Twenty-Twenty

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 shitty 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 shitty car."

"A shitty 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..."

Shit. 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 Shit."

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?"