A Second Chance To Get It Right

Chapter 2

2

SEPTEMBER 23, 1985 – SYRACUSE, NEW YORK (31 YEARS AGO)When I come to, I’m in bed, and the sunshine is raining in through the window beside me. I have no idea how I got here. The last thing I remember was driving down Route 690 to run errands before my interview. I blink at the ceiling and catch a familiar citrusy scent in the air, breathing it in. I turn my head, and close beside me is a sleeping woman with her back to me. The sheet is pulled down over her naked shoulder. My heart thumps and I sit up to find I’m naked. Not only that, I’ve lost weight. A lot of it! I’m also hard. Morning wood, my doctor would call it. What the hell? Where am I, and who’s this woman next to me?

I stare down at her as she stirs, then see her turn over. Her eyes flutter open. I know those eyes, that perfect face. She reaches over, flashes me a coquettish smile.

“Someone’s up,” she says.

Am I dreaming? I must be, except if I’m dreaming, why does everything seem so real? There’s a million questions bouncing around in my head. I look at the broad cherry dresser with a beveled mirror across the room and get the sensation I’ve been here before. What’s more, the reflection of the dark-haired, twenty-something guy makes me shudder. Jesus!

She says, “Something the matter?”

I turn to her. She’s gazing up at me with those dreamy eyes, and I’m of divided mind as I look down at her. I’m dreaming. Just go with it. “No, nothing,” I reply haltingly. “Just surprised.”

“Well, get over here and surprise me,” she says.

She stretches her arms over her head. I don’t need another invitation. I lean over her, cupping her ample breasts that rise to my hand. Her large sweet n*****s are begging for my lips.

When I take one into my mouth, I hear her gasp and kick the sheet away. A moment later, her fingers are in my hair, raking through it, then pushing me down, lower and lower until she has me right where she wants me. I close my eyes and breathe her in. She is tang and salt with a hint of lemon spice. Her long, supple legs wrap around my back and her ankles lock me in. My fingers roam up her body as my mouth descends on her, drinking in her wetness. Her body ripples, rises up when my tongue finds the spot she loves, and a low guttural moan fills the silence.

Up and down I tease her, then swirl around it. Her fingers clutch my head and grind me into her, urgent and needing, faster and faster. “Oh, God, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she rasps, panting. “To the right, yeah, little more, little more and up…yeah, right there, right f*****g there. Oh, my God…oh, my God! Jesus! f**k!” Her body stiffens and suddenly she gushes.

At last her breathing settles. “Okay…okay,” she says at last. I hear her let out a sigh and she nudges my head away. “Oh, my God, the things you do to me, Baby.” She lets go of the leg lock around my back and tugs on my arms, egging me forward on top of her. Her legs swing up around my waist and over my shoulders. The look in her eyes is hungry, anticipating, and needful. “Fill me. Fill me, Baby. Do me like you do.”

I haven’t had a dream like this in a long time and I’m praying to God I don’t wake up. She reaches down between my legs, swipes the tip of me back and forth over her, then aims me in. I plunge deep. Feel her squeeze me as I slide in. Her hands palm my shoulders and a second later we’re riding a wave, cresting back and forth. As my rhythm speeds up, her fingers tighten and nails dig in. Our gazes lock. Her mouth gapes. The lips I want to kiss beg me, and I lean forward and crush my mouth over her, dancing my tongue around hers as the surging release builds in my body, climbing, climbing to the surface. With one last deep stroke, I ram myself in and shudder. As I hold her tight, I don’t want it to end. I want this moment to burn into my brain so I can go back to it again and again in my dreams.

Finally I roll over, breathless, and close my eyes to wait for the inevitable waking into the real world. I’m just beginning to drift off when I hear the buzz of the alarm clock. When I open my eyes to reach over and turn it off, she’s still there. Huh? What the f**k? Is this a dream within a dream?

She smiles and reaches over me, gives me a peck on the cheek. “Well, that worked out, didn’t it?” she says and gives me a peck on the cheek. “Heading to the shower now. You’re not due into class until 9:00, right?”

I shut my eyes tight and open them again just to make sure I’m not imagining this.

“Hello…Alan,” she says, getting out of bed. “I know I just rocked your world, but it’s 6:30. Our son needs to be at the bus stop in an hour, and you know how he is in the morning.”

Our son?

Nothing’s making sense. I watch her pick her robe up and head for the door, and for the second time, I see a reflection in the mirror that makes my breath catch. I stare at it, trying to comprehend the image of the young man staring back, the man I used to know pretty damned well thirty-two years ago. My long hair is brushing my shoulders, and I have a mustache that I haven’t had since I was thirty. I blink, then look again and I’m still here, still the same. I hear the shower turn on in the next room, and with it, Monica calling out to get our son up and ready for school. The words ricochet in my head. Wait…Ted? What about Crystal? But Tiffany’s their mother. What the f**k is going on? More than that, how did I get here?

The bedroom door pushes back and she’s standing there in all her naked glory, looking at me with a what-are-you-doing, come-on expression. “Alan, your son… Tommy, get him up for school.”

Tommy? I don’t have a son named Tommy. Wake up, man!

“Alan?”

“Ah…right,” I stutter, trying to get my bearings. Nothing is making sense and my brain is spinning.

I get up dazed and confused. She looks at me as if to say, What the hell’s wrong with you? “I need to be downtown at eight for grand rounds, remember? Hello…Go get him up, and don’t forget to pack him a lunch.”

I try to act normal. As if! There are so many questions buzzing around in my addled brain demanding answers. I can’t think straight. Finally, I clear my throat “Umm…yeah, I’m on it.”

“Good,” she says, then flashes me a smile before dashing back into the bathroom.

I grab a robe I assume is mine, then head into the short hallway lined with family pictures. The boy in them is around five or six, and he has an elven-shaped face framed with wavy soft brown hair. His mother’s vibrant brown eyes peer back at me from under his bangs. He has my Roman nose, her olive complexion and full lips. My son? I’m having a hard time here; nothing is connecting. Then I see a picture of Monica and me. My arms are around this woman from my distant past: a woman I assume is my wife now. I shudder, trying to take this all in as I straggle down the hall in a stupor to a door I believe goes into his room.

Hesitant, I open it and look in. He’s lying in bed under a Star Wars blanket with his back to me. For a moment, I stand watching him sleep, seeing the stuffed dog peeking over his shoulder, until a terrifying thought slams into me. If this is real, then Ted and Crystal are… My breath catches, and with it, a prickling electric current runs through my arms and down my legs.

Oh, God! No!

I’m grounded to the floor outside the boy’s room as the shower in the bathroom down the hall turns off with a thunk. A moment later I hear feet treading to the bedroom behind me. A second later, the murmur of music comes down the hall. But my mind is far away, trying to deal with the enormity of what I’m beginning to realize. If this is really happening, then my whole life has been swept away.

“How’s it coming in there? Sounds pretty quiet, ” Monica calls from down the hall.

Her voice startles me out of my miasma. I go into the boy’s room like a robot and kick away the minefield of blue, yellow, and red Legos on the floor beside his bed. But when I reach out to wake him, an image of Ted flashes before me. My hand dashes back, shaking, afraid to feel the solidity of this child that will confirm the fear raging inside me.

I clench my hand and open it, then do it again, then lay my hand on his shoulder. The warmth of his body radiates up my arm, stripping away my last hope of this being a dream. Drawing my hand back, I rake my fingers through my hair. This is really real! Holy f*****g s**t! I try to breathe as my ears ring. Closing my eyes, I wait for my stomach to stop rolling. What did Monica say his name was? Todd, Tommy?

I reach down and nudge his shoulder. “Hey, buddy, time to get up for school,” I say with a measured, trembling tone.

He shrugs and lets out a whimpering whine.

“Come on. Up and at ’em.”

The boy turns onto his back, rubbing his eyes, then kicks at the blanket. “I don’t feel good, Padre. Can I stay home?”

The word, “padre” clangs in my ears and it takes a minute for me to figure it out. “Where don’t you feel good?”

“My throat. It’s sore.”

I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing here. “Monica,” I call out.

“Madre’s still home?” he says, his eyes widening. He’s trying to play me. The father gene in me suddenly kicks in, overriding my muddled mind.

“What?” she says from down the hall.

“He’s complaining of a sore throat,” I say as I frown down at him. “And yeah, she is.”

“Tommy, are you sure?” Monica says, coming to the door. Tommy, that’s right. She’s wrapped in a towel and her pointed gaze is fixed on him. “You know I can find out if you’re fibbing, right?”

Tommy purses his lips, and the jig is up.

“I thought so,” Monica says. “You’ll be fine. Besides, you’ll be seeing Adam later, remember?”

As the reminder hits the boy, a shy crooked smile slides over his face. “Oh, I forgot.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did!” Monica echoes, then looks to me. “I gotta finish up here. You good?”

“We’re fine,” I answer as I watch Tommy. When she leaves, I wag my finger at him. Even though I’m grasping at straws here, I don’t appreciate his trying to put one over on me. “Come on, up you go!”

I pull the blanket down and he crawls out. He’s wearing Star Wars PJs, and between them and the blanket I’m fairly sure I know where one of his interests lies. I find my way over to his chest of drawers and pick out a pair of socks and a set of undies and toss them on the bed. A pair of jeans and a pullover follows from the next drawer down.

“Not that shirt. I want the R2-D2 shirt,” he says, peeling off his PJs.

I sigh, rifle through the drawer, and dig out what I think he wants. “This one?” I ask, turning back and holding it up. When he nods, I toss it to him. “Get dressed. I’m going down to make breakfast.” What does Monica feed him in the morning? I have no clue nor do I know where anything is in this house. I’m hoping it’s cereal. “What do you want?”

He steps into his undies and pulls them up, turning a curious gaze up at me. “Pancakes?”

“We don’t have time for that,” I answer. And God knows I couldn’t make pancakes if my life depended on it. “Maybe next time.” When your mother’s home.

His sudden hopeful expression melts away as Monica comes back to the door. She’s changed into olive-green hospital scrubs, and her hair is pinned back. There’s also a large pair of dark-rimmed glasses drawing out her brown eyes, magnifying them, making them even more alluring, if that’s possible.

“I’m off, and you guys better hurry. Clock’s ticking,” she says to both of us, then opens her arms, inviting Tommy in for a hug. “Be a good boy today, okay?” she says, embracing him. “Madre’s gonna stop at Pizza Hut on the way home tonight. You want your favorite, cheese and pepperoni?”

“With thick crust, too?”

“Thick crust…you got it.” She straightens and gives me a peck on the cheek. “Don’t forget Tommy’s going over to Brianna’s after school, so you’re picking him up there.”

“Right,” I say, having no earthly idea where this Brianna lives. For that matter, I don’t even know where I live.

“Have a good day,” she says, and runs out.

Yeah, right…a good day indeed. “You, too,” I echo, wondering how the hell I’m going to get through this day without losing my mind.