Wake Up, For Us

~8~

Even more of your life passes and your fiftieth birthday is celebrated with the few friends you retained from senior school. It is that rainy day that you ponder how few new faces you have grown close to over the years. You have met a few, of course, but you think to how the subconscious fills gaps with faces vaguely known.

Over the last few years, the study of dreams has begun to fascinate you.

You rarely dream, when you sleep, but you often question if you are ever awake.

The party consists of a meal, cooked by the local fish and chip shop, no expense spared, and several glasses of bubbling champagne.

You glance out of the window, watching the streaks of rain dawdle down the glass, merging and splitting as they progress through their journey. The hedges move just beyond the drive.

You squint, pulling your glasses from your pocket and settling them atop your nose, focussing on the shrubbery.

For a moment, you could swear that an all-too-familiar face flashed amongst the dark leaves in the dark night.

It was a face you had not seen in years, decades even, and yet it almost looked unchanged.

Sam's hand rests on your shoulder, and a kiss presses into your cheek.

"Happy birthday." A whisper, almost a question.

You smile and agree, "It is, happy, isn't it, my dear?"

Sam smiles and replies, "The best all year."