diane and I had. She enjoyed the water and the fun of the little competitions we would have among the other crews. We would be back in school shortly after Labour Day, so having these days of relaxation and togetherness were treasured.

No one in our family was a camper, but we did have a couple of inflatable mattresses and sleeping bags. I talked Shannon into trying some camping with me, using a borrowed tent from a neighbour. It took us a bit of time to get used to the set-up of the tent, and picking a relatively flat piece of ground for the base and mattresses, but we finally got the hang of it. It gave us that extra bit of privacy for our personal life. We didn't even mind if it rained. We'd just stay in the tent and amuse ourselves.

When we returned to college, I had another fat bank account and some ambitions about where to invest. I had already grown my modest $1000 original investment to $1500 by following Tony Alardyce's advice. I would have $1500 to invest this year, since I wasn't going to have to buy another car again. Brother John knew better than to ask if he could borrow my Chevy.

Life was good, I thought. I had cash in the bank, a growing investment account, a good car, and of course, the lovely Shannon.



-------

Chapter 12: Turmoil


I hadn't seen Belle in several months. I'd almost forgotten about her in the euphoria over Shannon. Every once in a while I'd think of her or something would remind me of her, but being truthful with myself, I was ashamed that I had almost ignored her.

I was working every weekday, so I couldn't get away to see Belle at work, and my weekends were occupied with Shannon, so Belle came out second best. It wasn't until August, when I booked a day off to go out to the university and check out my course selections, order my books, and pay my tuition, that I got a bit of time. I was able to complete all my objectives by early afternoon, and by hustling, I could make it to the store just before Belle's coffee break, assuming she got one.

"Hi Belle," I said as she came out from the back of the shop. "If you've got a few minutes, maybe we can have coffee together."

She looked at me, then shrugged, "I guess so. Give me five minutes."

And that was the end of the conversation. Not a very warm reception.

We walked to the mall coffee bar and found a table.

"Nice to see you again," I said as I held the chair for her. "Would you like a cold drink?"

"Ice tea, unsweetened please," she answered in a perfunctory tone.

I ordered the drink and tried to figure out why she was being so cold.

"How have you been?" I tried again, hoping to start some kind of conversation.

"Fine. You?"

"Okay. I'm working at the brewery again. I'll be starting third year in three weeks. Halfway through now." I was still making no progress in pulling Belle out of her funk.

"Good for you. I hear you've got a new girlfriend."

"Oh ... yeah ... her name's Shannon. She's going into pre-med. Very dedicated," I added lamely. "How about you? Any boyfriend?"

"Yeah. I'm going out with Tommy Metzler."

"He's a good guy?"

"Yeah. We get along fine."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. You think it could be serious?" I'm not sure what made me ask that question.

She looked at me for a moment. "I don't know. Not right now."

"Uhhm ... you seem to be a little unhappy with me, Belle. Is there a problem?"

Again, she looked at me before answering. "Do you remember that last time you came to see me?" she asked in an aggressive tone.

"Uhhm ... well ... to be honest ... no."

"It was January. I was still working at the bank. That's almost eight months ago. Why do you bother?"

"Oh ... jeez ... I had no idea. I'm sorry. I guess I let myself get wrapped up in other things."

"Like a certain redhead?" She didn't quite snarl as she spat out the question, but it was close.

I was about to snap back when I thought better of it. "Guilty as charged."

"Who is she?"

"She's the daughter of a man who works for my father. He's a writer, originally from Ireland. His wife died unexpectedly and he brought Shannon to Canada just after the war. She's got her sights set on a career in medicine, and I don't think getting seriously involved with someone is in her plans."

She looked at me sceptically, but then seemed to accept my explanation.

"How are you enjoying the new job?" I asked, changing the subject.

"I like it a lot. I've been given more responsibility and a small raise. It's nice to be appreciated," she said, looking squarely at me.

"Yeah, I'm sure it is. I'm glad you like the work. It makes the time go faster."

She nodded. "I'm even doing a bit of redesigning when it's called for. I think this is something I'm going to want to do for a while."

"Great. As long as you're happy ... that's great."

She looked up at me and I saw the faint beginnings of a smile. Maybe she had decided I'm not quite the ogre she had painted me as.

She had to get back to work and we said our goodbyes, me promising once more to visit more often. I would try and keep that promise this time. I had my reasons for staying in touch with Belle, and they were selfish.

I made an effort to see Belle at least once a month, and for the first four months of the school year, I was able to do that. It would only be for fifteen minutes on a Thursday afternoon, but she seemed happier to see me as I became more reliable. Twice she wasn't able to come out front because she was in the middle of an urgent job, but I made sure I came back the following week. I think that made an impression on her that I was serious about our keeping in touch.

In the meantime, Shannon and I were still constant companions. I was picking her up at her apartment in the morning, and dropping her off after class every day but one. She had classes now on Thursday afternoon, so she made arrangements with another girl to get a ride home that day. We got together every weekend, even if it was just to study together.

It was easier to use her apartment for that, so I got to spend more than a little time with her father. I felt we had become quite good friends, and it was always a treat to discuss world and local affairs with him. I think he envied my father's freedom, and admired his writing just as my father admired his.

It was about three weeks before Christmas when it all came crashing down. I was sitting in the SUB just before ten one Tuesday morning when Pat Hoover came in, looked around, spotted me, and came to where I was sitting.

"Hi Vac," I said as I acknowledged him with his time-worn nickname.

"Hey Lee. Mind if I sit?"

"Nope. Make yourself comfortable."

Pat sat and said nothing as I read some notes in preparation for my next class. I noticed the silence and the fact that he didn't have a coffee or anything else in front of him. He also appeared to be nervous.

"What's up, Vac?"

"Uhhm ... look ... Lee ... uhhm ... I don't know how to handle this."

"Handle what?"

"Uhhm ... something I know ... something that you need to know."

I looked at him and shook my head. "Spit it out, Vac."

"Well, promise me you won't go apeshit when I tell you?"

"Okay ... I guess ... but I don't know what the hell you're getting at."

"You know how I cut through the back parking lot sometimes when I'm heading to my car after Physics? Well, I saw something that you need to know about."

"What? What did you see?"

"I saw Shannon in Monte Belland's car. They were parked in the far corner of the lot, all by themselves. Uhhm ... she was sitting on him ... while ... while ... he was screwing her."

I felt a cold stream run through me as he told me what he had seen. It couldn't be. She wouldn't ... would she?"

"Are you sure it was her?"

"Yeah ... positive. There's no other redhead on this campus that looks anything like her. I'm sure."

"And Monte Belland, the asshole frat boy ... she was screwing him?"

"Yeah... 'fraid so."

"You're absolutely sure about this?"

He nodded, reluctant to look me in the eye. I knew Pat. He wasn't a practical joker and he wouldn't pull a stunt like this. I had to think he knew what he saw and he was telling me the truth.

"When?"

"Wednesday afternoon, last week."

I thought back to last Wednesday and it didn't take long to remember that Shannon had let me know she wouldn't need a ride home that afternoon since she was working on a project. It was the second time she had begged off. I couldn't be sure, but I thought the other time was on a Wednesday too. She finished her classes an hour before me on that day, so she would have time to meet with Belland while I was still in class.

My guts were in turmoil now. Hoover pushed back from the table and stood.

"Sorry, Lee, but I thought you ought to know."

I looked up at him and nodded. "Yeah. Thanks for having the guts to tell me, Vac. I appreciate it."

He looked visibly relieved as he turned and walked out of the cafeteria.

That little drama in the SUB pretty much messed up my day. If Vac was right, Shannon was cheating on me. Not only that, she was cheating with one of the biggest blowhard assholes on the entire campus. Monte Belland was a rich man's son, rolling around in a brand new car supplied by his father every year. This year's car was a '61 Ford Galaxie hardtop, white with red leather upholstery. It was easily the most identifiable car on campus. I couldn't picture Shannon with that jerk, but if Vac was right, I would soon know.

I didn't say a word about it to Shannon when I drove her home that afternoon. I struggled to make coherent small talk with her, but I don't think she noticed. I picked her up the next morning, and as she got out of the car, she leaned in and said, "I'm still working on that project, Lee, so don't wait for me this afternoon. I'll get a ride with my girlfriend."

"Sure. I've got a lunch meeting, so I'll see you tomorrow."

I didn't have a lunch meeting, but I wasn't about to sit with her for an hour wondering if what I was going to discover that afternoon was going to blow our relationship all to hell. As it was, I was only half paying attention in class for most of the day, and as three o'clock rolled around, I was really uptight.

I cut my last class of the day and headed for my car. I knew the place that Vac had described and knew that it was an almost always empty lot used for overflow. I sat in my Chevy for a few minutes, trying to summon the courage to do what I knew I had to do. Finally, I started the car and drove toward the nearby lot. It was less than a two minute drive.

When I got there, my heart sank. I could see the white Galaxie parked at the far corner. It had been raining most of the afternoon and the temperature had been hovering around 40F, so it was no surprise that the windows on the Ford were steamed up. I cut the motor as I approached the passenger side of Belland's car, rolling to a quiet stop just a few feet away from it.

The Ford's window was down a few inches, and it allowed me to see the shape of my girlfriend as she bounced up and down on what I assumed was Monte Belland's cock. Her eyes were closed and her head was back in a pose I so often remembered from our times together. I rolled down my window and waited.

Neither of them had noticed me yet, despite the fact that I was sitting just a few feet away from them in a full-sized car. But as the action began to wane, Shannon began to open her eyes. When she turned toward me, I could see her look of complete shock as first she saw the car, and then recognized me. I saw her hand come to her mouth, but I heard nothing. I waved goodbye to her, started my car, backed out of the parking spot and drove home. There was nothing more to be done.

Out of curiosity I drove by Shannon's apartment the next morning at my usual time, but there was no sign of her. I wasn't really surprised. I was sure she had recognized both my car and me, and my farewell wave must have given her enough information about my intentions. There had been no call to the house that night, although I sat on pins and needles waiting for one. It was just as well. I didn't know what I would have said to her. Surprisingly, I wasn't angry, just sad ... and disappointed.

My sixty-eight years of experience hadn't prepared me for this. It had never happened before and I hoped it would never happen again. I wondered what I would have done if it had happened in my first incarnation. Something stupid, probably. I had a bit of a hair-trigger temper at times, and I'm sure this would have set it off. Now, with the benefit of all those years of experience, I was no better off, just a little more capable of self control.

I was relieved that there was no sign of Shannon at lunch that day. I hadn't slept well last night, and with an open afternoon, I was happy to go home and put my head down for a couple of hours. I thought about stopping in to see Belle, but I didn't think I would be very good company, and she wouldn't exactly be sympathetic to hearing my tale of woe.

Shannon knew my schedule as well as I knew hers. We each knew where the other was at any time during the week; or at least I thought so. She knew that I still had an open Thursday afternoon, so I shouldn't have been surprised when the phone rang just before four o'clock. I had tried to sleep, but my mind was going ninety miles an hour, making any kind of rest impossible.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Lee. It's Shannon." Her voice was soft and very tentative.

It took me a moment to gather my wits. "Hello, Shannon. I didn't expect to hear from you."

"I ... I'm sorry, Lee. I didn't mean to hurt you. I should have told you."

"Told me what?"

"That I was seeing Monte. I didn't mean for it to happen ... but it did."

"Why, Shannon? Why a guy like him. He's just using you."

"I wanted to ... try different men. I wanted to experience different things. Monte was very ... persuasive. He's very rich, you know."

"He's also a perfect asshole. His reputation won't make you look very good. People will start to question just what kind of a girl you are."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You are so ... naive. Monte goes through three or four girls each semester. He wines them, dines them, screws them, then dumps them in favour of the next one to come along. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"You're wrong, Lee. He's not like that. You're just saying that because of what happened to us. I said I was sorry. I shouldn't have done it behind your back. That was wrong. But you don't have to say bad things about Monte. It just makes you look small."

I was wasting my time trying to get through to her. She'd find out the hard way and it would hurt.

"Okay, Shannon. Let's just say goodbye and leave it at that. I wish you luck."

"Thank you, Lee. I won't forget you. We were good together. Goodbye."

And that was that. It wasn't the end of the world, but I felt crummy anyway. She'd treated me badly, but I knew she was going to get a full dose of ugly from Belland, and I hoped she was strong enough to get over it.

It took my mother exactly one day to figure out something had gone wrong between Shannon and me.

"Aren't you going out with Shannon tonight?" she asked. It was Saturday afternoon and I wasn't showing any signs of preparing myself for our usual date.

"Nope."

"That's it ... just no?"

"That's it."

She looked at me with her usual keen eye. "Okay. Let's hear it."

"We are no longer dating, mother."

"Why? I thought you two were as close as ... I don't know. What happened?"

I decided the truth, albeit slightly softened, would be the best answer.

"Shannon decided she wanted more variety in her social life, so she's found someone else."

My mother, She who knows all, was stunned. "I can't believe it. She's found someone else?"

"Yup. A nice, rich, fraternity boy."

"Oh."

I could see the puzzlement on her face, but my answer pretty much took the wind out of her sails. I had been replaced by money, something we had no answer for.

"Don't be too upset, Mom. Maybe it's for the best. If her head was that easily turned, then it would have happened sooner or later. I'll get over it, don't you worry."

"I must say, you're taking this very well. I thought you and she were really ... close."

"Me too, but we were both wrong."

The conversation died at that point, but I could see my mother was mystified by both Shannon's actions and my reaction. Both were well beyond her expectations.

I'm sure she must have said something to my father, but if she did, I never heard any comment from him. I think, knowing him, he would have decided that I had worked it out and that it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

Our bust-up came a week before exams, but I was able to get my head back into the game and successfully handle the five challenges. I passed them all, four with ease, including Psychology 303, where I scored a 98. It pretty much made up my mind that a subject that I both enjoyed and excelled at would be a likely path to my future. Just where that path would lead was the question.

My investments continued to thrive, just as I expected they would. Once in a while I would take a flyer to the consternation of Tony Alardyce, but they all seemed to produce positive results, and since I wasn't "betting the farm" on them, he quit questioning me about these unusual choices. Otherwise, I was taking his advice for the most part, and when I didn't, I carefully explained my reasoning. As a result, we got along very well, and I think we both benefited from the association.

We didn't start out that way. I think Tony assumed I was a "know it all" and only needed him to make the transactions. I had to tread carefully not to lose his interest, and that meant spending more time explaining my reasoning and pointing to a track record of general success. Over time, he came to understand my thinking ... maybe better than I did. More than that, we became friends.

I dropped in to see Belle before Christmas, giving her my gift early. She was surprised, if not shocked. She hadn't expected anything and at that point admitted she hadn't even bought me a card. I told her not to worry, it wasn't a big thing, but a few days later I received a nice Christmas card from her with a note enclosed.



Dear Lee:

I'm glad we are back on good terms again. Thank you for the card and the gift. I know you didn't have to, but I appreciate it anyway. We'll be having our usual family Christmas, and if you can, please drop by on Christmas Day afternoon. I know my parents would be happy to see you, and so would I.

Thank you again,

Belle



That little note did more to lift my spirits than anything else. Belle and I were back where we were a couple of years ago and it felt good. It was also a good way to remind me of what my original objective was in this new life I was forced to live. Belle was going to be part of my future, so staying close to her was vital to making that happen. She was maturing and perhaps it was time for me to see just where we were. I had a year-and-a-half left of college, and I had committed myself to finishing before I made any big personal moves. Keeping Belle nearby was again vital to that plan.



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Chapter 13: A Change in Plansf14


I remember, early in my management career, wasting hour after hour developing long range plans, five year plans, expanded development plans, and the like. Somewhere along the line, the Boston Consulting Group and a variety of their clones had decided that the only way business could succeed was to have rigidly constructed plans to follow as a certain pathway to success. Bullshit!

We knew it was bullshit when we first heard about it and we were right. We couldn't predict what was going to happen five days from now, much less five years. Smart companies in the future would be the ones who rapidly adapted to new circumstances. But, if you didn't conform to their then new age thinking, your career would be at least short-circuited, if not terminated. So, we developed what we called the reverse application strategy. In other words, we wanted to know what answer they (those who shall rule) would like to hear.

Once we'd established that, we could work backwards to a plan that would meet that objective. The fact that it may or may not be realistic or achievable was never once considered. But, then again, we never heard any more about how we did against the plan, as long as we achieved the sales and EBIT (earnings before interest and taxes) objectives. In short, none of that shit mattered.

So, having had a large dose of reality in the business world, I was discouraged to discover that my business administration courses were chock-a-block full of this very same kind of addled thinking. We were expected to spout this drivel as if it were the holy grail of business, when anyone with half a brain and ten minutes experience would know better.

That left me with a conflict. I knew what it would take to pass the course, and I knew I could do most of this stuff in my sleep. The problem was, I didn't believe in any of it, and that meant I was going to have to spout this rubbish to get a pass. I might not have had high standards, but they weren't this low. It was Vac Hoover who presented me with an alternative. Not a great alternative, but one worth considering.

As usual, I had purchased my books in advance and did some perfunctory reading to establish just what I was looking at. To my disgust, the BA text was 19th Century thinking in a 20th Century textbook. The more I read, the more discouraged I became. I was moaning about this in the SUB one day when Vac came up with an alternative.

"Why don't you drop out and pick up something else. It's not too late, it's still September."

"Can I do that? I thought once you had committed to a course, you were in ... like it or not."

"Generally true, but if you can demonstrate that the course isn't what you expected and that you have an alternative that is equally ranked, they will consider it. With your marks and the course load you carry, I'm betting they'll let you switch. You just have to pick something that matches up."

"Shit! That sounds like it might work. Who do I talk to?"

For the next twenty minutes, Vac, Charlie, and I debated which alternative courses would be a good replacement for the BA course. We finally settled on Middle-East History, easily the equal if not tougher than the course I had originally chosen.

It wasn't easy starting from three weeks behind, but I made the change. Unfortunately, there were limited seats available in the course, and I now had a Thursday afternoon class for the first time. On the other hand, by pure luck, I had chosen a fascinating subject which came with a very fine lecturer in the form of Dr. Avner Feiler, PhD. In the four years that I spent in that institution, I would never have a more enthralling course than my hastily chosen alternative. It was a shame that it lasted only one semester.

Over Christmas, I visited Belle a couple of times. I accepted her invitation to call on Christmas Day afternoon, and I had a very nice time talking to her parents, some neighbours, and of course, Belle. She was very pleased with the cashmere scarf I gave her. Again, my mother helped me with the colour selection. She had a gift for me as well; a new wallet. A thank you kiss on the cheek seemed to make her day.

I noticed there was no sign of Tommy Metzler during the holidays. I decided not to broach the subject with Belle, in case he was still in the picture. I found out when I phoned to invite her to a New Years party that he was history. Several of my college mates were having a party for New Years Eve, and it was not going to be one of those parties. I guess some of the girlfriends had put their foot down on the wild stuff that had been going on in the past and took over the organization and invitations.

I wasn't going to go, but when I heard about the changes from the previous years, I decided to take a chance and phone Belle. She accepted my invitation immediately and enthusiastically. I was surprised but delighted. I assumed Tommy-boy was past-tense and that Belle was once again a free agent, just like me. Of course my invitation brought about the inevitable question from Belle.

"What happened to Shannon?"

"She's moved on. Found someone else," I said, trying to make light of it. Belle knew better.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Lee. I know she meant something to you. I could tell. When did this happen?"

"A couple of weeks ago. I wasn't expecting it to last forever, but I wasn't expecting it to end like it did," I admitted.

"So ... am I second choice?"

"No. Not a chance. When you invited me to drop in at Christmas, Shannon and I were already history, and I had no intention of going to the party. When I saw you and we seemed that we could be back where we were, I thought I'd ask you. If you'd said no, I wouldn't have gone. But you didn't say no, did you?"

"I didn't have anywhere to go on New Years Eve either. I would have stayed home if you hadn't asked me."

"Good. Then I guess we're both on the same wavelength. I think we'll have a good time. I know I will with you there."

We talked a bit more about what to wear and what time I'd pick her up. It was like jumping back two years or more. We were comfortable with each other again. The conversation was easy and flowed naturally. I hung up feeling good about things again. The Shannon affair was behind me.

The New Years party was great fun. Surprisingly, we had chaperones. A mother and father of one of the girls had volunteered to do duty for part of the night. Perhaps they didn't have a party to attend, but no matter, they had a good time along with us. Belle looked fabulous. She had made a new dress for the party in just four days. I couldn't believe it. This girl had talent, but then, I already knew that.

I think we spent most of the night on the dance floor. The disc jockey played a good mix of music, both up-tempo and slow. I have to admit, I was happier with the slow tunes. I got to hold Belle closely and that was my main objective. As we danced, I thought about how many times we had danced together in so many different places. I was recalling some of the resorts and hotels that we stayed at on our various travels, both with the company and on our own. I remembered dancing with her on the deck of a cruise ship in the Caribbean. All those romantic images in the commercials and movies came to mind as we swayed to the soft music.

I don't know why I thought I had to find other partners. The past two years had been interesting and yet they didn't measure up to being with Belle. As much as I thought I might be falling for Shannon, when I held Belle in my arms I knew this was where I belonged. Even sixty-eight-year-old fools can learn. I always had what I wanted. I just had to find that out for myself.

When the new semester commenced, I was all business. Nose in the books and focus on the future. I dumped any plan to take further business courses with the exception of managerial economics. My objective was to learn how to read a balance sheet properly and have a basic understanding of business economics. Earlier experience had taught me the importance of cash flow and tight money management, but I always had a very good controller at my side to give me advice and interpret what I was looking at. I set the course aside for my final year.

As I said earlier, if it looked like I had no specific objective in mind with my education, then that would be the correct assumption. I had a wide variety of interests and I wanted as broad a base as possible for my new future. I'd learned from experience that a varied foundation was a key to my success, and its effects would last me throughout my entire career. In a way, it was like following in the footsteps of my father. He had an enormous breadth of interest and knowledge that I wanted to emulate.

I had always been fascinated with human behaviour, and the psychology courses contributed that much more to my understanding. Despite my management responsibilities in the last half of my career, I was really just a salesman. A peddler, and proud of it. I sold myself, my products, and my company to our customers and our employees, and looking back on it, I did a pretty good job.

I continued to work at the brewery during each break. Tommie French always had a place and an assignment for me. I had moved out of distribution and into production again, but this time as a line supervisor. I had the knowledge and the experience to do the job despite my age, and got very little grief from the old-timers. They knew their jobs and I respected that. I was there to facilitate, not to dictate. It was an important lesson I had learned early on in my previous life and I put it into practice at the brewery with good results.

I knew Mr. French was grooming me for a future job with him, but I wasn't so sure that was the direction I wanted to go. I was making good money ... hell ... I was making outstanding money for a student. I liked the place, but I wondered what I could make of my skills if he were to offer me a job. I decided to wait and see what he had in mind. One thing for sure, it would be a good start on the economic ladder. It might be difficult to find a job that paid as much as I thought he might offer.

I dropped in to see Dave Meehan once or twice a month. We had remained friends and he was well aware of the ups and downs of my love life. He seemed pleased that Belle and I were back together. He had never met her, but I guess he could tell from my comments that she was someone special. I wouldn't be taking any more physics courses, but that never seemed to matter to Dave. We were comfortable with the casual relationship we had, and he was secure in the knowledge that his private life was still a confidence that I kept.

My brother and I had reached a pax familia. He went his way, and I went mine. He never again asked to borrow my car, but I noticed his driving habits and his general demeanour around the house had improved. I don't know what caused the change, but once in a while he would cut the lawn, or rake the leaves, or put out the garbage. It wasn't an everyday thing, but it was noticeable. Perhaps, as he entered his last few months of school, the thought had crossed his mind that he would need to find a job, if not a career.

Belle and I began dating once again. We would see each other on Friday or Saturday evening, sometimes on Saturday afternoon, and often on Sunday as the weather improved. We were back to playing nine holes of golf and enjoying it. She was becoming quite good with her short game, more than offsetting her lack of length. I, on the other hand, was still playing Igor, trying to hit the ball a mile off the tee. My late father-in-law called it the "hit impulse," and I had it bad. It all evened out though, and Belle and I would usually end up with similar scores. It kept us both interested in playing regularly.

I thought about the sailing dingy lessons for the summer and Belle seemed interested at first. I thought it might be wise to give her a couple of "test rides" before signing up, and that turned out to be a good idea. She enjoyed the sailing, but didn't catch on to the handling and sail management at all. I was pretty much left to manage the craft by myself, and I wasn't all that skilled either.

When the wind picked up, and we were well heeled over, she was very reluctant to hang over the side the way I had been taught, and I recognized that was a result of her not being confident of her swimming abilities. The life vest was no comfort and I finally gave the whole thing up as a bad idea. I'm sure she would have been a lot happier in a larger boat because she liked the quiet and whoosh of the hull through the water. That would have to wait.

When my junior year ended, I had passed all my courses easily and I was feeling good about heading into my last year. My first year had been a challenge; getting back into the rhythm of going to class and studying, not to mention catching up on all the things I had forgotten in fifty years. But each semester seemed to be easier as I stuck with the good habits I had learned over the years.

Belle was doing really well at Maurice's Bridal shop, and had been given another raise along with more responsibility. She was now accepting customers on her own; ones who had been referred to her by other satisfied customers. It was a huge boost to her confidence, and I could see the changes in her almost weekly. Gone was the shy, reticent young girl, replaced by a blossoming young woman, moving from success to success. I was delighted for her, but no more so than her parents. She had surpassed her sister's achievements and gone on to set her own mark.

Charlie, Vac, and I had made a habit of spending an hour at the end of each week at a lounge that was near the campus. We limited ourselves to one beer and generally shot the bull about what had been going on in our lives over the week. It was there that I learned my prediction about Shannon had been accurate. Belland had dumped her right at New Years, or rather at a New Years party. I felt sorry for her briefly, but decided that she was a bright girl in most respects and would probably learn from the experience. There was no need for me to seek her out and say "I told you so."

Charlie was destined for two more years at college as he worked toward a degree in Mechanical Engineering. He had always been a gearhead, and he was hoping the sheepskin would get him a good job in the automotive field. He had a steady girlfriend I suspected he would eventually marry, but for now, his education took precedence over any thoughts of domestic life.

Vac was going into his father's rental business. Mr. Hoover rented and leased light, medium, and even heavy equipment. It was a very profitable and well-run business that his father had built from the ground up. Vac was delighted that his dad wanted him to be a partner, and he made sure he took all the courses that would contribute to that role. He had even talked to his father about bringing Charlie along when he graduated to run the maintenance department, and his father hadn't dismissed the idea.

We got to talking about living at home and all the restrictions that put on our social life. We discussed renting an apartment, wondering if it would be feasible for three students with the modest incomes we had. Well, two of the three had modest incomes. When we really looked at it carefully, though, we were better off living at home until we graduated. None of us were paying board, and even a modest apartment would take every last disposable dollar we had. That ended the discussion, but the seed had been planted. All three of us wanted a little more privacy with our ladies.

Belle and I had a great summer, playing golf and generally just enjoying each other's company. We didn't talk about my future very much. I still had a year to go at college and hadn't made up my mind what I wanted to do afterwards. Belle, on the other hand, knew exactly what she wanted -- her own business. We talked about it often. She was happy at the bridal salon, but the work was repetitive and very much seasonal. On top of that, she was very limited in how much originality she could demonstrate.

Her idea had begun with opening a dress shop that would feature her own designs and waiting for the customers to arrive. I discussed the realities of business without trying to discourage her. I suggested a dress shop with stock inventory on consignment wherever possible. Then, the custom part of the business would come as an addition until it was built up enough to carry its own weight.

With my support, she began to think about what it would take to have her own business and I began to think about how I could help her. We would spend hours putting a business plan together, tearing it apart, then rebuilding it again. It was almost fun for me, but a very serious subject for Belle. I had to be careful to make sure she knew I was supportive of her plan, but very adamant about what it took to be successful. After all, I was the one with the college education, right? What she couldn't know was that I was the one with fifty years of experience.

I have to admit, I was somewhat discouraged at the lack of a sex life beyond the limits that Belle had set. She continued to insist that she would go to the altar a virgin and wouldn't change her mind. There were times when things got hot and heavy in the back of my Chevy, but she never allowed herself to lose her self-control. In a way I admired it, but it was also frustrating. I knew now that we would marry, so I had to settle in for the long haul.

I returned to college in September with another fattening of the bank account. When I checked my balance, I had almost seven thousand dollars in my account and another fifteen thousand in my investment account. I had enough money to buy a modest house in West Vancouver, outright! I knew from experience that within ten years, the average house price would more than triple and continue an exponential rise right into the new century. I remembered reading that West Vancouver was one of the most expensive housing markets in Canada. If I could get into it on the ground floor, my investment future would be secured.

On my own, I began to look at housing in my area. I know my parents had no idea how much money I had, primarily because they hadn't asked. I think the idea of my buying a home on my own would have never entered their heads. On the other hand, as I looked at the responsibilities of home ownership and thought about my uncertain future, I wondered if there wasn't an alternative.

They had just finished the first two high-rise apartment buildings in Park Royal, the big shopping centre at the eastern edge of the municipality. Buying an apartment would be an equally sound investment, but without the upkeep and hassle of a house on a lot. The more I thought about it, the more I thought it was good idea. I decided to investigate prices and availability. I got a quick dose of reality at that point.

The prices were in the high teens and upward, depending on how far up the tower you wanted to live. On top of that, all the finished units were taken and there was a waiting list with a refundable deposit on the third tower scheduled to be finished next year. I needed some advice, so I sought out Tony Alardyce.

"Are you serious? You're not even finished college yet, Lee."

"Tony, is it or isn't it a good investment," I asked, trying to get him to commit to an answer.

He looked at me for a few moments with a scowl on his face and then nodded. "Yeah ... it's a very good investment. In the real estate business, location is everything. Those places have it in spades."

"They want a $5000 deposit to hold a place in the third tower."

"Yeah ... I know. The problem is, you give them the five grand, and they invest it and make money on it while you wait for the finished apartment. Then you give them a bunch more money just to move in. It's a hell of a deal for them, too. Supply and demand, Lee."

I nodded. I understood the economics of the situation. But I had the ready cash to get on the list and if it didn't come to pass, at least I hadn't lost anything.

"Okay, Tony, that's what I wanted to know. I'm not going to sell any of my shares right now. I don't need to. I've been sitting on more cash that I should be just waiting for the right investment. This looks like it. I'm going to put a deposit on one of the new ones and see what happens."

Tony had a wrinkled smile as he nodded, knowing all along that's what I was going to do.

"I can't argue with you, Lee. It's just another kind of investment. If I didn't already have a house and mortgage, I might be tempted to jump in too. I've checked out the developers, and they're good. No likelihood of them going under. Even though I don't get a commission on the sale, I think it's a smart bet."

I opened another beer for us both and we sat back. I was about to dive into the property market. At twenty-one, I would be on the list to own my own dwelling when I was twenty-two, and I wouldn't owe a dime if I didn't want to. That was the next question on my mind. What to do when the unit was finished and I was called for the balance. Mortgage? Pay it off? Some of each? Decisions, decisions.



-------

Chapter 14: Risk and Reward


Authors Note: There is/was no such company as Ronco Scientific. It is a figment of my imagination.

Sooner or later, I had to tell Belle and my parents what I was up to. I thought it would be easier to tell Belle, because it was all about our future, while with my parents, I would probably be spending a lot of time trying to explain where all the money came from. I had assessed the situation correctly.

"Oh, Lee. That's wonderful. I'm so proud of you. You're going to own your own place and you're still so young. Everyone will be so envious of you," Belle said enthusiastically when I told her about the deposit. She didn't say so, but when she wanted to see the floor plan and the drawings, I was pretty sure she was doing a little planning of her own.

She never once asked about where the money came from. She knew I was saving everything I could to finance my school year and invest in the stock market. She also knew I took every day of work that Tommie French offered. She just assumed I had saved my money and I could afford it. Smart girl!

It wasn't so easy with my parents, although I caught a hint of admiration from my father when I explained the sources of the funds. I suggested, if he was still doubtful, that he call Tommie French and ask him what I had earned in the past three years. There was no need of course. He and Tommie saw each other every Saturday morning at the golf club and I'm sure Tommie had given him chapter and verse about my progress.

When I showed him my stock portfolio though, I saw his eyes widen. I told him what I had bought originally, and how I had reinvested several times on the profits and my surplus income from the brewery. He began to see how I had accumulated enough to put the down payment on the apartment and still have the cash to complete the transaction if that's what I decided.

Mortgage rates were at very low levels, hovering about 2.25%, so I wasn't worrying about using some of the cash to cut the mortgage size or term. My memory of the late seventies and early eighties and the soaring interest rates convinced me to be locked into whatever loan I might decide on. I might be better off financing the balance over a ten year period if the payments made sense. That was a decision for another day.

My first semester courses were the most demanding, and I continued to concentrate on maintaining my grades. I wasn't looking to be top of the class, but I was looking to learn and absorb the important things from each course. The result was a nicely grouped set of marks that hovered around eighty, while my psychology course was scoring in the nineties. I had a feel for the subject that didn't escape the notice of my professor, Samuel Caldwell.

"What do you plan to do with all this knowledge you've absorbed, Mr. North?" he asked as he handed back my first semester paper. "You show a notable ability to understand some fairly complex ideas."

I wasn't sure just how to answer him, so I trotted out my stock reply when asked this or similar questions.

"I find the study of human behaviour very interesting. Understanding it can be very useful in a variety of situations. My part-time job is supervising a number of men who are more than twice my age. Understanding what they want from their jobs and how they want to be treated seems to work for me. I credit what I've learned in these courses for that success."

It was, as I said, a pat answer I used often, but Professor Caldwell seemed to accept it. His only comment was, "Remarkable."

My last four-and-a-half months were in front of me. There was no doubt now that I would get my Bachelor of Arts degree. The final semester would be fairly light and allow me time to think about what career I might embark upon. I had talked to Tommie French during the Christmas break and he made it clear that I had a job waiting for me if I wanted it. It would be an administrative position, paying roughly what I was earning as a line supervisor. Looking around, I couldn't think of too many entry-level positions that would pay anywhere near that, so I had to seriously consider it.

In February, however, something happened that somewhat changed my outlook. I had taken a flyer on an American company who were immersed in developing electronics. True, this was the primitive beginnings of what would become the age of technology, but something about the name, Ronco Scientific, struck a familiar note. They had a patent on an integrated circuit, which was being contested by another American corporation, Fairchild Semiconductor.

The British had done some pioneering in the technology, but it was Fairchild that made the product practical. In early 1962, the two companies came to a compromise agreement, and Ronco became a design supplier to Fairchild. I had invested $300 when the stock first came on the market at $3.00 per share. It sank to around a dollar for a few months, then in February, Ronco signed the technology exchange contract with Fairchild, and the stock took off. It took off in such rapid form that it frightened a lot of early investors. Soon enough though, there were plenty more passengers wanting to board the gravy train.

The stock eventually levelled out near $20.00, after having twice split. I had watched the meteoric climb and sold half my shares when it reached the $20.00 mark the first time, leaving the rest as total risk. Tony Alardyce had also bought the same amount, but hung on through all the splits. I had taken a $300 dollar investment and turned it into $7000 in cash and stock. I now owned 200 shares of Ronco, and used the cash to buy 100 shares of Fairchild. It would prove to be another good move.

I bought Tony and Dave Meehan a nice dinner at The Sands restaurant as a thank you for their support and to celebrate our windfall. I had invited Dave since it was he that gave me the encouragement to get involved in the emerging electronics field. He was fascinated by the potential of semiconductors and thought they were the future in a number of fields. He had also bought a hundred shares of Ronco, using some of his grandparent's inheritance to do it at $7.00 a share. His risk paid him back handsomely, just as it had for Tony and me.

Of course, I knew what it was going to lead to. The little transistor radio I bought in the late 1950's would be the pioneer of dozens of different consumer products that would feature solid state electronics. Neither Tony nor Dave could possibly imagine how many new products that one invention would lead to. If I was patient, I could ride the technology wave into wealth. If I was patient.

I continued to invest over the spring and my investments continued to prosper. I couldn't lose with Kodak, General Foods, and Boeing, at least not at that stage of their development. They wouldn't take off and fly like Ronco, but they would produce steady earnings and dividends. They were the foundation of my portfolio.

Belle and I were as close as we could be. We spent every moment we could with each other. I'm sure our parents were now convinced we would marry in the not-too-distant future. Both my family and Belle's attended the convocation ceremonies in May. I had not only been granted my degree, but had received first prize from the Psychology Department for consistently outstanding marks. That was a surprise.

A Bachelor of Arts is nothing particularly special, but it was important to me. It repaired a mistake I had made in my previous life and gave me the opportunity to meet and make friends with people I thought I would want to remain friends with throughout my life. My parents were proud of my accomplishment, the first in the family to obtain a college degree. My father was amazed and particularly proud of my psychology prize.

Vac and Charlie also graduated in the same class. Charlie had agreed to join in Vac's father's rental business, giving up, or at least putting on hold, his plan for an engineering degree. They would do well together. We had celebrated on the previous Friday afternoon at my expense. I was feeling pretty flush with the prize money that came with the award, not to mention my investment earnings. I was now having to hire a tax accountant to look after my responsibilities, but it seemed a small price to pay for success.

Just before graduation, I learned that my bid for an apartment in building three had been accepted, subject to my confirmation and, of course, the balance of the payment. I sat down with my banker and took out a ten year mortgage at 2.5% interest after discussing the option of paying for the unit in cash, or some portion of the balance before mortgaging the rest. I paid an additional $4000 toward the purchase price and mortgaged the remaining $9000. I was now the proud owner of a ninth floor two bedroom apartment with a view of the harbour and English Bay.

When I took my parents and Belle to see the place just before I was permitted occupancy, they were awestruck. Not just because of the view, but also because it was new, modern, and perfect for my needs. I think my mother was gasping for breath when she was finished inspecting the place. She and Belle were busy deciding on colours and curtains without so much as a nod to me. I had my own ideas, but it wasn't the time to argue. It was the time to celebrate.

My father was now following my investment lead. He had bought into Ronco after the first split and had made out very nicely. I promised to let him know what I was doing and why, and I think he was going to piggyback my investments as much as he was able to financially.

Both my grandparents on my father's side had passed away and had left all their worldly possessions to my father, their only child. Those possessions included property in east end Toronto and some very old C.P.R. stock that they had bought before WWII. The stock stayed in his portfolio, but the property was sold and allowed Dad to retire his mortgage. The C.P.R. stock would secure their retirement.

I never knew my mother's parents. Her father had abandoned the family shortly after her mother had died, apparently during an influenza epidemic in the early 1920's. She, her three sisters, and her brother were separated and taken into foster care. Somehow, three of the sisters had remained in contact and now were close, even though they lived thousands of miles apart; the eldest sister in England, and the youngest in northern Ontario.

I was on a self-imposed vacation for the rest of the month of May. I needed it, and I had, in my opinion, earned it. I called Tommie French and let him know I would confirm in two weeks whether I would take the permanent position he offered starting in September. In the meantime, I would continue as a line supervisor for the summer as previously agreed.

It had been four years since I had been shoved into this new life. Four years of having to relive and remake my youth in the manner I wished I had the first time. It seemed, after all this time, that I was destined to live my life all over again. Not such a bad thing, I suppose. It had its advantages. I could correct mistakes I made now knowing the outcome.

I'd made up my mind to propose to Belle. I loved her, I knew, and I couldn't see myself with anyone else. With any luck, we'd have the two sons we so successfully raised, and even though it wouldn't be the same life, it would be a good one with her and the boys. In our later years, I would have plenty of time to prepare myself if Belle's depression reoccurred.

We wouldn't be going through the financial struggles we endured for the first ten years or so. I could offer us a better life now, one that would provide a home of our own, living in the community we grew up in. Everything seemed to fit.

"This was lovely, Lee. What made you think of coming here? Is this a special occasion?" Belle bubbled as we shared a dessert.

I had brought her to the rooftop restaurant on English Bay and the gods were with me that evening. The sky was clear and the sun would be setting over Vancouver Island soon. It was a very romantic setting for what I wanted to be a very romantic moment.

"Belle ... if I've never said it properly ... I love you," I stammered, holding her hand as I began my heavily rehearsed proposal. "I want to marry you. Will you marry me?"

I don't know how long I held my breath, waiting for her response. She looked surprised, but not shocked. I had pulled out the dark blue velvet box from my jacket pocket, opened it, and placed it in front of her. Her eyes were flicking back and forth between me and the ring that now shone in front of her.

"I ... I ... love you too, Lee. I think I have from that May Day dance when we first met. I'm just not sure... ," she halted, looking at me with an indecipherable expression. "I'm not sure I'm ready to marry."

I let the air out of my lungs, and I don't think I'd ever been quite so deflated as I was at that moment. All that practice about what I wanted to say to her presumed she would say yes. It seemed a foregone conclusion. Now ... now I was mute. I had no idea what to say.

"Please don't be upset, Lee. I do love you ... and when I'm ready, it will be you that I want. But, I have a career now, and a different future than I imagined a couple of years ago. You made that happen, Lee. You convinced me that I could be more than a bank teller.

"Anne Prosser and I have decided to go into business together. We're going to open our own dress shop in the Village. We have a place all picked out and we've contacted some suppliers about consignment. I'm going to do the sewing and design, while Anne looks after the sales, purchasing, and helps me with the books."

"Who's Anne Prosser?" I asked, finally finding my voice.

"She's another employee at Maurice's. She and I have been talking about this for some time. You planted the seed, and Anne's the perfect partner for the way we want to run the business."

"What about finances? How are you going to fund this store? We talked before about what it took to run a business. How are you going to manage that?"

"We both have savings we can contribute, and we're going to get a bank loan for the rest. It's just the start-up money to get us through the first six months that's the challenge."

I looked down at the ring box and shook my head. "This wasn't the way I had hoped this would go." I reached for the small box, but before I could pick it up, Belle closed her hand over mine.

"I didn't say no, Lee. But I'm not ready right now to commit myself. Starting a business and a marriage at the same time would be too much for me. For both of us." She looked up at me with a forlorn expression. "Do you think you could wait through a longer engagement?" she asked timidly.

"How long is longer?" I wasn't holding out much hope, but at least we were still talking about it.

She hesitated before answering. "A year ... maybe a bit more." She didn't look very confident or hopeful.

I sat back in the chair and closed my eyes. What was important to me? She wasn't saying no, she was saying not now. "Can I think about it for a day?" I asked.

"Of course. I understand. I'm sorry I've disappointed you, but this has become important to me. I need to prove to myself and my family that I can do this. I think I need to prove it to you too, Lee."

"You don't have to prove anything to me, Belle. I'm happy with you just the way you are."

I paid the bill, left a healthy tip and walked with Belle to the elevators. I don't remember much of the ride home. I was lost in my thoughts and I don't suppose Belle was interested in small talk anyway. I stopped at her house and walked her to the door.

"Will I hear from you tomorrow, Lee?" she asked, clearly unsure of my answer.

"Yes. Tomorrow. I'll see you tomorrow evening."

I leaned in and gave her a soft, warm kiss, attempting a smile as I withdrew. I'm sure it wasn't a very big one, and I knew it wasn't a sincere one. I didn't feel much like smiling right at that moment.

I was fingering the ring box in my pocket as I walked back to the car. I had a lot of thinking to do between now and tomorrow evening. Luckily, tomorrow was Saturday. I could lose myself in cutting the lawn and other chores while I pondered what I wanted to say to Belle.

My father was still up, reading a book in the living room when I came in.

"Hi. Mom gone to bed?" I asked.

"Yes. I won't be far behind. I was just going to finish this chapter."

I wandered into the kitchen and extracted a beer from the fridge.

"You don't look too happy, Lee. What's up?" Dad was always perceptive when it came to people's moods.

"I asked Belle to marry me tonight. She said she wasn't ready yet."

"Oh. Well, I'm not surprised you asked her. Your mother and I could see this coming. It was just a matter of when. What did she say?"

"She wants to start her own business with another girl ... woman. Selling and making dresses and other women's wear things. It's what she knows and what she's good at."

"So ... she didn't say no?"

I shook my head. "She asked me about a long engagement. I guess she was asking me if I could handle that. I told her I'd think about it and talk to her tomorrow night."

"How long is long?"

"A year or more."

"You think she's worth the wait?"

That snapped my head up. It was typical of my father. Cut to the core question; the only question that mattered. Was Belle worth the wait?

I flopped back in the chair. I think I was grinning. It really was that simple, wasn't it?

"Yeah. She's worth the wait."

Dad shrugged and went back to reading. I finished my beer and got up, heading for my bedroom.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Anytime."

I slept better than I expected to that night. When I woke up, I had a mission for that day. First the chores; cut the lawn and wash the cars. Then call Tony Alardyce and ask some important questions. Then call Tommie French and accept his job offer. He would be back from the golf club sometime after three I guessed. Finally, call Belle and tell her I would like to meet with her at seven that evening.

I cursed the fact that no one had invented the weed-eater at that point as I was down on my hands and knees, clipping the edges of the lawn. The boxwood hedge needed trimming and no one but a municipal worker had access to electric hedge clippers. By the time I'd finished cutting, edging and trimming, I was bathed in sweat and ready for a beer. Thanks to Tommie, I always had a dozen each Friday night to put in the fridge for Dad and myself. My brother could only look on enviously.

Early that afternoon, I called Tony and asked some questions about setting up a private business with shares. He gave me some basic ground rules and asked what it was about.

"I'm thinking about investing in a business my future wife and her friend want to start. I have some spare cash and I think they're going to be successful, but only if they're properly financed. I wanted to let you know I may cash in some of my stock to bankroll them. I'm also going to be on the lookout for other potential investors."

"Well, you know as well as I do what the statistics are on start-up new businesses, Lee. Especially retail ones. What makes this one different?"

"Nothing except my faith in Belle and my ability to help them get over the initial hurdles. They've got the right idea in the right market. It's just a matter of getting established."

"Lee ... it's your money. I can't tell you what to do or not do, I can only advise you. If you know the risks and you're happy with that, then ... good luck."

"Thanks, Tony. I'll have to see if I can find a couple of more Roncos to cover my ass," I laughed.

"You do that ... but make sure you let me know when you think you have one."

I ended the call on that note and I was feeling a lot more optimistic and happier as the day progressed. I washed both the cars before calling Tommie French.

"Hi, Mr. French. I wanted to call and let you know that I've decided to accept your offer of employment."

"Terrific! I'm really glad to hear that, Lee. I was hoping you would. I think you're going to be a great asset to our company. We can talk about the details over the summer, but I have some ideas I want to discuss with you. I'd appreciate your opinion. In the meantime, thank you for accepting the job. I'm really pleased about it."

"Yeah ... me too. I'm looking forward to starting a career. See you a week from Monday, Mr. French."

"Now that you're a permanent employee, please call me Tommie. Even the switchboard girl does," he chortled.

"Well, as long as you understand that when Dad and Mom are around, you'll still be Mr. French."

"Understood, and Lee ... thanks for letting me know so promptly. I appreciate it."

I was feeling pretty good about the day so far. It left me with one more challenge; Belle. At least I knew what I wanted to tell her. I was going to wait for her. I wanted her to wear that ring to remind her that I was waiting for her. Then, I was going to surprise her with something she would never expect.

"Lee, I had a call from Emily Caulfield," my mother announced a few minutes later. We were alone in the house, my brother out with his friends and Dad still not back from golf.

"Oh ... what about?"

"She told me that you proposed to Belle last night. I guess when she got home she was pretty upset about it. Something about asking you to wait. What happened?"

I related the story to Mom, chapter and verse. I told her I'd made up my mind that I would wait as long as she accepted the ring and wore it. I also told her about Belle's plan to start her own business as the reason for the delay. I didn't tell her about the rest of my plan. That would come later.

My mother listened closely as I described the evening and my interpretation of Belle's mood and what was driving her.

"It sounds like she wants to prove herself, alright. Maybe to her father as much as anyone."

I looked at my mother, wondering what she knew.

"Mel is a tough taskmaster, especially with Helen. She was always expected to succeed. Belle was expected to finish school, get married to a responsible man, and have children. Only Emily thought Belle was capable of more, but was afraid she might not get the chance. She's been quietly encouraging Belle these past weeks as she worked on the plan."

"Is her dad against this idea?"

"I don't think he knows about it. I heard you on the phone with Tony earlier. It sounds like you have your own plan. Just be careful of how you handle the situation. You might want to use your persuasive powers on Mel before you worry about Belle."

This was a whole new problem to face. I hadn't thought about her father's reaction to Belle going into business for herself. I knew from Belle that her relationship with her father was a bit distant. Her sister took the brunt of most of his intensity, and the younger daughter was left to fend for herself. Her plans would no doubt come as a big surprise to him and I wondered how I could smooth the way for her.

By the time I drove up to the front of the Caulfield home, I knew what I was going to attempt. No substitute for forty or so years of experience at problem solving.

"Hi, Mrs. Caulfield," I said happily as she answered the door. I was ushered in without having to explain I had an "appointment" with Belle. She was smiling slightly as I walked with her to the living room.

"Mr. Caulfield," I said, acknowledging Mel as he rose from the big armchair he had claimed for his own. "Can I have a word in private, sir?" I asked, pre-empting any other formalities.

"Certainly. Why don't we go out on the back deck?"

I followed him and closed the door behind me.

"Sir, I owe you an apology," I began, again pre-empting any questions.

"Oh? What for?"

"Last night I asked Belle to marry me. I should never have done that without asking you for permission first," I said in as firm a voice as I was able.

He smiled at that. "So I heard. I don't always stand on convention, Lee, but it would have been nice in this case. On the other hand, this comes as no surprise. Now that you've got your degree, I'm assuming you can afford the luxury of a wife," he grinned.

"Yes, sir. I'm financially sound," I answered, feeling a sense of relief that it had gone this well so far. "However, there is a complication. While Belle hasn't said no, she hasn't said yes. She has her own plans, and I'm completely supportive of them."

"What plans?" he asked, mystified.

"Belle plans to start her own business in partnership with at least one other person. She's is going to open a dress shop and take advantage of her skills as a designer and seamstress. I've seen her business plan and I believe it is sound, providing she gets the proper financing."

"Are you serious?" He couldn't seem to get his mind around the idea yet.

"Yes, sir. More importantly, Belle is serious. Serious to the point where she refused my proposal unless I was willing to wait until the business was successfully launched."

"She refused your proposal. I can't believe it. I can't believe any of this." He was getting a bit red in the face and I needed to defuse this as quickly as I could.

"Sir, Belle has a terrific talent and a drive to succeed. I'm partly responsible for that because I talked her into giving up the bank and going to work in something she really enjoyed. Maurice's gave her that opportunity and as you already know, she's been very successful there. However, she has more talent than that job requires. In addition, her partner has already approached some potential customers and has their promise of support."

"Who is this partner?"

"A woman named Anne Prosser. She's about thirty, and has been working at Maurice's as well. Her expertise is sales and administration. Between the two of them, they fit very well together."

"You're hardly out of school yourself. What makes you think their business plan will succeed?"

"The most common reason that new businesses fail is under-capitalization. In other words, they don't have enough money to get them over the initial hump of purchasing inventory, paying the bills, and finding enough customers. Usually they fail in one form or another within six months. I've coached the girls to try and find capital for at least nine to twelve months."

"How in the world would they every come up with that much money?"

"Well, there are ways, and I'll be discussing them with Belle, Anne, and my financial advisor Tony Alardyce. I haven't discussed this with either Belle or Anne yet, but Tony and I have come up with a workable plan to achieve that."

He was shaking his head, obviously doubtful about this venture. It was time for me to take another risk.

"Sir, Belle has always laboured in her sister Helen's shadow. Helen went on to university, while Belle was never asked to do more than graduate from high school. It seemed people had low expectations of her, and she was led into a dead-end job at the bank as a result. I knew enough about her and her skills to suggest she could do better. She tried, and that's when she found the job at Maurice's.

"She's grown immensely since then. Her confidence in herself is at an all-time high. With Anne's support and encouragement, she can see a way to success that she never imagined. If I'm going to marry her, then I want her to be as much as she wants to be. I'm going to do everything I can to help her succeed."

He looked a little red-faced and I wonder if my comment about people's low expectations of Belle had struck a raw nerve. He turned away from me and looked out over English Bay. I wasn't going to interrupt his thoughts. It was his turn to comment.

"She isn't even twenty-one yet, Lee," he said, turning back to me.

"Yes, I know. This business won't be launched until her birthday a few months from now. In the meantime, all the preparatory work can be put in place before we sign the documents of incorporation and register the business with the municipality."

"What about the store? Will that still be available then?"

At this point, I knew I had him. He was working the details now, instead of why Belle shouldn't or couldn't do this.

"Yes. It's been empty for a while and our intention is to negotiate a more reasonable lease and put a deposit down to hold it. I'm fairly confident that we can pull that off. If not, we'll look for another suitable location. The big thing with this type of store is finding the right location."

Mel nodded in agreement. "Sounds like you've put a lot of thought into this."

"I have, but then, so have Anne and Belle. This isn't some Andy Hardy fifteen minute inspiration," I said.

Mel snorted a laugh and slapped me on the shoulder. "Would you do me one favour, please. Call me Mel. That "sir" stuff isn't necessary."

"Yes, sir ... I mean Mel. Thank you."

We stepped back into the living room and all eyes turned to us. They were bursting to ask what was going on, and it was Emily that finally broke the silence.

"What was that all about?" Emily asked, but not in an aggressive tone. The look on her face suggested she had an idea.

"Lee tells me that Belle has decided to go into business for herself ... or at least with a partner. I had a hard time believing it, to be honest. It was the last thing that I expected, but I suppose that's my fault. Belle's been a big success at her current job, and apparently she and another woman she works with have decided to open their own shop." Mel's face was placid, and I couldn't detect what emotions were running through him at that moment.

"How do you feel about that?" Emily asked him carefully.

"Surprised ... stunned in fact. On the other hand, Lee has assured me that this is no fanciful whim. He says he's helped them with a business plan and will continue to help them. He's assured me that the girls ... ladies ... have done their homework and will be properly financed to assure them of the best chance of success."

"So?" Emily tested again.

"So ... I think this calls for a drink," he grinned.

With that the tension had evaporated. But I had another thing to accomplish.

"Belle, can I talk to you ... out on the deck?"

She nodded and led me out. I closed the door and turned to her.

"Yesterday, I promised you an answer about our future together. I have proposed marriage and you have asked me to wait until you have your business up and running. I know that could mean a year or more. I wanted to tell you that I love you, and I will wait for you."

"Oh, Lee," she said, exhaling a long-held breath. She rushed to me and wrapped me in her arms and I did the same. We stood together on the deck, just holding each other.

I fished the ring box out of my pocket and opened it. "Now?" I asked.

"Now," she replied, tears in her eyes.

I slipped the ring on her finger. It was almost a perfect fit. I kissed her, and received a warm responsive kiss in return.

I led her back into the living room, and tears still clouding her vision, she rushed to her mother and father to show them the ring. They embraced and I could see immediately that they were happy for her. Mel walked to me, his hand extended and I received a hearty and firm handshake. Emily was next, hugging me and kissing my cheek. There were no words. I think everyone was pretty choked-up, including me.

As my mother suggested, Emily knew about her daughter's plan and had kept it to herself. She had reservations about its likely success, but didn't want to discourage Belle. She had seen the tremendous strides her daughter had made over the past two years and she wanted to support her in every way she could. She knew the big hurdle would be Belle's father, and I like to think I had something to do with resolving that.



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Chapter 15: Expect the Unexpected


Our lives settled down over the next six months. I spent the summer on the brewery packaging line as supervisor. All of the men knew I would be moving into administration in September, and I got the impression they were pleased to see someone get the job who knew what the operating floor was all about. True, I knew little about the brewing end of the business, but that wouldn't be part of my responsibilities anyway.

In early July, I asked if I could hold a round-table meeting with the principals of the new dress store business, along with Tony Alardyce and our parents. It was then that Tony and I laid out our plans for financing the new venture.

"The reason for getting everyone together is to discuss the financing of Belle and Anne's new venture. The ladies have decided to call it AnneBelle's Creations, an obvious name I think. The ladies, Tony, and I have worked out a budget that is designed to carry the business for a year. It has modest sales goals in the first six months, but becoming more aggressive as the last half of the year progresses. Anne is confident that these goals are achievable.

"What we are proposing is a shareholding. The majority of shares would be held equally by Anne and Belle, but additional shares could be purchased by invited others. The people at this table are the only invited others at this point. I can tell you that I have the financial wherewithal to support this venture myself. In effect, I would become the bank. However, that might exclude some others who may wish to show their confidence in our two ladies."

I saw Mel grin and Dad actually laughed at my last comment. I must have sounded like a officious banker, but I don't think my mother noticed. Emily got it right away.

"Where in the world did you get enough money to back this venture," Belle's mother asked.

"As Tony will tell you, I had some good luck on the stock market, plus I've been lucky enough to have a good job during the summer and other school breaks. Mom and Dad have been kind enough to provide my room and board, so I've been able to save a good percentage of my earnings."

That seemed to satisfy Emily, but I think it surprised my mother. I guessed that she really hadn't been paying attention to what I'd been doing over the past four years and maybe Dad hadn't bothered to keep her up to date either.

"Anne, I notice your parents aren't here," my mother said.

"No ... they live in Vanderhoof. They aren't able to come down very often. They know what I'm doing and they support my ambitions, but they couldn't afford to participate. I had to put myself through school, but they're glad I was able too find a great job and meet Belle. They're excited about what we are going to do."

It was Mel that asked the unspoken question. "Do you really think you can make this business a success?"

"Yes," Belle and Anne answered simultaneously, then laughed. There was no doubt about their belief in their plan. Whatever happened, they would work their butts off to make their dream come true.

At the end of the evening, both our parents expressed a desire to invest in the new company. Tony had already said he would buy in as well, so we had what we set out to accomplish: a properly financed start-up business. Tony and the parents each owned five shares, while Belle and Anne held fifteen shares each. I was the bank, holding another five shares. A total of fifty shares represented full ownership of AnneBelle's Creations.

The business would be registered and incorporated on Belle's twenty-first birthday, alleviating any necessity for her parents to sign the articles on her behalf. She would be a legal adult and responsible for her own debts.

I started my new career at the brewery right after Labour Day, and immediately found myself up to my neck in work. First, I had to learn the responsibilities that had been laid down for the position. Until I started, the job didn't exist. My role was to help management and the employees make the business run more efficiently. My job was to remove the typical obstacles that made that difficult.

In my previous life, I had encountered exactly these kinds of problems and I knew from experience what worked and what didn't. Most of the problems were a result of poor or non-existent communications. Hell, wasn't that the case in almost every business. It wasn't going to be easy just because I knew what the solution should be. I had to get the management, staff, and union employees to buy in. That was the big challenge.

I had Tommie French's full support, gained primarily because I detailed everything I wanted to do with him before I set out to implement the plan. I'm not sure why he thought a twenty-three year-old "kid" could do the job, but he gave me his confidence and promised support when I needed it. It didn't take long to discover I would need it.

The management group harboured a resentment that some "smart-ass kid" could waltz in and tell them how the run the business better. The staff were caught in the middle, wondering who to support, and the union wanted to negotiate everything before it was implemented. I had only one weapon at my disposal. Tell them what I wanted to do, tell them why I wanted to do it, and tell them what the result was expected to be. In other words, communications.

Since I wasn't being taken seriously in the beginning, I asked Tommie to meet separately with each group and let them know that he was endorsing my plans and that I had his full support. It wouldn't be a solution to the mumbling and grumbling, but at least for the management and staff, it would lay down the ground rules. With the union, we would have to do the best we could, trying to find out what their objections were and do what we could to counter them.

It took a couple of minor successes to get the staff and then the management to accept the idea that I knew what I was doing. I spent most of the first two months just sitting and listening to the things they believed were getting in the way of them doing their jobs. Often, it was little, almost inconsequential things that could be readily fixed, but no one had bothered. I found myself bouncing back and forth between the management group and the staff, trying to fix the easy, little problems one at a time.

By the time Belle's twenty-first birthday was almost upon me, I was mentally exhausted. I was doing fairly well at the brewery now. At least Tommie thought so. I could look back and see some progress, so that gave me the energy to keep following my plan.

Belle and I had little time for each other. She was immersed in preparing for her new business. We made time for each other on the weekend, but even then, I found Belle, Anne, and I were discussing potential suppliers and negotiating consignment contracts. They already had about three weeks business in front of them, so there was something in hand to launch the business.

Anne had done a superb job of contacting all the customers from her previous job. Just after they opened, she held an open house to inaugurate the shop and served tea and cakes. She surprised herself when nearly fifty people showed up, six of them asking for appointments to discuss designs. Both she and Belle had maintained a good relationship with Maurice's. They would stick to wedding dresses and AnneBelle's would look after other designs. As a result, both businesses were getting referrals.

Anne was confident that come January-February, they would begin to see an upsurge in business as planning for May-June weddings would bring in parents, relatives, and friends that wanted something special for the "big day." I had been watching their progress weekly, and I could see they were going to be busy to begin with, but the unknown was how long it would take to develop a sustainable level.

I'm not sure when I noticed it, but Belle and I didn't seem to be quite as close as we had been. I knew she was dedicated to opening her new business venture, but just the same, we were engaged, and I expected some time set aside for us. It didn't happen. Was she having second thoughts about marrying me? I hoped not, but I was caught between creating a problem or solving one if it already existed.

While she was engrossed in her new business, I was virtually free of any responsibilities beyond my job at the brewery. Perhaps that was the cause of the more distant feelings between us. I didn't get any sense that she was upset or unhappy with me ... just less warm and affectionate when we were together.

Her birthday came and went without much fanfare. After all, it was only a few days before Christmas, so I didn't expect it to be a big deal. I bought her a small brooch and a card. I wanted to take her to dinner, but she claimed she was too busy to take the time. She thanked me for the gift and the card and I got a quick kiss along with it. But something seemed to be missing and I started to think I needed to get to the bottom of this soon.

I began to dwell on the changes in my fiancée, and it brought back a very unexpected and frustrating conversation I had with Shannon Monahan last spring. I had almost forgotten it with the euphoria over Belle's and my engagement. It had taken place in the SUB one afternoon when I was preparing for a final exam.

"Hello, Lee," came the gentle voice with a faint Irish lilt.

I looked up surprised. I didn't say anything immediately. I was trying to think of what I should reply, but for a few moments, I was silent.

Finally, I managed, "Hi, Shannon." I leaned back in my chair, staring at her, wondering what she wanted. She hadn't moved, but hadn't asked to stay either.

"How are you?" I asked, determined to be polite to my former lover.

"Fine. I'm fine. I'm going to pass all my courses. I've got another three years before I'll do my internship. It seems like school is never going to end."

"I guess when you plan to become a doctor, learning and keeping up to date never does end."

"That's true. I hope I know what I'm getting myself in for." She said it with a rueful smile, knowing what was to come in the next years.

"Why don't you sit down for a moment?" I suggested. I was curious. I didn't think she had stopped just to say hello.

"Thank you. I will." She sat opposite me, her eyes seldom leaving my face. I could see she was summoning up the nerve to say something, and I had a hunch what it might be.

"I owe you an apology for the dreadful way I treated you, Lee. I look back now and wonder what I was thinking. The only explanation that makes any sense is that you opened Pandora's Box. Once you showed me what making love was all about and how wonderful it was, I got greedy ... I had to have more. When I did, I knew it was wrong. It took me a while to get control of myself."

"That's quite a confession, Shannon. I admit, I didn't follow your trail after we parted. I pretty much didn't want to know what you got up to."

"I know. I understand. It's been eating at me for a long time, Lee. I'm so sorry I did that to you. You didn't deserve that. You are a very fine man, and I'm happy about the time we had together. I just wish I hadn't spoiled it the way I did."

"It's alright, I've forgiven you. We were ... and still are ... young. We make mistakes, and with any luck, we learn from them."

"Do you have a girl friend, Lee?"

"Actually, I'm engaged. We're getting married after she gets her new business established."

"Oh ... she's a lucky girl. I wish ... I wish..." She looked away, a tear forming in her eye.

"Never mind, Shannon. What's done is done. I'm going to be fine and so are you. You know what you want, and I'm sure you'll achieve it. It sounds like you've learned something important from what happened between us, so that's a good thing."

"Always the optimist, Lee. I think that's your best quality. I won't forget you, no matter where we end up. Goodbye ... for now."

"Goodbye, and good luck, Shannon." I watched her walk away, feeling a bit better that she had made the effort to have that conversation. It took some courage, considering the circumstances. There was no need to remind her about what she had done. She was well aware of it. Her regrets seemed sincere, and I thought she had grown up as a consequence. I knew that I still missed her, but the past was the past. I had a different future in front of me now.

So why did that almost forgotten conversation come back to me now? I didn't sleep very well that night. The wind drove the sleet against my bedroom window while I tossed and turned, my mind full of questions without any answers.

Where was I going in this altered life? What was my future? It wasn't going to be a repeat of my former life, that was certain. That time-line had already been invalidated. Was I going to be a business manager? Would I stay with the brewery and work my way up in that corporate environment? Should I start my own business? If so ... doing what?

Hell of a thing, North. You spend four years in college accomplishing something that you never did in your previous life, and then ... what?

I wasn't cut out to sit around and clip coupons and scan the financial papers for likely stocks to buy. That was a hobby, not a career. Now ... now ... to top it all off, you're having doubts about Belle? You need to deal with that first. That ought to be your first objective tomorrow. I finally agreed with myself and at last fell asleep.

I awoke to a miserable, grey, day as I looked out my bedroom window. The wind from the south-east should have been bringing warm air, but the ground showed a slushy covering of wet snow that sprayed everywhere when cars, trucks, and buses passed through it. December 21st, and this was a poor excuse for a white Christmas.

I dressed for the weather as I prepared to drive to Belle's home for a talk. I knew she'd be there, so I didn't worry about calling beforehand. That would just get her attention and cause her to worry about what I wanted to talk to her about.

As I walked out of the building toward my car, I was lost in thought about just how I might find the words to discuss my concerns about our relationship. I wasn't paying that much attention when I stepped off the curb into the parking lot and immediately felt my foot slip beneath me.

There was nothing to grab to prevent the inevitable and all I could see was the sidewalk rushing up to me and being unable to cushion my fall. My last memory was the extreme pain of my head hitting the edge of the concrete curb ... and then ... nothing.

"His eyelids have been fluttering and there's a big change in his brain activity," I heard someone say. Was that me they were talking about? I struggled to open my eyes. It took every ounce of energy I had. The room was dark. Not completely dark, but very low light. I could make out what appeared to be two figures as my focus began to improve.

I attempted to speak, but only a squawk came forth. I could move my arms, but only with what seemed to be extreme effort. I felt very weak. When I went to move my head, I felt dizzy. Something was very wrong with me. I must be in some kind of hospital, but why? I closed my eyes again and tried to think. Then it came back to me. I had fallen.

"He's definitely beginning to wake but it will probably take a while." It was a different voice from the first one; a woman's voice.

A moment later, I felt a cool damp cloth wiping my face. Then an electric whir and the bed began to rise under my head. I was getting dizzy again, but it soon passed when the motion stopped. I let myself relax and once again lost consciousness.

"Can you hear me, Mr. North?" a man's voice asked in a calm tone.

I was awake again. I don't know for how long, but I could hear and as my eyes opened and became accustomed to the low light, I could see two ... no, three silhouettes.

I tried to say something, but nothing came out. I was about to try to signal with my hands when I felt a tube being gently pushed into my mouth.

"Drink this," a different soft, feminine voice said.

Instinctively, I sucked on the straw and felt the cool water in my throat. It was sore, but I swallowed and could feel my muscles relax.

I tried again. "Where am I?" It didn't come out clearly, but I was sure they understood despite the rasp.

"You're in Lions Gate Hospital ... in the long-term care ward."

"Why?"

"You had a fall. You've been in a coma."

"How long?"

"Nine weeks. We thought we'd lost you a couple of times, but I guess you were too tough or too stubborn to give up."

I looked at the assembled people. The first voice was a doctor, as was the second. The nurse was standing off to one side. I could smell her perfume. It brought back memories.

"My name's Doctor Partridge," the male voice said. "This is Doctor Friend. We've kept the lights low so that we didn't shock you when you woke. You've been giving us signs that you might be waking up for the last two days. I'm delighted that you've returned to us," he said in a soothing voice.

"Me too, I guess. I remember falling. I slipped on the slush. When can I get out of here? I need to talk to my fiancée."

"It's going to be a while yet. You have to learn to walk and retain your balance. You haven't used any muscles except your heart in over two months. It's going to take some rehab to get you back in shape," the female doctor said.

"I'm hungry," I said, almost involuntarily. I was hungry. I assumed I hadn't eaten in two months ... at least, not solid food.

"Be careful what you wish for," Partridge chuckled. "This is a hospital, remember."

"Yeah. I forgot about that. Who do I have to bribe to get a White Spot burger?"

"Well, I don't know about a White Spot burger, but I'm sure your wife will want to fatten you up quickly. She should be here soon. The nursing station has contacted her to let her know you have regained consciousness," Partridge continued.

"My wife? But ... I'm not married ... not yet," I struggled.

The two doctors looked at each other. Doctor Friend leaned over and shone a penlight in my eyes, instantly producing spots. I'd been through this before, I remembered. Then, I thought there was something else familiar. Something about Dr. Friend.

"Do I know you?" I croaked.

"I should hope so ... but it's been a long time, Lee."

"Shannon? Is it you?"

She nodded. "Nice to see you remember, Lee," she smiled.

"I couldn't forget if I wanted to. What are you doing here? I thought you were destined for psychiatry," I rasped.

"I was for a while ... but ... too much mumbo-jumbo, as we used to say. I've been specializing in brain and head injury for most of my career."

"You still look good, girl. But ... you're married?"

"Yes ... have been for forty years. My husband is a doctor too. We're both semi-retired now. As soon as I saw your name on the patient list I had to find out if it was you. It's a small world, Lee."

"God, yes. What year is this?"

The two doctors looked puzzled at the question, but Partridge replied, "Twenty-Ten."

"What month?"

"February. February twenty-sixth."

I relaxed back into the pillow and closed my eyes. Had it just been a dream? A fifty year-long dream? I looked at the back of my left hand. There it was, the quarter-sized lump of cartilage from my youth. But ... Shannon didn't exist in my first life. Something else was going on here.

I had barely enough time to absorb the implications of my situation when Belle burst into the room, tears streaming down her face. My Belle. The real one. The one I had been married to for forty-seven years. I thought she might either smother me or drown me at first.

"Oh, Lee. I can't believe you're awake. I'd almost given up hope. I came every day, praying that you would wake up. I'm so happy, darling."

I kissed her and held her as best I could with my weak arms.

"I'm glad to be back, Belle. But there's a lot I don't remember, so ... I'm going to need your help in catching up."

"Don't worry too much about that right now, Lee," Shannon said. "It will probably come back a bit at a time. Maybe not all of it, but enough."

"Belle, have you met Shannon?"

"Of course, silly. She was in your harem at college," Belle giggled. "We've had lots of conversations about you since you've been here."

I had the feeling I'd better be careful with my questions for a while. I had no idea what Belle and Shannon might or might not know about our relationships. I was starting to get a headache.

I closed my eyes and that was the clue that Shannon took to suggest Belle might let me rest for a while. I was grateful. I wasn't ready for a third reality. Whatever my original life had been like, it had never included Shannon. She was from the second reality. Now ... forty-five years later, here she was again in another reality? I couldn't handle this just yet. Maybe not ever.

I slept as if I hadn't slept in weeks. I might have been in a coma, but now I was genuinely tired. I could feel it in my body and I could tell I needed sleep. I just let go. When I awoke, a young nurse was fussing with the monitors and equipment that was still in my room. It took me a moment to realize that I still had probes attached to my head and chest.

"Good morning, Mr. North," she smiled. You've had quite a good sleep I'm pleased to see."

"Yes. I was very tired. How long was I out?"

"About twelve hours. That's not unusual for people who've been in your situation."

"I feel better, but ... hungry."

"Lunch will be along shortly. I'm glad you've got an appetite. That's a very good sign."

"Is Belle here?" I asked.

"Yes ... I think so. She was earlier. Would you like to see her?"

"Yes ... please."

She scurried out of the room and down the hall, returning within a minute with Belle right behind her.

"Oh, Lee. You look so much better today. How are you feeling?"

"Rested. I slept well last night. My headache is gone. I guess that's a good sign."

She leaned over and kissed me gently, but with emotion that I could sense passing from her to me.

"My head's all messed up, Belle. I don't know what's real and what's imaginary. You're going to have to help me ... and ... be patient with me. I'm probably going to ask a lot of dumb questions."

"You ask all the questions you like. There's only one thing I have to do and that's to get you back to the man I love. Your daughter and son will be here to visit later today."

"Daughter? Oh shit ... we have a daughter? And a son ... is it Philip?"

"Philip? Who's Philip? No ... our son is David. He's a physics professor at UBC."

"Oh, God, I think I'm going crazy. Tell me he's not gay."

"Of course he's not gay. He's married with two boys. Oh, Lee. You've really got a long way to go, don't you? That fall has really messed up your mind."

"Our daughter. What's her name?"

"Diane. Diane Upton. She's married to Paul Upton. They live in Calgary. They have a boy and a girl, just like us," she smiled. It was a patient smile ... hiding the worry about what I could and couldn't remember.

This was entirely too weird for words. Our son Dave was a physics professor, just like Dave Meehan was striving to be. And Diane, our daughter, lived in Calgary, where my Diane had gone when she left that long-ago summer. But Dave wasn't gay. My head was starting to fill with unanswered questions once again.

"Do you still have your dress shop with Anne?" I asked.

"God, no. We sold that years ago. Don't you remember? It wasn't the fun that it used to be, so when we got the chance, we sold it."

"What about me? What did I do for the last forty or so years?"

She had a worried look and was struggling to keep her composure.

"You ... you worked for the brewery. You rose to CEO, then when the Belgian company bought it, you took the early retirement package. They made us rich, Lee. All those shares and options you had. Then you started a little boat building business. Small sailboats. You still own that."

"Oh, God, I don't remember any of that," I moaned.

"Belle ... while we're alone. Please ... tell me ... what has our life been like ... I mean ... as a couple? Are you happy?"

She looked shocked at the question. "Of course I've been happy. You've been a wonderful husband. We've had our ups and downs like every married couple. You were so patient with me when I was going through menopause. I was so miserable to live with for a while. I know I must have put you through hell, but you were always there for me. And," she whispered, "you are a very good lover. My girl friends are all envious of me, you know."

I'm not sure my relief was visible on my face, but Belle's smile and the sincerity of her words was enough to bring me some peace of mind. It didn't change the fact that I was now living in a second, or even a third existence, but I was going to do everything I could to adapt to it.

"Belle ... come close," I whispered.

She leaned over me as I held her face gently in my hands. "I love you, Belle. I love you more today than I can ever remember. Don't ever forget that."

She was too choked up to respond. She just nodded. Nothing else really needed to be said.


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The End
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Posted:  2010-10-02
Last Modified: 2010-10-06 / 10:57:47 am
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