Crimson & Clover

Forever Betty

It was fairly easy to get this story published, surprisingly easy considering how difficult it had been to achieve anything positive in my life. It only furthered my belief that everything happens for a reason.
However it doesn't necessarily mean that things happen for a good reason, or one that we understand at the time. Very often we can only see why things happened in hindsight, and even then the view can be murky.

Luckily, or perhaps by divine intervention, or because everything happens for a reason, I decided to publish the book. I did it under an assumed name. It was an overnight success. My agent kept demanding I do interviews, book signings and other publicity events but I always refused. The book wasn't about self glorification. I wanted the book to be known, not its author. That all changed yesterday, when my agent handed me a letter that she had received.

Dear Adam,
On the advice of a friend I read Crimson and Clover. My first thought was about the familiarity of it all. I was certain that I had heard those stories before; those summer days at the beach, the Starlight Club, thanksgiving dinner. That's because I had heard them before.
My mother, before she passed away, used to tell me stories about a man she once loved deeply and his name was also Adam. I swear it's as if she wrote this book. Her stories were so similar. She loved a young man who just never learned to settle down, she told me. He was sweet and kind but had a restless soul. Just like the Adam in this book, he left for a party and never returned. It was a drug overdose my mother was told. I suppose stories like that happened to a lot of people in the sixties except there was more. My uncle Carl, God rest his soul, was the spitting image of Tex, gun toting and all. My great grandfather was a banker. My mother even had a friend named Tom. I guess I'm writing this letter because it can't be coincidence that all of this happened. There is one big difference though between your stories and the ones my mother told, you see, my mother's name is Susan, not Betty. Betty is my name. I don't know what all of this means, but we should definitely talk.

If you want to know more you can call me. I've enclosed a picture of myself so you can see that I'm not crazy. By the way, my mother forgave you the day she heard the news about your death. Deep down she knew you could never be tamed.

With love,

Betty

I looked at the photo. I felt my heart drop. This can't be, my life is officially ruined. This was the woman of my dreams, the woman in the front seat of the car, the woman of my deepest desires. This was the cruelest twist of all because I had no place to hide. I instantly knew that I was nowhere near strong enough to meet her without becoming engulfed in everything Betty once again. This would destroy my family. This was a test I knew I could not pass.  If there is God then why would he or she do something like this to me. What could the reason for this possibly be? There must be some supreme being somewhere looking down at me and having a good laugh at my expense. So then I looked up at the sky in desperation  and asked once again; why me?

My agent explained that the publishers waited a month to give me the letter because they wanted to check her out first and see if this Betty was for real. They went so far as to hire a private detective. I already knew what they quickly discovered, Betty was very real.

It's strange, my agent said to me, that it was her daughter that my subconscious chose to use as her first name. At that moment another troubling thought entered my crazy, messed up mind. I became certain that I was currently living the wrong life and that it was Betty, the daughter, that I was supposed to be with. That had to be the reason all of this was happening to me; that if I was with her everything would turn out the way I always imaged it would.

"You have to meet her," my agent told me. "This will make an amazing second book. I can see it now, the two of you on Oprah. This is an unbelievable stroke of luck. You've been talking to me for months about how everything happens for a reason. Well, I'm now a believer. Let's get this Betty girl and make some more money."

My thoughts were still soaking everything in. Betty, I mean Susan, was real. She was real. It was all real. I was being offered the chance to get back into that life, even if it was only by association.  And wow, the real Betty was gorgeous.

My agent was absolutely right, it was definitely time to make some money. Imagine spending every day with Betty for months as we did a whirlwind publicity tour. This could give me real closure, I tried to justify to myself as I considered my agents proposition.

All of a sudden I felt like Tom. I was unable to think about anything except Betty. It's as if seeing her picture brought back all of Adams thoughts and placed them firmly in my head. My stomach was tied in nots. My heart was beating like a fast heavy drum. I had to do this! I needed to know if this was the moment I had been waiting for my entire life; the moment when I would leave my empty shell behind and become the charismatic Adam Baker.

Or it could be that this woman was simply a test to see if I've learned anything through all of this. As tempting as it was to meet what could very well be my past and find that woman that had been lodged in my mind since I was young, I decided it was time to leave the past where it belonged, in the past. Besides this girl in the photo must be at least 10 years younger than me.

Someone like her would be expecting a good looking, charismatic guy. Even if I wanted her I couldn't believe that someone like that would ever give me a second glance. To use a sports analogy; I was not in her league. Heck, we probably weren't even playing the same game. If she was anything close to being like the Betty in my mind then I had no chance. She would invariably be perfect while every fault of mine would stick out like a wart.  I was no Adam Baker. And even if I was there was no way I was going to repeat any of my indiscretions that had brought me to this point. I couldn't. I was married and could never do that to my wife. I now realized that this was the real purpose, an ultimate test that I could not fail.

I still had to ask the same question that I began this  story with; Why me? I never asked to have these memories. I would have been just fine without them, and I definitely never asked to have this new Betty appear in my life.

No matter what I do I'm tormented by events and circumstances out of my control. I can't just turn off how I feel, but what I can control are my actions, no matter how difficult that may be.

I will not repeat my past mistakes, I told myself over and over again. If there were indeed such a thing as past lives, and if my memories were in fact from misdeeds I had done then I must prevent them from happening again. Besides, I knew better this time around. I had help. 

THE END

Authors note:
The entire book is based on a reoccurring dream I had when I was 3 years old. I remember it so vividly, better than any other memory I have from that age.
That dream is the basis for this book.