Future Visions

Author's Note:

This is a story that sort of wrote itself. Part of it is based on a strange dream, part of it is painful reality, and some of it is just---weird. Bear with me...it doesn't have as much physical sex in it, but it is quite intimate and touching, as well as bittersweet. I hope you enjoy my story and are able to feel the emotions in it. Oh, and by the way, some names are changed to protect the innocent and the extremely sexy.

The ancient dusty timbers creaked beneath my slight weight as I made my way painfully and slowly up the stairs.

"I used to scale these steps with ease, but now...I'm just about as decrepit as they are," I thought to myself with a mirthless chuckle.

I was 83, soon to be 84; my life had been spent in pursuit of a dream of mine, which I happily realized. It, however, was not the only dream I had had. One of my dreams had never been fulfilled, and now lay dashed at the broken shores of my heart, lapped by a dark sea of silent tears.

It was true that I had become a renowned musician, a 21st-century composer whose music was now played everywhere, and whose name was in every household. I had simultaneously gained recognition for my poetry, for it seemed many people understood and related to the struggles I wrote about throughout my lifetime. But I was always to be in the limelight of my accomplishments by myself---no husband, no boyfriend, just myself. Love had passed me by.

I reached the last step of the old stairs and hefted myself up. My arm muscles shook uncontrollably at having to support my weight, but my legs were giving way. I barely could walk to my bedroom on the third floor without collapsing. It was at times like these that I missed having another person in my big, empty house.

After moving around several times in my early twenties and thirties, I eventually settled back at my parents' house after they passed away, which was 23 years ago. Built in the early 1980's, the house was pretty old, but had been fixed up and kept up enough to where it was suitable to live in. The house was only four years older than I was...hard to believe. But its fragile wooden bones shivered just as mine did as I settled into the cold comfort of the blankets on my bed.

My wrinkled old face appeared in the full-length mirror that faced me from the far corner of the bedroom. The moonlight creeping in from the window made my complexion shine a ghostly white, and my brown eyes seemed to peer out from a snowy landscape of fleshy hills and ridges. My eyes always did sparkle strangely.

The December winds whipped about the house chillingly, and I hugged the covers tighter around my form. Sleep never came easily anymore; I had to fight for it, just like I'd fought for love in my earlier years. As age crept upon me, though, I had given up, and had let myself grow old alone.

Cold tears came to my eyes as I realized I had spent all of my 83 years alone, never once getting to share in the love that so many others had found. My classmates from high school and college would often stop me on the street when they saw me, and look very surprised when I told them I was still Miss Allison. It was true---I was the definition of an old maid. Most were married, some were divorced and remarried, but still, they found love on the second or third try at least. I had never found it, even though I longed for it all my life, and searched everywhere I went for Mr. Right.

The inner sea that lapped against my broken heart's shores began to spill from my eyes, and my voice made odd broken crying sounds as I sobbed to myself. I hated these tears---I hated feeling sorry for myself and being pitiful, but I couldn't help it. Of all the things I loved about my life, I didn't love the fact that I was going to die alone. God, so alone.

It wasn't that I never found a man to suit me...it was that no man found me suitable. At least, no man that I really felt I could love and support all the rest of my life. Many men courted me when I was first famous, and even after my star was established I still got offers. Something in my heart stopped me from accepting---a love that I had held for most of my life.

My tired eyes closed, and I remembered the face of my beloved. I remembered how I felt around him, how I giggled like a schoolgirl at thoughts of him and sightings of him, even just hearing his name----Christopher.

Of course, I knew he didn't return my feelings. He had married another woman, and had become very successful as first a computer technician, then later in life a politician, serving in our state's Congress. I had never heard of him having any children, however, which I thought was odd. But even when I would run into him occasionally, he was polite and kind at best with me. His petite little wife would always come running up to him and whisk him away before I could tell him anything of value.

I had never given a farewell concert, intending to perform until I was unable to do so anymore, but at the last concert I gave, I saw Christopher and his wife sitting in the audience from my view on the stage. Fittingly, I was to perform a love song I had written about him many years ago, and I performed it, but with many tears in my eyes, some of which splashed onto my hands as they caressed and danced over the piano keys. Some people later said it was the most moving performance I had ever given; only I knew the reason why.

My face wrinkled even more in the mirror as my features crumpled together with the strain of holding back tears. He was the only one I had ever wanted---the one I knew was my soul mate.

"Why did it happen to me?" I cried aloud, my voice choked and crackly from crying. I wiped errant tears away with the back of my hand quickly and posed the question again: "Why did it happen this way?"

I was asking the question both of Christopher and of God. In my mind, I was facing my love and asking him why; in reality I was sitting bolt upright in bed, speaking in the darkness and loneliness of my bedroom. I knew this, but didn't care.

"Why did you find it impossible to love me?" I said, sobs making my voice a whisper. "I loved you so much, and I still do. What could I have done, what could I have changed, to make you love me?"

I reached out my fist, gnarled by time and much use in my profession, and shook it at the ceiling.

"Damn it, God, I devoted my whole life to him, and I didn't get anything in return! Why did You let this happen to me? Why? Oh, God...why..."

My voice died away, and my bony shoulders slumped over in defeat. I slowly leaned back onto the fluffy pillows, my mind being systematically racked by my questions. I didn't realize that my eyes closed, and I didn't feel my body relaxing into the covers. I just simply floated away into sleep.

A familiar voice roused me. "Hey, get up. It's almost 9:00 in the morning." My eyes slowly opened, and I was startled to see Chris' face, his dark brown eyes looking intently into mine.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" he asked, his face concerned.

"Oh...my God. I just had the most...awful dream," I said, moving and stirring under the sunny yellow covers. I shuddered at the images from my dream, so real, as if I were remembering a life. I slowly rose from my position on the bed and swung my legs over the side, letting my feet hit the floor with a little thud. The bedroom was filled with optimistic golden-yellow light, and I could feel the warmth in the room. Of course, it didn't match the warmth in my heart as I looked at Chris. We were both 18 again, young and vibrant, and my heart beat resolutely in my chest instead of weakly vibrating back and forth in my body as it seemed to do in the dream.

"Are you all right? You seem a little out of it," Chris joked, and I smiled at his humor.

"Yeah, I'm fine, honey," I replied. "It's just that the dream was so frightening and real and...lonely." The last word brought back the memory of why I had felt lonely, and unknowingly a little tear escaped from my right eye.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, now sincerely worried. "I just...got a little overwhelmed, is all." I brushed aside my tear casually.

"Now, what are your plans for this morning?" I asked, my brightness of tone an attempt at covering my sadness. Unfortunately, Chris saw right through it, and didn't buy it.

"Sweetheart, I know you're more upset than you let on," he said in a soothing tone. "Why don't we talk about the dream? It might help you feel better."

So I discussed my dream in total detail: the old house, me being old in the dream, me being an old maid and very alone in the house, and me loving him but never having the chance to be with him. Chris took all the information in, with a thoughtful look on his face. But when I finished my tale, I noticed with growing trepidation that the room was starting to grow cold and dark, and the look on Chris's face had changed dramatically; he had aged from a young man of 18 to a man of 83 in just minutes.

"God, I...thought you didn't love me anymore," he said, looking at me with confusion in his eyes. "You became so successful, and I...just gave up."

By this time, I was incredibly confused.

"But it was just a dream...wasn't it? I'm not really old and alone, but..." I trailed off, and my heart sank. This beautiful, lovely place was another attempt of my subconscious mind to make me feel better. This was the dream, and my frightening 'dream' was the reality. I bit my lip in frustration, angry at myself for believing in the illusion all over again.

Chris edged closer to me on the bed, and took my hand gently, surprising me out of my self-berating mental state.

"No, it wasn't a dream, but this isn't a dream either," he said gently. "I'm really here with you...this is the astral plane you've been to so many times."

I was shocked. I had believed in the astral plane, but had never actually thought that I went there much. Now I was here, and with the love of my life at that!

I put my hand to my mouth, and felt that I, too, had aged, since I felt the wrinkles around my lips. "Chris...oh, gosh, I love you," I said intensely. Tears fell from my eyes freely as I said it. "I loved you all my life----I devoted myself to you." My features grew set on my face. "You can't possibly tell me you didn't know."

He looked worried. "I suspected, but I couldn't be sure...you were so mysterious always, never letting me see your true self, the one I saw for the first time on our first date."

"Well, I didn't feel like I could show you, Chris," I said, my voice becoming intermittent with tiny sobs. "You married another woman, for Christ's sake! I thought that was a pretty clear sign you didn't want me anymore. You told me all my life that you thought I was a great woman, but just not your type. Now I come to find out that you did love me, and I was only holding myself back?"

The full realization of my lost time and my wasted life wrenched a deep sob from within my chest, and I slumped over in my bed just as I had done earlier in my real bedroom, crying so hard that my eyes hurt.

"God, I'm sorry, Robin." I heard his voice begin to choke up with tears as he patted my back gently. "I honestly didn't know how much this hurt you."

"Chris, I loved you my entire life. My whole damn life. I still love you, even though my heart hurts much for what could have been. Do you understand how this feels, to be so successful and have everything you want except the one person who would make it complete? God, all I ever wanted in life was love---your love, to be more precise, and I never got it. I thought it was because I wasn't good enough."

My head rested in my hands, and my crying subsided. "But now that I've made my confession, I suppose I can enjoy this time with you, huh?" I said, a sad, slight smile curving my lips gently. I looked over at him, and to my surprise, he was beginning to glow with a faint, soft green light.

"And when did you become a human glowstick?" I kidded, my face breaking into a bigger smile. Then I chanced to look down at myself. "Oh my God...I guess we're both glowsticks!" I laughed as I held my hand out in front of me in the darkness, because my flesh now glowed with a pale blue light.

The cold, dark bedroom around me dissipated slowly, leaving us floating in an environment that was oddly familiar, yet strange to my conscious mind. I felt supported, as if I was treading water in a pool. All around us was a dark indigo-colored space-like atmosphere----it was comforting, and I could feel nothing but love, which seemed to emanate from the strange world itself.

"So I suppose this is the astral plane itself, huh?" I asked Chris, looking around in wonder.

"Yes. It's quite a place, isn't it?"

"Got that right. I feel so...loved. So surrounded by love. 'Course, you might have something to do with that," I said with a wink. He smiled at me, and I felt the old familiar melting sensation in my heart that I had always felt after seeing his smile. He took my hand gently, and I noticed that when his hand touched mine, the faint green glow of his skin and the faint blue glow of mine blended and seemed to sparkle. I looked into his eyes and saw a similar sparkle in them.

"Do you feel it?" he asked gently.

I furrowed my brow and was about to ask what I was supposed to feel, but then I did feel something---a slight tingling sensation that started where our flesh touched and spread slowly all over my body. The tingling intensified, and suddenly I felt the familiar shuddering release of orgasm approaching. Gloriously I let it come pulsing through me, and my body shook uncontrollably with the force of it. I closed my eyes and allowed myself for the first time in a long time to enjoy the bliss I felt, savoring each internal explosion and loving every second.

When I opened my eyes, Chris was looking at me with a gentle sweet expression on his face. "Of all the times you've looked beautiful...you positively glowed just a second ago. I take it that you felt what I was feeling?"

"God, you felt it too? That was awesome!" I said, my cheeks blushing a bit with my outburst. "I've never come just from someone touching me as innocently as that."

"Who says it was innocent?" he said, with a little sly grin on his face.

"Oh...I see..." I said, my smile matching his. "You wanted me to feel that, huh?"

"Of course. You deserve a little pleasure, don't you think?" He reached to embrace me fully, and when we touched, the skin-on-skin contact was even more explosive this time. My eyes opened wide as the first gentle explosions began deep within me, and he reacted the same way as the vibrations became stronger and stronger until we both cried out in pleasure. It was as if I could feel my orgasm and his at the same time, and combined, the sensations were absolutely incredible. It left me completely breathless.

As we both came down from sexual bliss, I looked around and saw that we seemed to be flying upwards. In my "preoccupation," I hadn't noticed, of course. Chris still held me gently, and my body continued to be gently rocked by slight vibrations in my lower body. "I don't know what this is, Chris, but I like it," I said, my breath gradually returning to me in gasps. "It's like your every touch is electric and beautiful and so..." I trailed off, searching for the word to describe it.

"Yeah," he replied, finishing my thought perfectly. We continued to fly upwards at an even faster pace, and my vision blurred.

"Where are we going, Chris?" I called over the roar of the wind in my ears.

"You'll see," he called back.

Suddenly our upward flight stopped short.

"We're here." The words left my lips involuntarily. "Yeah, I think so," Chris replied.

The new world was full of light. That's the only way I can describe it. It wasn't white or golden or silver only, but a combination of these colors that blended and washed together into a brilliant kaleidoscope effect. It wasn't totally blinding, but it did give one pause. All of a sudden, I realized where I was.

"Let me guess..." I said, almost reluctantly, turning to Chris, but posing my question to anyone in earshot. "This is heaven, right? Great, I'm dead." My cynicism shocked even me.

"Well, don't you think you deserve to be here?" Chris asked me, his face now beaming with the same kind of light that permeated this world. "After all, you gave the world verse and music and love, and sacrificed much for others. You deserved more in your life...much more." He seemed to look at me with love in his eyes, and my heart melted inside, seeing the look I'd missed for so long. "I'm sorry that I never told you in life how I felt," he said intensely.

"I'm sorry, too," I said, my voice choking up a bit. "I never told you how much I loved you, and now I can't---"

"Yes, you can, Robin...you have time. We have all the time in the world, and we have our next lives to look forward to as well." My heart lifted with the realization.

"You mean, we're going back, like reincarnation or something?" I asked. "Yeah, of course," he said, and I smiled brightly.

"I won't mess up next time, Chris," I said, winking. "I'll make sure to tell you how I feel."

"Then tell me right now," he said with the little sly grin on his face as he took me in his arms again. I couldn't help but feel fulfilled, and I didn't care if this was only a dream in reality; it was the best I'd had in years. My mind drifted and floated, and I felt as if I simply floated away into the blended light.

The television in the living room of the grand old house blared as the young assisted-living nurse let herself in for her morning check-up of her patient. "Old Miss Allison is a kind, gentle lady, with many talents---she gives mini-concerts at the drop of a hat, and sings beautifully even though her voice is aging as well as her body. She also can write the most awesome verses of poetry." All this the nurse thought to herself as she climbed the creaky old stairs to the third floor bedroom and peered in.

"Oh, no!" The nurse ran to the bedside and looked down at Miss Allison's face, which was normally a healthy rosy color, but was now a ghostly, pale shade of gray. After reaching for the surprisingly frail wrist hanging limply off the side of the bed and taking a pulse, the nurse sobbed quickly, then ran to call the ambulance.

The doctors would pronounce Miss Allison dead later that morning, as TV news and radio stations hurried to report the news of the famous composer and poet's death. Back at Miss Allison's residence, however. the television set told the whole story to the open air.

"We have just learned that there has been not one, but two famous deaths this morning---the former Congressman from our district is dead this morning of natural causes, and our resident composer and poet has also apparently died of natural causes. Both were found in their homes this morning, and both appeared to be only resting or asleep. Our former Congressman, lovingly referred to as Christopher in his profession instead of a more formal title, was 84. Miss Allison, who composed music and poetry for much of her life, would have been 84 today. No evidence exists to suggest foul play---in fact, both appeared to have left this world in the gentlest and most loving of ways. They both appeared as if they were finally at peace."

A slight, ghostly hand appeared in front of the television and the TV went dark, as if cut off by a remote. A girlish giggle, followed by a deeper masculine laugh, seemed to echo throughout the front hallway of the house, and two wisps of silver light disappeared through the high ceiling of the living room into the intense blue of the morning sky.