― Albert Einstein
I saw a vision of a girl in the roses , so, of course, I discussed it with my friend who was also a psychologist. Yeah, probably a bad idea.
Bob made me fee I had been wasting my time pursuing a fantasy.
His logical and sane perspective seemed so practical and grounded that it made my obsession about the woman seem a foolish romantic notion.
In the end I concluded that maybe Bob was right—I needed to take a serious look at my life.
So, suitably chastened for wasting time, the next day I tried to get on with my writing—after all, that was my reason for coming to the lake to begin with—to find an isolated spot where I could write in uninterrupted peace.
I sat at my desk in the study for two hours staring at a blank page.
Nothing’s popping! I shouted in exasperation to the four walls, and then fell silent as I realized I was now close to being certifiable—hell, I was even talking to myself.
Tsk. Tsk. Thee is mad, boy.
I looked out the window into the garden and my heart stopped. There, beside the roses, was my girl—well, at least, the vision I made up in my head.
But she looked mighty solid, standing there in the garden—my eyes scanned over her shapely figure and tight blue jeans.
I got up and went outside, fully expecting the vision to dissolve and disappear by the time I arrived at the spot—but it didn’t.
“Can I help you?” I called out, trying to establish contact.
To my shock, the figure turned and the same smiling wraith I saw before—whose lovely face imprinted itself on my memory, was now smiling directly at me.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to intrude,” she said, “I just lived here before—a long time ago.”
I stared at her in disbelief.
She saw my shocked expression must have thought I regarded her as a trespasser. “I’m so sorry to have upset you,” she said, and turned to leave.
“No wait!” I blurted out. “I’m not upset that you’re here.”
She looked at me quizzically. “Do I know you?”
“No,” I said, “My name’s Nick Hargraves—and I recently bought this house.”
She relaxed, and the smile returned. “Rosemary Reid,” she said, extending her hand to shake mine. “This used to be my grandmother’s house. We actually planted these rosebushes.”
“No kidding?” I grinned.
She gazed wistfully at the house and the scudding clouds over the lake. “This was the one place I loved to be as a little girl—here, with grandma… and the bluffs and the lake.”
“So, it’s got good memories, huh?”
She nodded. “My parents died when I was nine and this was the only place I felt happy and loved.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I still come here,” she smiled, “in my head—I imagine I’m standing right here looking at the roses and the lake—and I feel warm and loved all over again.”
I stood there mesmerized by her beauty.
Oh, I knew I lost several days already mulling over the mystery of this girl and had nothing to show for it but a blank page.
And I also knew Bob in his down-to-earth way would simply clap me on the shoulder and say, “Okay Pal, you’ve indulged your romantic notions—Now get back to work.”
That was exactly what I should have done.
But as I turned back to face her and once again, I fell under her spell.
“Would you care for some tea?”