She stepped from her bath, the steam rising from her skin, and wrapped the large fluffy towel around her. She felt incredibly warm and soft as she turned on her hair dryer and pointed it at the opaque full length mirror that hid her reflection. Slowly the fog lifted from the mirror revealing the soft lines of her face in dim candlelight. She laid down the hair dryer and continued to pat herself dry with the towel. She thought about the cold air that would assault her when she opened the bathroom door, and slowed down her drying, savoring the warmth that was so relaxing and comforting. She took another sip of her wine and laying the towel down reached for her nightgown. The fog from the mirror had slowly continued to lift and she caught her full reflection. Although the years had taken their toll, and all things were not where she wished them to be, she was still attractive, and the self –assurance made her smile. She lifted the bunched up nightgown above her head and let the cool white satin slide and tumble down her body, much as a wave washes up on a beach, and obliterates all the imperfections in the sand. Warm and beautiful, and surround by the scent of lilac, she blew out the candles, save one, and placed her hand on the bathroom door.

 

"Oh won’t you stay, just a little bit longer" greeted her ears as she opened the bathroom door. It was one of her favorite songs, and she let the words into her mind as well as her heart. She curled up on the couch and closed her eyes and thought back to a time when he called her Susan and always wanted her to stay just a little bit longer…..

 

She sat down at the desk, the words of her father ringing in her ears. Just find a rich guy and get married. You don’t need to go to school, it’s a waste of time. Just get a job, meet some guy, get married and you’re set for life. Unfortunately she had followed his advice, and unfortunately she had never quite met that rich guy, or any guy for that matter, who was going to love her and take care of her. Instead she worked at a local department store, each day no different and no more challenging then the last. And when she looked at her supervisor, cold and distant and unfeeling from having dealt with the public much too long, she saw herself, if she did not change.

She took out her notebook, waiting for the instructor to begin. She had begun taking night courses at the local college to get a degree in business. And although she was bone weary from having worked all day, the change of going to school, invigorated her. The instructor had begun taking roll call, when the man quietly sat down next to her. The instructor continued to go through the roll, and since the man never responded, she thought his name had already been called.

"You need to tell him you’re here" she whispered. "or you won’t get credit."

He looked at her and grinned. "I have credit, I just don’t have any money," he said.

"Now if he will give me some cash, I will tell him I’m here, but I don’t think he will." He put his finger up to his lips.

Susan smiled. He turned his head and began writing in his notebook. The instructor began the lecture, statistical analysis, in a slow monotone. Susan tried to pay attention, but she couldn’t help noticing the man next to her. His hair was too long, his nose too big, his clothes although clean , appeared as if they had been rummaged from a goodwill bin. And he continued to write as if he were taking down every word the instructor said verbatim. She tried tilting her head to see what he was writing, but she couldn’t, when suddenly, he slid the pad in front of her. She blushed with embarrassment.

"I’m sorry," she whispered.

He wrote on the pad, "don’t be, but it’s not all that interesting, certainly not as interesting as you."

Susan blushed again. She wrote, "What makes you think I’m interesting."

He rose up and leaning close to her ear whispered, "What makes you think you’re not." His warm breath rushed by her ear and sent a tingle down her spine. She turned to answer, but he was already by her and walking out of the lecture hall. The instructor droned on, taking no notice.

Susan tried to focus on the instructor again, but her thoughts turned to the yellow pad he had left behind She stared at the words she had written, "what makes you think I’m interesting." She had never thought of herself as interesting, interesting people lead exciting lives and she did not, at least not in her own mind. Interesting people traveled she thought. She had always wanted to travel, and be able to tell wonderful stories of where she had been, but the farthest she had traveled to was Des Moines, and it was her Aunts funeral. She shook the thought from her mind. Why was she dwelling on a few words from a stranger. He wasn’t even cute. This was foolishness. She squinted her eyes as if that would give her unwavering resolve and tried to concentrate on the instructor’ words. "The concept of standard deviation from the mean is useful in predicting the percentage of the total number of random events that…" His voice trailed off into oblivion as her attention had again turned to the pad he left behind. She viewed the pad in a different light as the words "what makes you think your not interesting" invaded her thoughts. She toyed with the yellow pad, gently lifting the top page slightly with her pencil, only to let it fall down again, covering what he had written. She continued to toy with the pad, much as a cat plays with its captured prey, trying to extend the thrill of the capture before finally enjoying the morsel. She let her imagination go. The soft sound of the lapping water filled her senses. She walked along the moonlit beach, her white heels dangling in her free hand. The wet sand, wedging between her toes as she walked along the waters edge felt delightful. She stopped and faced the water, letting the warm on shore breeze caress her face and hair and deeply breathed in the salt air. His strong arms closed around hers and held her tight, as she leaned her head back into his shoulder, a soft sigh escaping her parted  lips. When his lips brushed her neck, the straps of her shoes slid from her fingers silently to the sand….

"See you all next Thursday, and don’t forget there is a test," the instructor said. The other students were already thundering by her when she heard the word test. She picked up her books and stared at the pad.

Pipe dream, she thought, and leaving the pad behind, walked out of the lecture hall.

She was half-way to her car when she thought about the pad again. Dreams are just dreams unless you do something about them. What the heck. She turned around and headed back to the lecture hall. She opened the door and glanced at where she had been sitting, the pad was gone