The Fare: Part 2

He shoved the paper in his pocket just as Cecilia opened the cab door. For the first time Jeffry caught a glimpse of her in the rearview mirror.
“Do you need more time, Ma’am?” he asked.
“No, I’ve had enough. But I do have one last stop to make.”
As they left, Cecilia watched as the lighthouses reflection grew smaller and smaller in the mirror until it was out of sight. Their final stop was not too far from the Key, at Alice Wainwright Park. A small collection of rocks stood at the water’s edge, and Jeffry stepped out to help Cecilia walk across them. The sun was halfway past the horizon, but the water’s image made it look whole as it cast its last bit of warmth across the city. The skyscrapers in downtown were just beginning to light up as the last few catamarans made their way to shore.
Cecilia smiled. Her eyes were filled with a glow that was not the sun but all her own.
“I met my husband Daniel when I was 16 years old, standing in front of the Little Theatre. Many years later I went on a scavenger hunt that took me throughout the city, retracing the places Daniel and I had visited the very first night we met. Both times my journey led me to this very spot. The first night, he asked me to be his girlfriend. The second night he asked me to be his wife.”
And with this she walked up to the water’s edge and from her purse removed a letter, the name Daniel written in a silvery ink on front. And she bent down and placed the letter at the water’s edge and watched as the waves slowly picked it up and carried it to sea.
“You left all those letters for him?” asked Jeffry.
“In case he wanted to find me, now that I’m away from home.” she said.
The drive to Margate occurred mostly in silence. Occasionally Cecilia would request a song to be played a little louder, and the music was the only noise between them. They arrived sooner than expected, but residents of the home were already on their way to bed. Out front an old man clung tenderly to an IV pole as a nurse helped him through the front door. Another nurse stood expectantly, waiting for Cecilia to exit the cab.
“This appears to be my stop. What do I owe you dear?” Cecilia asked.
“Well it seems as though this old meter finally gave out somewhere along the way. I haven’t the slightest clue what to charge you, so this ride is on me.” Jeffry stepped out to open the door for her, and brought her bags up to the front of home. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Cecilia.” And he tipped his cap to her one last time, and headed home.
But he had just one last stop.
Jeffry arrived home at a quarter to 11. The lights downstairs were all dim, but he could see a small glow from his daughter’s bedroom telling him she was already asleep. He tiptoed up the staircase and creaked open her door, and sure enough she was sound asleep. He clicked off the night light and tucked a teddy bear under the covers and kissed her goodnight.
As he entered his bedroom, he found his wife writing at her desk.
“Is that love note for me?” said Jeffry as he entered.
“Yes, but you’ll have to come to dinner sometime to read it.” Emile replied.
“Will flowers persuade to give it to me now?” He said, and she laughed she took the bouquet he had been hiding behind his back.
“What’s the occasion?”
He paused for a moment, and then said “The only occasions is that far too much time has passed since I’ve brought you flowers. And as for dinner…How does breakfast tomorrow morning sound? I know the perfect little diner to take you too.”

The Fare: Part 1

The meter doesn’t start running until the cab takes off, but that doesn’t account for the time spent waiting for tourists and honeymooners to exit their hotels. By the time they’ve gathered their bags, checked out, realized they’ve left their cell phones in the room, tipped the bellboys, and settled in, Jeffry feels no guilt in taking the scenic route just to pump up the fare.
But there would be no need for that today, because his next customer was already waiting outside when he arrived at 1510 Zamora. The lawn surrounding the home showed signs of neglect. Certain patches of grass were overgrown and browning with decay. Most residences in the Gables were home to octogenarians who’d lived in the neighborhood since their home was new. And the old lady waiting in front of 1510 certainly fit this description.
She was holding a small green clutch and had two brown leather suitcases at her feet. As Jeffry stepped out to help her, her face collapsed into a valley of wrinkles that hadn’t been as apparent before she smiled.
“How do you do Ma’am”, said Jeffry, tipping his cap in a way that was both playful and cordial.
“Please, call me Cecilia,” she replied, in a voice that was far weaker than Jeffry had expected.
He hurried ahead of her with the leather suitcases in tow and opened the door for her. As they backed out of the driveway, Jeffry looked over his shoulder and asked Cecilia where she was headed. She opened her clutch and extracted a small piece of paper with an address and handed it to Jeffry. He had been expecting to go as far as the airport but saw that the address was about an hour outside of the city in Margate. The address was vaguely familiar but he knew the area well and was sure he wouldn’t have trouble finding it.
Just as he arrived at the end of the street, he felt a small tap on his shoulder.
“I’m terribly sorry, but would you mind making a small detour?” Cecilia asked.
Ever happy to earn a larger fare, Jeffry agreed and they quickly arrived at their new destination, the Little Theatre, not 5 blocks away from where they’d left. Soon as he parked at the curb, Cecilia stepped out clutching her small green purse and stood gazing up at the theatre. The last film to play at the theatre was probably Jaws or something of that time, and since then it had remained untouched. And unlike most buildings of its era, the Little Theatre had not lost its elegance in the years.
Jeffry tapped his fingers idly, watching the meter as it slowly clicked higher and higher with each passing minute. But Cecilia had not moved from her spot, looking from the marquee through the posters on the side as if some hidden message had been encrypted in the signs. She remained fixated at something Jeffry could not see, as if she were lost in conversation with an old friend. At last she reached into her purse and pulled out a tattered old paper and slid it through the opening of the old fashioned box office that hadn’t been used in decades.
When she stepped into the cab, Jeffry was busy debating whether he ought to take the turnpike or US1 towards Margate, and so heated was the debate it wasn’t until the third “Excuse me!” did Jeffry recall Cecilia was in the car.
“Make a left at this light, please,” said Cecilia, gripping the headrest as Jeffry abruptly turned to make the light. Half a mile later, they arrived at Allen’s drugstore.
Frozen in time since the 1950’s, the diner/pharmacy was patronized by long time residents but otherwise went unnoticed. Jeffry watched through the window as Cecilia entered the diner and was greeted by the waitress with a kiss on the cheek. The two stood chatting for a bit before the waitress invited Cecilia to sit down/. She motioned to the cab, but the waitress paid no mind and brought her a cup of coffee. The two chatted away, and as Jeffry was beginning to lose his patience, Cecilia paid for the cup and a few pastries to go. As she was leaving, she handed the waitress an envelope and said goodbye.
“All ready?” asked Jeffry once she was in the backseat. “If we hurry, we won’t get stuck in traffic.”
“Actually, before we go, I’d like to stop by the lighthouse.”
The lighthouse on Key Biscayne was a good 30 minutes out of the way. Jeffry had promised his wife Emile he’d be home in time for dinner, but h wasn’t going to start complaining during what would probably be the biggest fare this month. Emile would have to wait.
He drove down the bridge, alongside the mangroves and past the extravagantly priced homes till at last he reached the end of the island. He parked the cab at a restaurant not too far from the lighthouse. He expected someone to be waiting for Cecilia, as he saw no other reason to drive here at 6 in the afternoon. Instead, she left the cab and wandered down a sandy wooden path leading down to the beach.
Jeffry changed the radio station and resigned himself to lean back, tipping his cap over his eyes.
You must remember this
A kiss is still a kiss
A sigh is just a sigh
The fundamental things apply
As time goes by
He smiled to himself. The college radio often hosted a very popular oldies night, and Frank Sinatra was a frequent guest. He found it funny that even people half his age could still swoon at the sounds of a time gone by.
The sun was beginning to set and Cecilia still had not returned. Jeffry searched through his pocket for the address to try and figure out exactly where it was. His eyes tensed and suddenly widened in realization. He had recognized the address after all. He let out a soft sigh and turned the meter off.

Prologue

"To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil."

They say we carve our own hell, so that when we arrive we cannot say we didn't earn it. But I like to think Allison had a part in shaping mine.

She appeared to me in a dream. At first I thought she was a muse, a personal herald of divine madness that would inspire me. Until I spoke to her, and she politely noted that my lambchop keychain and worn out chucks suggested I was trying a little too hard to hold on to my youth. And then she smiled, in a way that meant that in truth she really liked my chucks, and right then I knew Allison was something more.

At night I dreamed and she would come to me. Sometimes in a diner, sometimes on the street. In the grays and whites of Seattle, she was a photograph who's saturation was set too high. Every night I'd find her, on the bench in the Square reading Ginsberg, under the bridge having a lively conversation with the Fremont troll. Though more often than not she was at our park. Discovery Park, sitting in the lighthouse on the beach. And in the morning I'd wake up, drive down to the beach, and wait. My heart would jump at the sight of a green moss coat, at the sight of a long black haired woman walking in the distance, an echoing laugh I could've sworn was hers. And as dozens of women walked on by, I'd catch sight of their unfamiliar face, and suddenly I'd become tired and overcome with sleep.

I have never held her hand. I have never touched her cheek. Never in the waking moments of my life have I met Allison face to face, and yet I know her better than I know myself. I like to believe that if I had known her in my waking hours, it wouldn't have worked. I would have never fallen in love. Perhaps we would have been to busy, for in dreams your only obligation is to eventually wake up. In dreams, we are the only two people in the entire world. And in truth the world is so vast, had it not been for these dreams I am sure I would have never known who she is.

How beautiful it was to live a separate life in dreams. To wake up looking forward to something no one else could understand. To be consumed wholly, fully, by the unconscious mind. To feel a tranquility no living fantasy could ever bring. To realize that the nightmares lie not in the mind, but in life itself. And to love, to love someone who was never really there at all.