you’re forgetting something.”
“And what would that be?”
“A dream never feels like one when you’re dreaming it. It’s only after you’re fully awake that you realize none of it really happened. Tomorrow morning I’m going to wake up and realize that you never came out of the painting. I only imagined you did. I’ll realize the slap you gave me never really hurt. I only imagined it did. And most of all, I’ll realize that I never actually tasted the wine. I only imagined I did.”
“Don’t be a fool, Jack.”
“If I believed this was real… that’s exactly what I’d be.”
The woman eyed him harshly, then broke into a devilish smile. “Tell me something, Jack. Do you believe in omens?”
“Omens? You mean like signs and wonders?”
“So to speak.”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Good,” she said cheerfully.
“Why is that good?”
“Because I’m going to show you something.”
“Show me something? You mean to prove your existence?”
“Yes.”
“What could you possibly show me to prove you’re real?”
“Nothing. At least, not right now.”
“Why not?”
“Because you believe you’re dreaming. Anything I show you you’d only pass off as part of that dream. But if I show you later, when you’re awake…” She trailed off.
Jack nodded agreeably. “Now that intrigues me. A sign to prove your existence.”
“I don’t want to. You could have made this so much easier by just accepting what’s taking place. But since you insist.”
Jack wore a haughty grin. He found the entire exchange rather amusing. “So what kind of sign should I expect: a face in a cloud, lights in the sky, crop circles?”
“You should expect,” she paused, “something beautiful. You do still love beautiful things, don’t you?”
Jack grinned, noting the familiarity of the question. “Yes. Always.”
“Good.”
“And exactly how will I know this sign, this omen, is from you?”
“Oh, I don’t think there will be any mistaking that.”
Jack peered at her. He was almost certain he could detect something about her face, something he’d seen countless times in scores of other women. “You want something from me, don’t you?”
“Just your attention.”
Jack shook his head. “No. You want much more than that.”
The woman said nothing, only extended the glass up to him. He took it, raising it to his mouth and taking another drink. The flavor was overwhelming.
As he lowered it away, he was struck by the woman’s rather large and brilliant smile. His face flattened in amazement. It was Portia’s smile.
CHAPTER 6 – GLIMPSING
At one moment Jack was entranced with that wondrous smile, Portia’s smile, and the next there was blackness, nothingness. That seemed to last for perhaps two or three seconds, and then he found himself opening his eyes to the flowery patterns of his bedroom ceiling.
He lay there confused, only slowly realizing that he had just awakened from his dream. He tried to sit up but his body fought him, moving in slow slothful agony, his joints popping and whining like an old screen door. Coming semi-erect, he reached back and heaped together several large pillows. He settled back against them, sighing deeply.
He peered at himself in the great mirror opposite the bed. The room’s thick curtains kept out much of the morning’s glare, leaving his reflected form softly shaded. He looked awful. His hair was a ridiculous mangle of short, black spikes. Dark creases had formed beneath his eyes. Everything else was either grungy or puffy or both. His skull ached as if it had been quartered by a lead pipe.
He turned and looked at the answering machine. 8:05am . He’d overslept, grossly. Looking away, he began mashing his palms into his face, trying to massage away the fatigue. When he had stopped, something to his left caught
“And what would that be?”
“A dream never feels like one when you’re dreaming it. It’s only after you’re fully awake that you realize none of it really happened. Tomorrow morning I’m going to wake up and realize that you never came out of the painting. I only imagined you did. I’ll realize the slap you gave me never really hurt. I only imagined it did. And most of all, I’ll realize that I never actually tasted the wine. I only imagined I did.”
“Don’t be a fool, Jack.”
“If I believed this was real… that’s exactly what I’d be.”
The woman eyed him harshly, then broke into a devilish smile. “Tell me something, Jack. Do you believe in omens?”
“Omens? You mean like signs and wonders?”
“So to speak.”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Good,” she said cheerfully.
“Why is that good?”
“Because I’m going to show you something.”
“Show me something? You mean to prove your existence?”
“Yes.”
“What could you possibly show me to prove you’re real?”
“Nothing. At least, not right now.”
“Why not?”
“Because you believe you’re dreaming. Anything I show you you’d only pass off as part of that dream. But if I show you later, when you’re awake…” She trailed off.
Jack nodded agreeably. “Now that intrigues me. A sign to prove your existence.”
“I don’t want to. You could have made this so much easier by just accepting what’s taking place. But since you insist.”
Jack wore a haughty grin. He found the entire exchange rather amusing. “So what kind of sign should I expect: a face in a cloud, lights in the sky, crop circles?”
“You should expect,” she paused, “something beautiful. You do still love beautiful things, don’t you?”
Jack grinned, noting the familiarity of the question. “Yes. Always.”
“Good.”
“And exactly how will I know this sign, this omen, is from you?”
“Oh, I don’t think there will be any mistaking that.”
Jack peered at her. He was almost certain he could detect something about her face, something he’d seen countless times in scores of other women. “You want something from me, don’t you?”
“Just your attention.”
Jack shook his head. “No. You want much more than that.”
The woman said nothing, only extended the glass up to him. He took it, raising it to his mouth and taking another drink. The flavor was overwhelming.
As he lowered it away, he was struck by the woman’s rather large and brilliant smile. His face flattened in amazement. It was Portia’s smile.
CHAPTER 6 – GLIMPSING
At one moment Jack was entranced with that wondrous smile, Portia’s smile, and the next there was blackness, nothingness. That seemed to last for perhaps two or three seconds, and then he found himself opening his eyes to the flowery patterns of his bedroom ceiling.
He lay there confused, only slowly realizing that he had just awakened from his dream. He tried to sit up but his body fought him, moving in slow slothful agony, his joints popping and whining like an old screen door. Coming semi-erect, he reached back and heaped together several large pillows. He settled back against them, sighing deeply.
He peered at himself in the great mirror opposite the bed. The room’s thick curtains kept out much of the morning’s glare, leaving his reflected form softly shaded. He looked awful. His hair was a ridiculous mangle of short, black spikes. Dark creases had formed beneath his eyes. Everything else was either grungy or puffy or both. His skull ached as if it had been quartered by a lead pipe.
He turned and looked at the answering machine. 8:05am . He’d overslept, grossly. Looking away, he began mashing his palms into his face, trying to massage away the fatigue. When he had stopped, something to his left caught
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