Twenty-twenty

Remar Jackson's vacation is all in his head. Some go back to relive a favorite memory or to see things in their past again. But some reinvent the past to create a better future.

Twenty/Twenty (copyright 2005)

	I've just dropped in and its weird being ‘me’ again. I'm supposed to be here on vacation, reliving a favorite memory. But I have a different agenda. Some have found that when you go back and become who you were, you can really re-live experiences and figure things out, knowing what you know now. It's not illegal or anything, but strongly discouraged by the proprietors, because often things go sour. Me, I'm here to answer a nagging question of what would have happened if I said something I didn't forty years ago.
	No, this isn't time-travel. It's a psychological, neurological manipulation of memories and the suggestion that it's reality. It's called 'regression', and I asked to be regressed to a week in May, 1980. What's weird is it's a blend of me at thirty, when it happened, me now at forty-one, when this whole thing started making sense to me, and me at seventy, when they could actually do this regression thing. 
	I'm thirty and feel myself thinking like I did back then, almost like I'm a different person. What I am remembering I am living right now, if that makes any sense. Memories from back then seem fresher, like they really were just yesterday, not yesterday-plus eleven years ago, or really, whoa, forty years back. 
	I am, or was, and am again, gainfully employed by a big insurance firm. Prudential. The 'Rock'. I have the condo, a nice savings account, a beautiful red Firebird - everything I could want. But that's the material stuff. I am here for a matter of the heart, as they say. Never know what comes out of reliving the past in your mind.
	OK, so from where I am now, about a year ago, I divorced Janice after five years of marriage. Her...I don't care about her. She's not why I'm here. That one was my fault. I guess I caved in and settled for what seemed to work at the time. I heard that one in that new movie...'Thelma and Louise'. "You get what you settle for." Susan Sarandon? That's me. We just weren't right for each other. Seems really obvious now, when you look back on it. Like they say, "Hindsight is twenty-twenty". Don't think that one was in that movie, but it should have been. 
	So I'm asking myself, "How did I get here?" Why did I get involved with Janice? What pushed me? What was in my head that made me do such a thing? I know you have to go back further, to the relationship before that. The one I'm interested in I never married. Hell, we never really dated, and I'm here to figure out why. The one I regressed for, her name was...is...was Helen.

	-1-

	"Isn't it nice to get away like this, Remar? A week away from the office, a week away from all the noise."
	"We're still working, though, Helen. This isn't really a vacation."
	Helen slides the signed paper back over the counter and smiles that toothy smile at the guy in the blue blazer.
	"What are you talking about? No cleaning, no cooking, no boring meetings. Someone even makes our beds."
	I hoist the strap on my big bag over my right shoulder and squat down to pick up the briefcase in my left hand. Damn jacket starts dragging off my shoulder.
	"Yes, but the week is one long boring meeting."
	"Remar, you promised. Look to the positive, OK? Since we just checked in, the week has officially started, and you and me are thinking of this as a vacation."
	"With work."
	"With learning."
	"What I said, with work."
	I twist my head, trying to look at the room key.
	"OK, OK, Helen. What's that say, three, eight..."
	"Three-twelve. I am three-fifteen."
	"Mini-bar?"
	Helen stops short and hangs her head, open-mouthed, and rolls her eyes.
	"Remar?"
	"Well, you want me to vacation, and one way I know how starts with a full mini-bar and ends with an empty one."
	I shrug that big bag farther up on my shoulder. God, I hate that thin strap. Really cuts in. Why don't they put these things on wheels or something? I hold my curved hand up to my lips and raise my eyebrows.
	"You're not seriously going to start drinking now, are you?"
	"Seriously? Sure. Why not?"
	Helen points in the direction we were headed, and her purse slides down to her elbow.
	"We have to get to the opening session in thirty minutes. We barely have enough time to drop off our bags and freshen up."
	"I thought we were on a vacation?"
	"We are, but wait 'till the end of the day, why don't you?"
	Now I'm smiling. Caught you, Helen. Two years working together, day in and day out, and she still can't tell when I'm kidding.
	"Work, play. Make up your mind, Helen."
	The morning was really uneventful, and, fortunately, flew by. Just the usual introductory remarks and conference updates. They changed the keynote - again. Some schmuck who made a million overnight. Like we need to hear that! Good-bye! Right now, we are heading out for lunch, walking up Rue De Castiglione, heading for Rue de Rivoli. Big tourist and shopping strip. I'm not much of a traveler, at least up to now, but man, Paris is a great place for a conference. Except for the traffic. When we hit Rue de Rivoli, we are nearly mowed down by a fast little car.
	'What the hell? Helen, do you believe that?"
	Helen is still moving backwards, catching herself with a little tug on my arm.
	"Geeze, Remar. It's rush rush rush. Not like Pittsburgh, is it?"
	Helen still has my arm in her hand.
	"No, well, I forgot Paris was like this."
	"Forgot? You've never mentioned going to Paris before, Remar."
	"Uh, I mean...I've read about this sort of thing in Paris before. National Geographic."
	No. The real conference was in St. Louis, in February. This time I put it in Paris, France. I went there in real-life as a gift to myself around the millennium when I turned fifty. Huh, I guess I got that to look forward to? Still at a Sheraton, though. That's dreaming. Mixing up time and place and people - decades of experience and memories mashed together. Maybe I shouldn't have changed anything like that. Maybe it all needs to be authentic so this whole thing works. But they warned me it may turn out more like a dream.
	"Oh."
	"Would you look at that."
	I angle my head towards a young lady coming from across the street. Long purple dress, slit up the front. She's wearing a little blue vest and a hat with mesh hanging over her face.
	"Must be a model. They dress them like that, Remar. How about him?"
	Helen looks to her right, tugging my arm in the same direction. He is in jeans and a white shirt, gray sweater drawn about his waist. Nice loafers! But what's he holding up to the side of his head? He's talking to himself, for Christ's sake. A bit scruffy, too. Needs a shave.
	"He's not a model. Still, I'll tell you, these Parisians sure can dress, though."
	"Parisians? I thought they were called 'Paris-ites'".
	'Paris...Helen! Or like 'Mos-cows'."
	"Or, what's the other one...Lao-ses from Laos-asia."
	'Aren't those 'llamas'"
	"What?"
	A quick glance both ways and we cross Rue D'Alger. The Tuilieres is to our right. It's a zigzag of walkways and little plots of flowers and plants. Nothing really dramatic, but kind of peaceful. I hear music from something like a quartet over the steady hum of the cars. Helen grabs at my right arm again with her left. As I look up she flings her thin scarf over her left shoulder with her right. I  inhale tassel.
	"Pfftt."
	"Sorry, Remar. Any idea where we're going?"
	"Well, I know, er...was told ...by someone...that there was a nice little tea shop around here called 'Angelina's'."
	"They have regular food?"
	"Small sandwiches, baked goods, the best hot chocolate, yeah."
	Just beyond yet another souvenir shop it's there, to the left.  
	"This is it, Helen."
	"This?"
	"Yeah, Angelina's. What's wrong?"
	Helen hangs her right elbow at her side and points up with her hand.
	"It's just...a tea shop?"
	"Like I said, they have scones and..."
	"Oh, Remar, it's nice and all, but...if I'm in Paris at a convention and have to eat out, I want something more."
	"More?"
	"More of, and more...French. Where do they keep the French Toast and that chicken?"
	"Oh! Ah....well..we'll keep walking then."
	"OK, Remar." 
	More shops. I forgot this stretch is all trinket shops as the Louvre is coming up on the far right. We turn on to the Avenue Du Generale Lemonnier which cuts right through the Gardens Tuiliers. It's still early in the day and the sun is out in full-force, midway up on the right, just above the Eiffel tower. Damn, this is a small city. One glance left and right and you see the whole thing.
	"It's a beautiful city, isn't it, Helen?"
	"Sure is, Remar. What would it be like to live here? Makes you think."
	"About what?"
	Helen twists to face me and pulls her hair over her left ear. Her head drops forward as she slides her purse-strap farther up her left shoulder with her right hand.
	"Remar?"
	"Helen?"
	"Remar, you happy with things?"
	I stop short of some dog crap in the middle of the walkway just ahead. Parisians tolerate that sort of thing better than Americans. I touch Helen's arm to move her a little to the right.
	"Things? Happy? I guess so. With what? You mean Prudential or..."
	"Insurance? Maybe. I guess I'm more thinking personal stuff. You know..."
	"Dating? Or the lack of it, in my case."
	"Yes. No. Well, maybe that's part of it. I'm just...sometimes I feel so...out-of-place. Sometimes it seems like too much is going on in my life, and nothing is happening."
	Just ahead, to the left a guy is selling pictures. Paintings, I think. Other people are milling about, walking aimlessly like we are. But such is the freedom of dreams. So I have to ask myself, does the painter mean anything? The gardens? No. Probably not. None of it does. It is all just comfortable backdrop for me and Helen.
	"Nothing happening? That's not the Helen I know."
	"Huh? Who are you talking about, Remar?"
	"Are you kidding, Helen? You are the most together girl I know. You balance work and those dance classes..."
	"Aerobics classes."
	"Aerobics classes and your Mom and..."
	Two teens on bikes are coming up on the left. I scoot ahead, prodding Helen with me.
	"It's as bad here as on the street, Helen."
	"Thank you, Remar. And thank you, but...where was I? Oh, yeah. We've talked about this before. I just feel..."
	"Lost?"
	"Yes, lost."
	We have discussed this before. Maybe this is the point of this trip. Me, Helen. Maybe you need me. Maybe you've been calling out all the time and I never heard it. Maybe I'm just seeing what I want to see. I don't know. This never hit me until much later. Right now, the older me is telling me to watch the younger me. I should be listening instead of thinking. OK.
	I turn my head back, away from Helen, to see the bikes pull away. Just to their left is that...wow! I forgot about that statue. The Arch de Triumph de Carrousel. A miniature Arch de Triumph with a little horse sculpture on it. Right in front of the Louvre. Well, the Louvre may be a block off, but...I pause for just a moment, and as Helen takes a step by, I glance to my right, to the real Arch de Triumph, way off in the distance. There's the Obelisque in the Place de la Concorde. I'll have to swing Helen by there. Yes, I remember now. All these things are in a line right through the heart of Paris. Means something, but...
	"Remar?"
	"Helen?"
	"What do you see?"
	"Oh, just downtown Paris. We’ll get there later.
	"Oh, well, come on then."
	We turn right onto the Quai Du Toilers, right along the Seine.
	'Wow, Remar. Is that the Paris River?"
	It is a really beautiful stone walkway. I think I've seen this in lots of movies, later, of course.
	"Remar?" 
	"Um? Oh, the Seine, yeah."
	"Neat. Oh, look at...what's that? A tourist boat?"
	Helen has stopped and is up on her toes, bouncing a little. She stops, tips her head to the side and slides her glasses up her nose. 
	"Yeah, that's the...uh...the...Betaux, no, the Bateaux...Mouches. The Bateaux Mouches."
	"You're so smart, Remar. Would you look at that? So do you know what I mean?"
	"Well, sort of. I..."
	"It's like, I'm waiting for stuff to happen, you know? Here I am, twenty-eight."
	"Thirty-two."
	"Twenty-nine."
	"Thirty-two."
	"Late twenties."
	Helen is looking to the ground. We keep moving, slowly moving forward. The sun comes out from behind a cloud and I shield my eyes.
	"Like some of the things my friends have. People I knew in High School."
	"Like?"
	"Like, the usual. You know, kids, family, a house. I still rent and I still drive that s****y little Toyota.
	I am now looking down at my shoes as I slowly shuffle along.
	"It ain't a bad car, Helen, and you have a nice place. But I know what you mean. I'm from St. Louis and am not in contact with any of my school friends, but I know what you mean.  Some of the guys at work ask why I haven't settled down."
	"Exactly. What is it we're supposed to settle down to, anyways?"
	The tourist boat floats by, blaring out something about the Louvre and how many zillion paintings it has. Eager people craning their necks trying to find what they think everyone else is looking at; trying to see those zillion paintings through the thick beige rock walls just ahead.
	"The kids, the house, the car. But then it's just like that, Remar."
	"Like what?"
	"Settling. Like what we were doing before, now, is...reckless. Like there's things all of us are supposed to do and be." 
	I glance down at my watch. I had one of those digital ones for the longest time, but for some reason I am wearing my old one now, hands and everything. I guess it's nearly one.
	"This way."
	I point up the Rue, along the Seine. Coming up is the Pont De Le Concorde. Dull compared to the other great bridges in Paris.
	"Remar?"
	"Helen? You were saying."
	"Yeah, It's like, I don't even want them; not even thinking about them at all."
	"What?"
	"That stuff. For one, there's my Mom. And I want to go back to school. There's lots I want to do yet, Remar. Prudential isn't the end of my life. Pittsburgh isn't the end of my life. Remar, I don't know what I would be giving up by settling down."
	We are heading right towards that Obelisque I saw before. It is in the middle of the Place De La Concorde, a very busy, trafficy intersection. It was brought here from ancient Egypt by Napoleon. One of those engineering feats they said couldn't be done, but he did. From a distance it looks OK here, but up close it is all out-of-place. I mean, it's an Egyptian relic in the middle of Paris, for Christ's sake!
	We have stopped on the corner, and when I look at Helen she is turned towards the Obelisque in the distance.
	"Interesting."
	"It is kind of cool, isn't it, Helen."
	"Where are we?"
	"Place De La Concorde. Napoleon..."
	"Where's the hotel?"
	I point to the left of the obelisque.  
	"The...the Sheraton is just past the courtyard. To the left."
	"Oh."
	Helen looks up, placing her flattened hand at her brow to shade her eyes. 
	"You were saying, Helen?"
	"Oh. What was I saying? 
	"Giving up something. Settling..."
	"Right. Thanks Remar. Like I was saying, I have what I want now. A good job, good friends."
	"A s****y car."
	"A s****y car, a Toyota, and..."
	Helen stops short. I come to a halt a step or two later and look back over my left shoulder. There is Helen standing in the glare of the sun. I squint to make her out and shade my eyes with my right hand as I walk towards her.
	"...I have a friend, Remar. A best friend. Someone...something I never had before."
	"Helen reaches for both my hands with hers; my left at my side and my right still at my brow.
	"Remar, I..."
	S**t. This is it. This is it? Wait a minute. I don't remember this, not now. But, it must have happened...
	"Remar, I..."
	If it did, why didn't I see it then? This was so obvious; just the lead in I wanted. I thought it was at Thursday night's dinner at the Sheraton Galleria. Helen, I always wanted to ask you...to let you know...this happened? Why didn't I...
	Helen holds both my hands as they hang at my sides, the bright sun glaring down at both of us.
	"Remar, I am so lucky to have you. You are the one...
	God damn, that hurts! I can't see! I pull my right hand from Helen's and cover my eyes, reeling back and squinting hard.
	"Remar? What's... Oh my gosh! I'm sorry. The sun."
	Helen cuts around behind me and I feel her hands at my shoulders, turning me about to face her. I stand up, and there she is, bright as day, smiling at me, her bug-eyed glasses shining back white.
	"Helen?"
	"Remar? Oh S**t."
	Helen drops her head and twists to the left, covering her eyes with her right forearm. I hear her burst out in laughter. 
	"What an idiot I am!  I am so out of place here. I don't know why you don't dump me right here, in the middle of Paris."
	"I wouldn't do that, Helen."
	"Well, I would, Remar. Where are we, anyways? Oh yeah, Napoleon. So when are we getting lunch?"

		-2-

	Two days into this and it feels like a week already. You know how these thing go. Training, seminars, workgroups. They're using computers more and more in the business. Electronic spreadsheets and databases, too. Hell, anything to make my job easier. But geeze, Helen takes to this stuff right away. She pulls a chair up to the desk, slides the keyboard around, sits up real straight and her hands begin to fly. Then there's that little smile. Who knows what's making her smile, if it's that she's busy or being productive. But then she is a happy person.
	So now it's Thursday, and I think we'll pass on the big night into town. Lots can happen out in downtown Paris, especially on the Champs Ellysee, but we did have dinner alone together on that Thursday in the hotel when this all really happened, so I'll stick with that. But since I have us in Paris, I'll give us a table at a particularly memorable restaurant.
	The waiter at Ladurre has just dropped off the menus. The couple to the left of us just got their food. What the hell is that? Looks like pork, or maybe a chunk of turkey? This time of year? And that bright red sauce? There are twirly fried strips, kinda like onion rings, but more like corkscrews on the top stuck into this green sauce. Dots of the sauce are around the edges of the plate, too. Must have gotten sloppy in the kitchen.
	Helen hunches over the menu on the table and smiles up at the waiter, craning her neck up. She looks back down and opens it like a book with her left hand, then flips it closed and turns it over with both hands and stares at the back.
	"You always do that."
	"What?"
	"That."
	"What?"
	She now has her right fingers pressed up against her mouth. Her brow is slightly furrowed.
	"That's the lunch specials. They ended like two-o'clock."
	"How do you you know..."
	"The back of the menu."
	Helen stares at me for a moment, blankly.
	"Remar, I like to look."
	"Why?"
	"I like to think about what I can have for lunch."
	"But it's not lunch. Lunch was...six hours ago."
	Helen laughs and leans towards me a little over the table.  I shift my butt a little to the right on the chair and smirk at her.
	"Remar, well, maybe I'll see something I like. I mean, they don't always make the same things for lunch and dinner."
	"Helen, we've eaten here three, four times this week. We have had lunch here, so you already know what they have."
	"The specials..."
	"Oh, the specials. Anything good?"
	"No."
	She is totally focused on the menu now, head down and hunkered over. Hand is back at her mouth. Now it's pulling that loose hair back over her right ear. I stretch my legs a little to the left under the table and flip open the menu wide, then fold it over. Sandwich or burger. Burger or, what's this...
	"Now, that's a Remar thing."
	"What?"
	"That!"
	"This? What?"
	Helen places her right elbow on the table and leans in and flicks my menu with her index finger.
	"That, Mister."
	Her head tips to the side and her eyes lock on mine. Hangs there for a second, it seems. Then she sits back into her creaky chair.
	"You look like you're reading the Sunday Times."
	"The Sunday...I don't..."
	"Don't what? Come on.  Everywhere we go, you flip open the menu like it's a newspaper. Practically snap it open, fold it over and...kick back."
	"Kick back?"
	Helen is back on her right elbow, waving the hand about as she talks.
	"Yeah, all stretched out and squinty-eyed."
	"What? I don't..."
	Helen leans back into her chair and twists a quarter way around to her left. She scoops up her menu in both hands and pumps her arms in and out high above her head.
	"This is you, this is you."
	She lowers the menu to the table at arms-length and pushes her large round glasses down her nose and then shakes her head.
	"This is you. This is you, Remar."
	"I like...like looking at the big picture. You know, what they have."
	"Just like me, Remar?"
	"No, with you it's different."
	Helen turns her head towards me and lets it drop to the side a little.
	"Burgers. Fish. Steak. I don't know what I want, Helen."
	"Oh yes you do. You always order the same thing when we eat out."
	"No I don't. I..."
	"Oh? Brannigans."
	"Brannigans?"
	"Sundays at Brannigans. You know the omelet bar?"
	"Yeah. So what, Helen?"
	"You always look at all the ingredients they have there. The little pot of ham cubes, the bowls with the peppers and mushrooms and cheese and say things like 'Mushroom and onion, now that's a combo'."
	Helen is twisted back to face the table again. I have come in on both elbows and am resting my chin on my fists.
	"OK. Your point?"
	"Well, you look around and talk about all the wonderful combinations you can do, but you always end up with ham and cheese. Maybe you get some onions once and a while, but it's always ham and cheese."
	Helen is smiling broadly. She has now propped her head on her fists, too. 
	"I like it."
	"What?"
	"Ham and cheese."
	"But you always look around, don't you, Remar?"
	"And there's a problem with..."
	Helen widens her eyes and stretches her neck.
	"Oh, no problem. I like it. It's cute. You just seem...I wonder if you are really thinking about another omelet, or just thinking about thinking about another omelet."
	"Helen I...they all look good but then I only want..."
	As I squint at Helen and look at her through closing eyes, those eyelashes or eyebrows or whatever making it all fuzzy on the top and bottom, I think maybe she's on to something here.

	"Mister Jackson?"

	The electrodes send a small jolt through my head. I literally feel it ear-to-ear. I am still worried about being submerged like this, wired into the computer and receiving microshocks to keep me in the experience I am paying so dearly for. 

	"Mister Jackson?. Please continue, sir."

	"...only want the best when we're out like that. "
	"When we are out, or all the time?"
	My eyes are open wide again. She has that look that says she's about to mouth the answer to me and her eyes dart about, just a little. Small movements, really.  She slowly rolls her head to the right just a bit to tease that strand of hair off her cheek, then slides her right hand from under her chin to drag it off her face, her eyes on mine the whole time. I know I'm smiling. I can feel me looking down just a little, pushing my peripheral vision to see her neck and the collar of that green-striped white shirt. 
	"Every time with you is special, Helen. You'll just have to have lunch with me when I'm alone some time."
	I move away from the middle of the table.
	"Oh. So next time...wait a minute. That doesn't make any sense..."
	"What does, Helen? What does?"
	Helen is still looking at me.
	"Remar?"
	"Helen?"
	"You should order something different tonight, Remar."
	"Well, I..."
	"Since you're not making sense, anyways."
	Helen blinks her eyes at me and twists to the left. She pops the menu open and holds it out at arms length.
	“Steak or chicken? Steak or fish?"
	I flop the menu on it's face in front of me and hunch over it. No white page of lunch specials on mine, but I look anyways. I glance up at Helen with my eyes, head still down. She was watching me imitating her, but she quickly turns her gaze around to the folded-over menu in her hands.
	"Sunday Times?"

	- 3 -

	Well, I'm like a beached whale here. Almost tipped back in my chair. I pat my belly with my left hand and toss the napkin on the table with my right. I look at that black book-like thing holding the check propped up on the centerpiece. Helen is studying her teeth in her makeup mirror, picking at something with the edge of her nail.
	"How are you, Helen?"
	"Hmm?"
	"Enough to eat."
	"Hmm? Yeah. Yeah."
	The mirror clicks shut, and Helen lazily closes her eyes and lets her head slide a little out to the right. She snaps her eyes open and stares at, what, my hand on my stomach?
	"It was a good meal."
	"I'll say. What time we have, Remar?"
	"Seven-fifty...almost eight. Well, a little after eight."
	"What? How do you go from seven fifty to after eight'?"
	"Well, it umm...it looked different when my are was tilted. See?"
	I hold up my left arm to Helen, twisting the back of my wrist to her. Damn thing is upside-down. I flip my arm over, elbow reaching towards my chest, trying to twist the watch-face to her. 
	Helen just sits there in silence. Her mouth opens once, then closes. Then she just sits there, looking at me. I swear her head just shook. Naw. Then she speaks.
	"How do you come up with...I don't know if you should come back down to the bar later, Remar."
	"Helen, it's our last night here. Besides, you still owe me a drink from when what's-his-name, you know, fat-boy there in the, what was it called...the 'disco group' went for the last doughnut. "
	"It was the ‘discovery group’, and, no, the bet was if he would ask or not, and he did. I won."
	"You won? He didn't say a word - he just reached in and grabbed it."
	"He looked."
	"He what?"
	 "He looked around . He looked at a few of us as he was reaching for it."
	"Looked? A look is not asking, Helen. Words are asking."
	"He didn't just take it. He sought our permission visually, which is as good as asking."
	Helen crosses her arms and shakes the hair from her face.
	"I won. You owe me the drink. 'Words are for asking'? Who says that? What does that mean, anyways?"
	"It means you speak to say things. You say words to express what's on your mind."
	"Not always, Remar. Sometimes a look or a movement can say a lot."
	"Like goofball there, what, Tuesday?"
	"Simon Wexler. Yes, Tuesday. Whata-ya call it, the customer seminar."
	Helen scrunches her lips together, pressing her mouth into a straight line. 
	"OK. What am I saying now?"
	She sits up really tall and drops her arms at her sides. Her eyes widen and her head tips to the side.
	"'Oh, I know that one. It's the Remar-I don't-believe-you-said-that' or, no, the 'Remar-ix-nay-on-the-whatever-nay I-just-said-wrong-ay.'"
	"Right. Well, actually the 'ix-nay' one. And this?"
	She folds her arms high on her chest and sinks her head into her neck, closing her eyes to slits.
	"'Remar-you-think-you're-so-cool.'"
	"No."
	She intensifies her stare and re-crosses her arms.
	"Uh...Remar...Remar-see-you're'-wrong-and-I'm-right'. Right?"
	"Yes! Very good. And that makes my point."
	"What?"
	"That one."
	"What one."
	"I'm right. You can say things without words. Come on. Body language."
	"No no no. That only works because...because I know you. I see you every day at work and Happy Hour and sometimes on Sunday for omelets. Give me one I don't know."
	"What do you mean?"
	"You with one of your other friends. A look or thing you give them."
	"I don't hang out with anybody else, Remar. I entertain my cat on weekends..."
	"And I have good healthy conversations with my dog. Come on, Simmons or one of the temps, or that young guy at the coffee shop, the ah, ah...the 'Tick Tock'."
	"Oh, Eddie? Pfft! Well...No, anyways."
	Helen drops her shoulders and looks up to the ceiling or there abouts. A curvy smile breaks out on her face. Not the toothy 'Helen-grin' I so know and love.
	"OK, Remar."
	She settles both elbows on the edge of the table really close together. She scrunches towards the table and settles her mouth in on her fingers and she slightly closes her right eye. She lets go of her shoulders, and I can see the right edge of her mouth sneak out from behind her hand. The littlest of smiles. A tiny smile and a look like...
	"'I-want-you.'"
	"No. More."
	"OK. 'I-want-you-now'"
	"No."
	She lets her sleepy gaze drop, then slowly drags that look back up for me.
	"Can I ask you something?"
	"That's not even close, Remar. Come on, You're not trying."
	She settles into her pose again, a little less insincere this time.
	"No, Helen. I mean...I want to ask you something here."

	"Mister Jackson, sir?"

	"Yes?"

	"Is this it, sir? Is this the juncture?"

	"Yes, yes it is."

	"Right, sir. Proceed."

	- 4 -

	What do I do now? I mean, I have known Helen for what, two years? Yeah, I had dated around since I started at Prudential, and I think Helen was seeing someone at the time I started.  We hit it off almost immediately, and became the best of friends - lunch buddies and going on errands and the like. Went out a few times with some of the guys from the office, to the discos. But I never asked her out, just her. She never gave me the vibe. Yet at Christmas the presents we exchanged were more than just the typical office-buddy gifts. Dancing with her didn't feel like dancing with any of the other gals in the office, or even some of my girlfriends. 
	Thing is, we never talked about it, or asked each other before. I never got a clear sign from her or felt like giving one to her. I think about her, though. I had been planning this get-away for months; made sure we were both still going, made sure no one else from the office would be here. So here I am on the last full night of this retreat and the perfect opportunity has come up and I just don't know what to do. I'll tell you what I did do. I asked if that last look she was doing for me was for the coffee-shop guy, Eddie. I would have been fine with that, but then Helen  gave me a really odd look, kind of like that 'Remar-I-don't-believe-you-said-that, but with a little disappointment added in. I think. Something in the eyes, like a sadness. We wound up ending the night there without catching drinks at the bar later on, and I lay there alone in my room most of the night thinking about that look and how quickly the evening seemed to end. Did I screw up? Did she think I screwed up on purpose? Did she think I was jealous or uninterested or what?  
	We headed back early afternoon the next day, and I didn't see her again until Tuesday, as Monday was Labor...no no, Memorial day. We went on as usual, and a couple of months later her Mom had that stroke, and Helen had to care for her. At first, she commuted, and I never saw her, and she was always beat. Then she took a demotion which let her move to a satellite office near her Mom, and that was basically it.
	I never stopped thinking about Helen. The following Christmas she didn't want to meet for even a dinner, and even though I sent her a nice makeup bag, something I thought could be taken as either a thoughtful or personal gift, all I got was a card in return. Then the letters stopped and her phone was disconnected. Soon enough, I met Janice, and that whole fiasco played out, and just before the divorce, I began having dreams about Helen and that, er, this night - this moment right now. That's why me at forty-one is now back here, if only in my mind, to see what would have happened if I had said...
	"Have you ever thought about 'us', Helen?"
	"What?"
	"Have you ever thought about 'us'; you and me, together?"
	Helen tips her head to the side and lowers her hands from her face kinda slow.
	"Together?"
	"You know, dating. I mean, we seem to hit it off. You're single. I'm single. I mean..."
	"Remar, I...don't know what to say. The thought has crossed my mind, of course. I mean, you're a great guy and..."

	"Sir? Mister Jackson? It's not holding. the pattern is shifting. Are you OK sir?"

	"Remar...I don't know what to say. Yes. Yes, of course. God I was so hoping you would get the hint..."

	"You're leaving the dream..."

"Remar...I don't know what to say. Yes. Yes, of course. God I was so hoping you would get the hint..."

	"You're leaving the dream..."

	"Remar...I don't know what to say. I don't see us like that at all. Sure you're a great guy but you are like a brother to me..."

	"You're starting to re-regress. For a moment you lost..."

	"Yes, I know. I'm doing that on purpose."

	"What? Why would..."

	"Damn it, let me be without your goddamn interruptions."

	"But..."

	"Remar...I don't know what to say. Sometimes I feel...no, sometimes I...I think about it, too. Sometimes I ask  myself 'Why aren't you going out with Remar'? But then I ask myself why I haven't said anything to you before? Sure, I've thought about it, but then isn't it enough that I didn't ask? I mean, look at all those times, those opportunities:  New Year's. The Christmas party last year. That night, what, a year ago with the deadline on the Jenkins account. You and me working together all night and you ordered out dinner and we worked 'till midnight and you made that big play about taking the day off tomorrow, not having to get up. And when we finally did leave and we were in the parking garage, you gave me the peck on the cheek. You hung there close to me for a second or two, and what did I do? I did nothing, Remar. I stood there for a second and gave you a peck on the cheek back. Think about it. Do you really think I didn't know what was going on? Don't you think I thought about that one, too?
	Helen is standing there with a blank expression; not upset or anything, just blank. Her eyes are soft and her face relaxed, like she's talking to a client or on the phone with a claim. I turn slowly and begin walking from her, my footsteps echoing as I walk towards my car. We are now in that garage. 
	"Remar?"
	I stop, and as I shuffle my feet around, it echoes, sounding larger than life.
	"What, Helen?"

	"Sir..."

	"Remar, If I wanted you, 

	"Sir...Mister Jackson?"

	"Remar, If I wanted you, 

	"You have left the grid, Mister Jackson."
	"Let me be, you idiot! I know where I am."
	"But..."
	"Shut up."

	"Let me be, you idiot! I know where I am."

	"But..."

	"Shut up."

	"Remar, if I wanted you, wouldn't I have let you know? And if I was scared to, what could you have said to really change my mind?"
	"What do you mean, Helen?"
	"I mean, you can't make up my mind. You can ask me and you can try to convince me, but eventually, I will still do what I want. You could only change things for a short time, anyways. It's like the girl that marries because she feels she has to. Sooner or later she wises up and decides to take off. My actions have already spoken even if I wasn’t sure what I was saying. The cheesy card that last Christmas, no return calls. You didn't see, Remar. You were looking, but you didn’t see. See me now, Remar. Look at my eyes, Remar."
	I move closer to Helen. She is perfectly motionless, like a statue. I give a big deep exhale and my breath puts a fog between her face and mine. Then I look in on that face and her eyes, and how I like to remember those eyes, and I see...nothing. Just their shine and devastating color. She's not there. Another breath, more fog, and as that clears, I think I finally get it. I give the unmoving face a peck on the cheek and turn away quickly from her, still thinking about those eyes.
  	"Bye, Helen."
	I made her up then and now. I made up the Helen that would go out with me. I made up the Helen that could say 'yes'. I made up the Helen I wanted to see. She...I never really listened to her. If I had paid attention to her, I would have known there were only two options. Either, yes she wanted me, but couldn't act on it; or two, the thought never entered her mind. It was never my decision. 'Winning her over' would only trick her into doing what I wanted.
	Look at her. Frozen solid. Lifeless. I made this all up. I made her all indecisive and I the one who could set things right. How selfish. How scared. So coming back here was...oh s**t. I didn't have to come back here to find out 'why' or 'why not'. Hey, this isn't real anyways. It's all in my mind. It was always there, so I knew it all along. Now I see it. I gave me that pain. I made myself unhappy.

	"And then I followed through with Janice. Made her like me. Kept at her.  Won her over. Convinced her to marry me. That, and I convinced myself that she was the right one, that we were right. Christ, I was..."
	"What, sir?"
	"Christ, I couldn't figure it out at thirty. I couldn't figure it out at forty-one. Then I dropped it and buried it and fucked up every other relationship in my life since. Christ. I have to wait 'till I'm seventy to see it clearly. I was so close then. Maybe I could have...maybe I still could....
	"What, sir?"
	"I said, 'Maybe I could...' Oh, whatever."
	"Sir, I don't understand. Are we resuming the run? We have the backtrace loaded and..."
	"No, don't bother. I'm through here. Unjack me, bring me up."
	"But sir, the regression. We're short what looks like two days..."
	"Don't need 'em. I saw enough, and I got what I came for. Bring me up."
	"What are you talking about? You want to end the..."
	"Yes I want to end this...now!"
	"Sir, once we do that, we can't jack you in again. There's no partial refund. So for the record, you do accept..."
	"Whatever, kid. Get me out of this tank. I'm through here.

	"What, sir?"

	"Christ, I couldn't figure it out at thirty. I couldn't figure it out at forty-one. Then I dropped it and buried it and fucked up every other relationship in my life since. Christ. I have to wait 'till I'm seventy to see it clearly. I was so close then. Maybe I could have...maybe I still could....

	"What, sir?"

	"I said, 'Maybe I could...' Oh, whatever."

	"Sir, I don't understand. Are we resuming the run? We have the backtrace loaded and..."

	"No, don't bother. I'm through here. Unjack me, bring me up."

	"But sir, the regression. We're short what looks like two days..."

	"Don't need 'em. I saw enough, and I got what I came for. Bring me up."

	"What are you talking about? You want to end the..."

	"Yes I want to end this...now!"

	"Sir, once we do that, we can't jack you in again. There's no partial refund. So for the record, you do accept..."

	"Whatever, kid. Get me out of this tank. I'm through here.