Dreams of Chimborazo

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“Madam, you look as if I’ve startled you.” He took a step toward me.

He was tall and his shoulders wide. “No, it’s just that I thought I recognized you.”

“I certainly would have remembered being presented to a lady such as yourself.” From under his hat I could make out that his lips were plump and they were a dark cranberry color. His long blond hair hung down just below his collar, but I still couldn’t see his eyes. There was something familiar about him, but I couldn’t place him.

“Thank you for coming. You re-enactors really made the reunion a success.”

“Re-enactors?”

I gave him a stare then I felt myself giggle. “Well, I assume you’re a re-enactor since I imagine you don’t usually go around dressed like that,” I said hoping he’d laugh too.

“I was injured and I’ve been recuperating here.”

“In MCV?” Saying the name of the hospital where I had the MRI reminded me of my pseudotumor. Luckily, after a week or two on the medication, the headaches had gone away.

“I’ve never heard of that facility. I’ve been in Chimborazo.” He gestured toward the empty field. “Chimborazo?” It was the park where I usually saw my mirage and my mystery man. The sun seemed to beat down even harder. I pulled the hat off my head and began to fan myself.

He gasped. “You,” he spit out. He bent over and began to study my face.

“I really must go,” I said. He seemed like a very odd person.

Luckily I heard the band player louder and through the loudspeaker I heard the caller start the Virginia Reel.

“I’m sorry, but I really need to get back.”

He was continuing to stare at me as if he recognized my face from a wanted poster. I tried to ignore his gawking. “

Again, thank you for coming today. It meant so much to the McGuires.”

I was about to turn to go when he stuck his hand out. “Please permit me to introduce myself. I am Captain Morrissette.”

Reluctantly I held my hand out.

He grabbed it and pulled me to him. I was about to push him away when I felt raw masculinity emanating from him. Then he pulled my hand to his lips. “Mon cherie, je t’aime.”

I didn’t know much French, but I understood that. He was some kind of weirdo and I had an odd attraction to him.

His lips were warm and succulent against the back of my hand. “I am mesmerized by your beauty.” He seemed to tremble as he studied my face.

I still had the feeling as if I’d seen him before. I pulled my hand back. I was intrigued, but a man who says he loves you after knowing you for less than five minutes. That was too strange for me. I turned and took off across the street half way hoping he’d chase me, but a man like that could only be trouble.

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