Lost in Sunlit Shadows Drifting

Lost in Sunlit Shadows Drifting

Disclaimer: This story contains no sex, no cheating, no eroticism, and especially, no cuckolding. Only a love that is selfless and enduring. If this is not what you seek in a story, then read no further...

I was standing outside, by the gate next to the driveway. I was at my parents' house in New Avalon, Vermont, staring up at the hillside above, with its grove of tall birch trees. The trees seemed to soar higher, more majestic than I remember. It was a bright glorious morning, and the sun was shining. A perfect morning. I stared wistfully up at the hillside. Great day for a walk before lunch. How many times had I walked up there as a kid, taking in the view? I started to think of those times, racking my head... has it really been so long? How long HAS it been? I don't remember anymore. I get so confused sometimes, I forget...

Time seems to drift. More and more, I lose track of my thoughts. They tumble around, sometimes I can almost grasp them; sometimes I cannot. I stare up at the hillside, longing to go for a walk. I almost feel I have the energy for it. It is a lovely day out. We used to run up there as kids, chase deer, build forts, pretend we were army men fighting the Nazis. My oldest brother had actually gone over there, fighting them for real. I realize I haven't seen Tom, though, in a really long time. For some reason I get sad when I think of Tom, but why should I be sad? He was my brother... but then I remember; he didn't ever come back from fighting the Germans over there. We all lost our taste for playing soldier soon after that.

Maybe I'll call Tom up some time and catch up.

Then I hear a voice behind me. "Darrell, it's almost supper. Darrell...."

Who is Darrell? Right. I'm Darrell. Darrell Cafetta, and this is my place. I glance at the hillside one last time. But to my dismay, I realize it is too late for a walk. It has gotten dark suddenly. Have I really been standing here, all that time, all those hours while the morning drifted into the afternoon and the afternoon into dusk? One can lose track of time here so easily. Time doesn't pass here, it just is. But yet I am alarmed, and confused, how could I have wasted a whole day just standing and staring, not thinking? Maybe there was something wrong with me. I can almost remember there was, a nagging pang of remorse or regret, but I can't quite pin on it.

"Okay, Mom," I reply.

But when I turn around, it is not my mother standing there. And this is not my parents' house. The hillside I am staring up at is not the familiar hills of Vermont. The trees on the hill are strange. Australian looking, not native. I don't remember what they are called. I used to know the name but I forgot it. Just like I used to live at my mother's, but now I live somewhere else. Somewhere out West. When I try to remember how I ended up out here, out in California, I cannot, and that makes me sad. So much is fading now. Just like the light of the rapidly setting sun, as I give the hillside above me one last wistful glance. It is starting to get dark out.

I turn towards the stranger behind me. A young woman. Friendly, but smiling, welcoming with the warmth of home. Who is she? She looks so familiar but... I obviously know her. I shuffle after her, following her inside.

I follow her down a long hallway. Wait, where IS this place? Am I SUPPOSED to be here? I feel lost, out of place. I'm hungry too. Maybe I ought to be going home for dinner. I turn around. But I feel an arm, grabbing me, pulling me back. "Darrell....Come this way." The woman says.

I jerk away angrily, but I see a patient smile on her face and realize, maybe this is important. Maybe I should go with her. She seems nice enough, but still, I'm apprehensive, scared. What if she is trying to poison me? Where is she leading me? She sees my scared expression but comforts me. "We're gonna get you fed! You've been standing out there a while. Nice evening isn't it. Anyway, I hope you're hungry! It's dinner time! We got mashed potatoes and stew, yum!"

Actually, that does sound good right now. Funny, I can't quite remember what mashed potatoes are now- that's the cold, sweet stuff that comes in the crunchy thing you can also eat, isn't it? Or wait, is that something else? Whirling thoughts continue to spin. But no matter what, I feel like I could eat just about anything they put in front of me.

"Okay..." I reply submissively. She leads me into a small dining room. It looks familiar yet somehow not. Like my parent's house, or my old Alpha Tau house, but it is neither. My head feels all foggy and I can't quite place where it is. Geez, I must be really baked, thinking of my Alpha Tau brothers and all those smoke sessions we had, long ago. I mean, REALLY baked. I can't even seem to think straight, my thoughts trail off, spiraling out... how much did I smoke and how long ago was it? And are these the Alpha Tau brothers? Where's Mustache Jim? Petey Bee? Instead, I see a bunch of strangers are seated here. I don't even recognize any of them, and they're all really old. One of the guys knows me though. I almost think I've seen him before. He calls to me, "Hey Darrell. Mash Bake Rolls. We're Smelting Airborne seventy three." That doesn't make any sense to me, but whatever. I hear a lot of things that don't make sense; idle chatter that sounds like English but the words echo incoherently in my head. Something smells good anyway. Oh yeah, that's what mashed potatoes and stew are, now I remember. There are plates of it sitting there at the round table here in the dining room.

The woman leads me to an empty chair and gently seats me down. She's cute. Long dark hair, only she's wearing a rather frumpy outfit; like a maid or an orderly. "Wow, Thank you!" I smile up at her. "I'm Darrell." I add. "Would you like to join me?"

She just smiles and giggles.

The food tastes good, and I see the woman helping a couple of people cut chunks of hearty meat into smaller bite sizes. She offers to help me but I wave her away. I'm not a cripple, you know. Eventually I eat my fill. The yellow warm mushy stuff, (whatever it was called, dang, I just forgot) and the food with the orange, light green and brown chunks is hearty and filling.

"Are you finished? Would you like me to take your plate?" The woman asks. That doesn't make sense to me, but whatever. I hear a lot of things that don't make sense.

She leads me down the hall to a room. I am nervous, scared, trying to remember where I am or how I got here. This isn't the dorm at the University. And I feel utterly drained, stiff after a good workout on the rugby field. Geez, I hope I'm not still sore tomorrow. I think we have practice tomorrow but I'm not even sure what day it is. Maybe I'll give Lorene a call.

All my apprehension vanishes as I walk into the room. There's my bed, the painting of the seaside villa, and my old guitar. Sure, it's all here. My place. I lay down in bed, alone with my thoughts. After a bit, I get up and begin to pace the room restlessly, remembering yet at the same time, forgetting. I pick up the guitar and strum it quietly. I try to play a song, but realize I have completely forgotten how to play it. Where do you put your fingers again? Which are the right chords? I strum it but it only comes out as dissonant noise. Frustrated and angry with myself, I slam the guitar down into the corner and begin pacing the room, practically sobbing with frustration.

Outside, it is dusk. I stare out the window. I remember the day, long ago, or was it just a few days ago...

We are out on the lake. It is dark, but the full moon is out and I can still see the sparkle in her eyes. The deepest sparkling black, deep pools of infinite beauty, her dark hair spilling down over her bikini top. "I get to row!" She says, taking the oars from me. She splashes me with the paddle and laughs, teasingly. We paddle to the shore and tie up at a dock. It is someone's private dock, near one of the big houses on the south shore of the lake. But it's dark out, and the big house about 30 yards behind us up the hill is dark as well, probably because the wealthy summer people who own it have not yet arrived, still too busy in the bustle of their corporate New York city lives to sit back and enjoy what they have. But we have the lake to ourselves, and the dock to ourselves, and we have each other, and nobody else bothers us. We stare up at the stars. I am shy, wondering if it would be okay to reach over and take her hand as we sit here in perfect silence. But I need not worry about being shy, because before I can reach over and take her hand, she reaches over and takes mine. She leans over at me. I can see the beauty and light pooling in her dark eyes, smell the sweetness of her tan summer body, and before I know what I am doing, I lean over her and gently kiss her, for the first time...

...and she embraces me and we enjoy each other there on the dock, under the stars, looking out over the lake and she gives herself to me, and the joy we both feel in that moment, the feeling that we share is something that I swear will be with me forever, and I will never, ever let this feeling go...

I look up. Lorene is gone. The dock is gone. The stars are out, but yet are filtered through my reflection in a large, barred window facing a strange moonlit courtyard. Instead of the dock, I am sitting on a bed in a strange room. Well it can't be that strange. That oil painting I always had is here, along with my old acoustic guitar, but where is Lorene? How did I get here? I panic, not knowing where I am, or what is happening. Who brought me here? Was it them, the people from the house overlooking the dock? The police? I cry out, out of fear and panic. My reflection in the window looks old, haggard, grey. I can't even tell if that is my reflection, or if it is a strange ghost, and that gives me shivers of terror.

A man walks into the room. He is smiling and offers me a glass of water. "Take this, it will feel better."

"Where am I? Who are you?"

"You are at Felton Hills. You live here, Mr. Cafetta."

"I brought you something to calm you down. You should take this. It will make you feel better," the man added. He holds out a cup of water and what looks like a pill in his hand.

"I don't want your poison!" I bark. "What is this? Who are you?"

"It's okay Mr. Cafetta. Darrell. It's for your sore muscles. I'm a doctor. We're not trying to poison you!" He laughs. "Don't worry. You are in your room. There's nothing bad out there. This place is for rest, relaxation. You'll be fine. But if you take this, it will help you so you won't hurt or be scared."

"Where's Lorene? Is she here?"

"Not yet. But your wife will be here tomorrow, Mr. Cafetta. In the meantime, you should get some rest."

His words almost make sense, but for some reason I still can't quite understand him. Whose wife? Where is Lorene? What is this place?

"I want pizza! When is dinner time?" I ask, though for some reason I don't seem to be hungry.

"Uhhh, well, you already ate! You sure do have quite an appetite there. I watched you put away those mashed potatoes and gravy a while earlier. You have quite an appetite there!"

I don't remember, did we already have dinner? How long ago was that? I swallow his explanation without any further argument. But the pill, however...

The man then says, "Here, this will tide you over. And maybe then you'll remember. It's a special pill. You'll like it. Here, I'll take one too." I see him fake putting his empty hand to his mouth, and I laugh. He must think I'm some dementia patient or something if he can pull that over on me.

"See? Here, your turn."

Although I am scared and disoriented, I do what he says. I swallow the pill somehow without choking on it. Before too long I am simply too tired to sit up anymore, and doze off into a dreamless sleep.

Sometime later, I am sitting in the living room. I think I'm in some hotel, visiting strangers, and I think I recognize the guy on my right. His name is Eric; I used to know him when I was young. Although I'm actually not sure if it really is him. He is staring up at the TV set, fumbling with the black plastic thing that changes the channels. Nothing is happening though. He keeps mumbling to himself, "Real remote.... Real Remote..... real remote..." over and over, staring blankly at the screen. I turn to him and say, "Eric?" But he doesn't respond. Only keeps staring at the screen repeating "Real remote... Real remote..." An old woman sits in the chair across from me, coughing occasionally but she is not even looking at the TV, only blankly staring off into space. She says nothing at all.

The TV is showing a game. I can't tell if its rugby or football and I can't tell who has the ball or what's going on. It goes by so fast. Memories collide with each other like the players on the field. Number twelve throws the ball to number eleven down the field. Bodies collide, whistles blow, players regroup and line up again. Somehow it all means something but I can't remember the rhythm of the game. Only the feeling of colliding with bodies, waking up sore the next day, wow, actually my knees are so sore, I must have just had a game yesterday. What happened yesterday anyway? Did we win? Oddly I don't remember.

I hear a voice yelling, but it's not the refs or the coach yelling at me; I suddenly remembered I was not actually in the game. It's only a TV show. The yelling continues. It is just a frightened old lady in the chair across from me, upset at the TV. Then a man walks in, smiling, and walks over and calms her. I don't know why she is upset, and the man doesn't seem to know either. He does, however, walk over to the TV, open a panel, and flick a switch to change the channel. Now there are just people sitting around talking. I don't know what they are talking about though. Babbling about all kinds of stuff that makes no sense. Then a guy gets up on stage and sings a song. The song is somewhat calming, upbeat but yet relaxing. I look over and the guy next to me, who I thought was Eric but now I'm pretty sure is someone else, is humming along with the tune. The woman has calmed down now and has resumed staring off into space and coughing.

Eventually the fog rolls in again and I lose track of time and place. My thoughts tumble around, but I cannot think straight, and I start to grow frustrated. Singing voices torment me, are they mocking me? Why are they singing about me? No wonder that woman grew agitated. I yell something at the TV, but all I can think of to respond to the mocking singers is some rabid cuss word. Maybe the woman was frightened of me. Or was she angry at me? Did she want to hurt me? Where AM I anyway? What IS this place? I should try to escape, to leave those mocking voices behind me, but yet I cannot even think straight, let along think of a plan. I start to panic and stand up, and try to run, but my knees hurt, my body hurts, and I'm so TIRED...

"...Calm down, Darrell. It's all right." A voice says. I see a robot standing next to me, wearing a strange uniform. Is it a robot? Or a person? It LOOKS like a person, a man in a uniform, but what if it isn't? Am I in the loony bin? Oh God, this IS the loony bin, someone get me OUT of here...

"I want to go home! I want... I want..." My voice trails off. I don't even know how to express how angry and confused and scared I am all of a sudden.

"Don't worry," the person, who may or may not be a robot, says. "Your wife just called. She said she'll be here this afternoon. Lorene will be so happy to see you! Just hang on, hang on for a little while, okay bud?"

"Lorene..." Yes. My wife will be here soon. She'll know what to do.

I smile at the man, who I guess IS just a man after all and not a robot, and tell him thank you. "Oh, sorry I got mad," I add.

"It's okay bro. It's tough here sometimes, I know." He replies patiently.

---------------------------------- 2 --------------------------------------

Lost in shadows drifting. I pass the time in my room, staring out at the window but not really seeing. It is a nice morning, or afternoon, what time is it again? Even the clock on the wall is hard to make sense of. The garden outside the window is inviting and lush, with its bright flowering greenness. We used to play in a garden like this. All of us kids, running around finding Easter eggs that our parents had hidden behind the tall flowering shrubs, then off to church...

There is a knock on the door, which startles me. Had I been sleeping, or merely daydreaming? This isn't my house. Where's Tom?

I see an old woman, her short grey hair in a bun. Her eyes are dark, pooling black, so familiar but yet, I feel I should know her but yet I don't.

She smiles and says, "Hi Derry!" I smile back.

Derry. Like that name my girlfriend used to call me.

"Hey..." I reply. She walks toward me, arms outstretched. I stand up and greet her and hug her.

"Grandma?" I ask.

"No..." she replies, sadly. "No, Darrell." Her voice cracks a little. I feel bad; embarrassed, like I should know her, but instead I made her feel bad. And that makes me feel bad. And those eyes, they almost remind me of someone I know long ago, a woman who once sat by me on a moonlit pier by the lake, exchanging passionate kisses when we were young and in love...

"I brought you something. Here, look!" She sits down on the bed next to me. She has a small book full of photos. She opens it and flips through them. She shows me pictures of myself, young and in love at my wedding, standing next to Lorene, her face radiant with beauty. And here are our children, Tom and Vinnie, both as young kids, and later, here is a photo of them full grown. And here is Lorene and I, travelling the world, standing on a sunlit beach with sun-bleached white buildings with blue rooftops in the background, and here we are in a square courtyard with a large fountain and marbled arches in the background. And then, two of us, myself and this woman seated next to me, sitting on a bench, next to a tree, both of us grown old and long retired, but yet still happy, still in love...

...and then, for a brief time, I remember. I smile, reach over, and hug my wife, hoping I will never lose this moment, never forget her. I speak her name, tell her I love her, tell her I never want her to leave my side, and that I miss her terribly. She returns my embrace, and her eyes light up with joy once again.

But this fog of the mind is cruel, and the remembrance is all too fleeting. She asks me how my day was. I stammer that it was fine. She wants to know what I did yesterday, but I tell her honestly that I cannot remember. Did we have a rugby game?

But as I rack my brain to answer the question, I suddenly wonder who the strange woman is standing here, in my room. She looks so familiar...

"Mom...?" I ask.

"No, Darrell. It's me. Come on, do you remember?"

The old woman sighs. Tears well up in her eyes. I can see her sadness, and it makes me sad too. Why is she so sad? She is nice, surely I can help; cheer her up...

Maybe I can cheer her up. An old song I know. The melody can still play in my head after all these years. I smile and start to sing and laugh, but suddenly I realize I can't remember the words. And I used to love this song.

But she knows the words. She picks up my guitar in the corner and strums it softly, singing the words with me. Through the clouds and the darkness of my mind, she helps me remember them. They endure, always. We sing together softly. I see her smile and her eyes sparkle. I say her name, once again. Her looks may have faded but she is still the woman I love and have always loved. And once again, I remember, just a fleeting glimpse, a fragment, of that day on the water, of leaning over and kissing her, my wife. Maybe tomorrow I will no longer even remember the melody or even that I ever knew the song. And maybe tomorrow I will no longer even remember Lorene, ever again, never again remember the way her dark eyes sparkled, or the kiss on the water. But for now, we have this moment together. Even though this may not even be Lorene- IS it really her?- I can savor the fleeting glimpse of happiness.