Julius was no Walter Mitty, grounded as he was in reality. Nor could he be compared to Abe Lincoln, with his never to be forgotten Anne Rutledge. Still, Julius Gordon, it must be said, held on to the memory of Celia.
She was some one from his long ago past. Intrude it did not, in his mostly rational, mostly satisfying life, which included a happy marriage, children and grandchildren. Such daydreams occurred only rarely. Lately, however, since his mind sometimes worked better in reverse, thoughts of Celia would now and then surface.
He recalled the day they had met. The local community center had sponsored a picnic for the teenage crowd at a scenic lakeside park.
As they hurried along the rutted dirt road toward the picnic area, noisy and exuberant, he felt someone grab onto his arm. He turned. One of the girls had almost tripped and fallen.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I think so,” she smiled.
He knew at once that this was the person he wanted to be with. Funny how quickly things can happen. She evidently felt the same way. So on that perfect June day, after lunch, and while the games were in full swing, he and Celia started off on a walk toward the pine grove. Normally loquacious, he was relieved when she did most of the talking, as he feasted his eyes on her beauty. Sunlight, filtering through the trees, caught the glow of her abundant curls, and the shine on her flushed cheeks.
They were enjoying each other’s company so much that they had walked further than intended.
“Are we lost?” Celia asked, a little apprehensively.
“Don’t worry. You’re with a former Boy Scout.” Julius told her.
“And do you have a compass with you?” she asked smiling up at him.
“No, but there’s the sun and I noticed when we left we were heading east. Just follow me,” he assured her, as he reached for her hand.
They made a few wrong turns, but eventually got back to the picnic area.
“Where have you two been? What happened?” they were asked.
“Nothing happened.” Julius told them. But as Celia and he exchanged glances, their eyes told one another, yes, something did happen.
They dated as often as they could, but soon had to part for their separate colleges. He called often and they made plans for their next meeting. Then, unexpectedly, he got a letter from her. She had met someone, she wrote. He took it badly, moped around and was anguished for weeks. But life does go on and soon he, too, met someone.
Right now, Julius was hiking in a state park with the Explorers. It was his favorite activity offered at the adult community where he lived. During such trips he would often stop just to listen. The sounds, faint at first, gradually became discernible, tuning him in to the pulsating, dynamic world of nature.
“Hey, wait up!” someone called.
It was fellow hiker, Bob Altman. They chatted as they walked along together.
Suddenly Bob asked, “Did you know that I got married recently?”
“No, I didn’t.” Julius answered, thinking to himself, “How would I know? He’s lucky I remember his name.”
“This time I didn’t make a mistake. My former wife, Celia, was a real loser.”
Julius became alert.
“She was from Hartford,” Bob said. “Aren’t you from Hartford? Maybe you knew her. Celia Chetnik. A real slob!”
“No, can’t say I did, “ Julius answered, his throat tightening.
“She lived on Highland Street. Her mother ran a bakery on the corner. A blonde. Celia Chetnik? Sound Familiar?”
“No!” he lied.
Celia. His lovely Celia.
“What a lousy cook she was,” Bob went on. “I had to come home from work and make dinner every night.”
“Cooking isn’t everything,” Julius said, in a voice that was not his own.
“Believe me, there was nothing there,” was Bob’s reply. “A pretty face, that’s all. She had been married once before, you know.”
“Come to think of it, I did know someone who knew her. Said she was a very nice person, as I remember,” Julius went on, trying to bring his emotions in check.
“Nice? Yes, I suppose you could call her nice. But I found better.”
“How long were you married to…Celia?”
“Too long. Five years. We divorced. What else? I tell you, after her it took a lot of courage to try again. But this time I got lucky. Her name is Doreen. You’ll have to meet her. I’ll bring her to our next meeting. A real sweetheart. Hey! Wait up. What’s the hurry?”
Julius started walking ahead. He couldn’t bear to hear any more. Was he some kind of a fool to have kept Celia’s memory alive? And why should he feel so devastated? But it was Bob he was most angry with.
“Some people can kill dreams,” he thought.
“Murderer! He muttered through clenched teeth, as he quickened his pace.
“Hey!” Bob called after him, “where’s the fire?”
Florence Liberfarb writes poetry, short stories and plays. You may freely republish this story for non-commercial use provided you follow the Publisher Guidelines and provide a hyperlink (electronic media) to the Wordly Web Site. You may not alter the copyright notice or edit the content of this story. Please notify the author of your intent to republish. Commercial use of this story requires written permission and payment of a royalty.
Celia by Florence Liberfarb
Copyright © 2005-2007 All Rights reserved
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Poems, Stories, and Plays byFlorence Liberfarb
