Chapter 3

"A Match Made in the Heavens"

It was a few months after my awakening that I was finally allowed to check out.

First, I had been debriefed by the shrinks, who wanted to know what I had remembered. They had been prepared for some amnesia to be present, but unknown to them, my mind had been exercising quite a bit since I came to within my own head.

I wondered quite a lot about my "out of body" experiences during the time that I was in the coma. I was hesitant to tell any of the shrinks about them, and Mary never said anything to anybody (or even myself, while I was in the hospital).

I had decided that it may have been some hallucinatory dream during the coma, and I didn't worry about it too much.

It took some time to satisfy the shrinks that I was mostly normal, but I think I succeeded in pulling it off.

In addition to the shrinks, there was the physical therapy. Spending a dozen years in bed causes muscles to atrophy. Although my muscles complained a lot at first, it felt good to be up and about, even though my body was no longer in the prime shape it had been when I was in the service. I was lucky in that the staff at the hospital I was at had dealt with many comatose patients in the past, and had provided well for me while I had been out, with regular massages and body stretches.

Still, it galled me that it took so long to just get back into a condition where I could walk, throw a ball, and do hundreds of other activities that most people take for granted.

Mary had kept her promise to herself by visiting me every day, introducing herself as somebody that had met me while I was in my coma. I understood her guilt that was the basis for her visiting, and decided to let her tell me about how she really met me on her own terms. Meanwhile doctors and nurses poked, prodded, ran tests, and help me undergo my rather intense (for me, anyway!) exercise regimen.

I was no longer on active duty, my "tour" having long been up. I felt a bit of a loss, since I had wanted the service to be my career; what was I going to do?

Some bureaucrats decided that despite the fact that I wasn't technically disabled, I got put on a seventy-five percent disability. (Apparently, things have changed nowadays, and this sort of "bonus" is notable only in its rareness.) Somehow, I also got bumped up a couple of pay grades and cost of living increases. All that, along with a disability pension, back dated to the time I was first in the coma, meant that I had a nice nest egg in my savings account. All told, I saw that I could live pretty comfortably.

Eventually, the doctors had to admit that they couldn't keep me any longer, and the big day finally came for my discharge. When that day arrived, Mary appeared in my room. I had asked her to purchase me a new set of clothes, and she had them with her. Up until this time, I had been wearing hospital gowns during my coma, and the base supplied me with fatigues and sweat suits since I woke up. I knew that I'd have to learn to live in civvies again once I left the hospital, and I could tell by what others were wearing that my tastes in clothing was a bit too "retro" for current fashion sensibilities.

Mary put me into a wheelchair and escorted me out of the hospital along with a pretty Nurse LeBlanc (Camille), who was one of the nurses that had taken care of me while I was in my coma. I thanked her for everything, and when I got to Mary's car, I felt a little sad leaving the hospital. After all, I had spent a dozen years of my life there.

After saying my good-byes to Ms. LeBlanc (who surprised me by kissing me good bye), I got into Mary's car. I had an odd feeling when I sat down in her car; it was the same seat that I had "ridden" in with Mary on one of my first journeys outside the hospital in my mind.

Mary first took me to the bank where she worked to open up a new account where my disability "checks" would be electronically sent. She expedited my application for a credit card (Visa), and handed me something called an ATM card.

For my PIN number, I first thought of using the first two and last two digits of my ASN (Army Serial Number, that number you are supposed to give your captors when you are a prisoner). Mary suggested that this number might be "guessed" by somebody familiar with me--an apparently common problem with people picking PIN numbers, due to my unfamiliarity with the concept, I accepted Mary's advice.

Despite the fact that I was good with numbers, however, I didn't want a computer to pick out a random number, so I settled on "0618," which happened to be the date on the newspaper the first time I knew the date while I was in my coma; I figured that this would be a difficult thing for anybody but me to know.

After my financial situation was all set up, Mary spent the day with me picking up some more clothes, and even helped me pick out a small apartment. It turned out later that my apartment was not too far from where Mary lived, herself.

It was now late afternoon, and the two of us celebrated my freedom with a picnic lunch at a nearby park. It was a Friday, and Mary had taken the day off from her banking job as a vacation day.

I had a few things I wanted to tell Mary, and I could tell that she had wanted to tell me some things as well. The day was wonderful (you don't know how wonderful it is to smell fresh air--even in California--when you've been in a hospital for over a decade!), the sun was warm.

Mary had some fried chicken in her car's trunk that she had made the night before in anticipation of my being let out. We spread out a blanket in the middle of an empty park (most people being at work), and I laid down on the blanket, enjoying the warm sun on my face.

I didn't have to look at Mary to know that she was desperately trying to figure out how to say what she had to say.

Finally, she steeled herself and took a deep breath.

"Jim," she began. "I don't know how much they told you in the hospital. There's something you need to know..."

I cut her off.

"Mary, Mary. Believe me, I already know. You were driving on the base at night, looking at a crescent moon behind the clouds, when you hit me. You didn't even know at the time that it was a person that you hit. Am I correct?"

She looked at me, shocked. "I've never told ANYBODY that I was looking at the moon that night... not even the MPs..."

"I wasn't paying attention that night, either. I was looking at the stars, myself. I didn't realize that I had wandered into the middle of the road."

"How did you know what I was doing at the time?" she asked.

It was my turn to take a deep breath. "Mary, somehow, we managed to connect."

She looked at me funny.

"What I mean is, somehow, I was able to see you... back when you were in my room wearing a Lieutenant's dress uniform. I saw you visit me, once telling me about your job at a restaurant, telling me about a new job at Burdine's."

Her look turned to shock.

"I even remember talking to you in your dreams. Telling you that I could never be mad at you, and that I love you..."

"This cannot be happening," she cried.

"I even remember you telling me that I wasn't trying to wake up any more, that I was taking a turn for the worse, and that you wanted me to TRY to wake up."

She bent over me, and hugged me tight.

"Then I wasn't just dreaming all that?" she asked.

"No, Mary. Well, you were dreaming, but we were both dreaming it. At the same time. We were communicating!"

"How is that possible?" Mary asked.

"I don't really know. It was very weird back then. Hell, it's still weird! My mind may have been playing tricks on me, but I knew what you looked like before I woke up. I knew who you were. I knew that you kept visiting me, and I knew that you felt very guilty about causing my condition."

Mary's tears were freely flowing right now.

I continued, "I wanted to let you know that I never blamed you for that. It was partly my own fault, and what has been done is done."

Mary continued to hug me.

"Somehow, we connected," I said. "Maybe it was when I was looking at the stars and you were looking at the moon. I don't know. Maybe it is a match made in the heavens... !"

She giggled while continuing to hug me, her tears lessening. I could get very used to her hugs, believe me.

"Listen, Mary. My apartment is pretty crude right now, I mean, I just moved in today. Could we go out to dinner tonight? I've been eating hospital food since... well, even before I woke up! Your chicken is great... but I'd like to go to a restaurant tonight. With you."

She pulled up and looked at me. "Really?"

"Really. There's this place, I know. A little Mexican restaurant called Bodega. Ever hear of it?"

"Oh, Jim! That restaurant closed five years ago!" she cried.

I sighed. Those missing twelve years were going to take some getting used to.

"Well, Mary. Do you know any other nice place to eat?"

She looked thoughtful. I could tell she wasn't sure what my budget was and didn't want to embarrass me.

"How about Peter's? They do a good seafood business here."

"Sounds nice. Am I dressed alright for that place?"

"Sure thing, buster. Of course, I'll have to put on something a bit nicer..."

I looked at her. She was wearing a light tan top with a darker tan skirt. I remembered seeing her in a similar light/dark combination in blue.

I grinned mischievously. "How about that light blue blouse with the dark blue skirt?" I asked.

She looked at me. "Oh, I haven't worn that in years..." and stopped herself. "You really do think you actually saw me, don't you?"

I nodded. "Yes, but please don't go telling the shrinks about it, or they'll have me for another six months of tests and stuff."

"I wouldn't do that. I think I can find a nice outfit for tonight," she replied.

I grinned at her, and then held her arms to her sides. "Oh, Mary... I just noticed, you got a teeny piece of chicken on your chin..."

She struggled to free a hand to wipe her face clean. "Where?" she demanded.

"I'll get it for you," I said, and gave her a tiny kiss on her chin. She moaned in response. She moved her face and we ended up kissing on the lips.

It was a wonderful and memorable afternoon.

Mary drove me to her house, and offered me a light beer while she changed into her outfit for the evening.

I don't drink much--haven't actually in over ten years--but accepted the beer anyway. I grimaced at the initial sip, but quickly got used to the taste.

Her place was immaculate, as always. It was just as I had remembered it in my dreams.

About fifteen minutes later, she emerged from her bedroom. She looked absolutely gorgeous, dressed in a knee-length dress with a pastel-colored floral print. The color matched my light blue pastel shirt (I had gotten used to seeing pastels on people, it being called the "Miami Vice" look after a television show).

"Wow! We make the perfect couple!" I said.

She drove us to Peter's, which was on the waterfront. It was packed, with a line waiting, but Mary simply walked in and we were seated immediately.

"Lovely to see you again, Mary. This must be the man you told me about. I'm Peter, and I'm your host for the evening," said the person at the welcome table.

"Thank you, Peter. My name is Jim. Wait... are you THE Peter for which this place is named?" I asked.

"Yes. This little place is mine," he grinned at us.

He led us to a little table, which was set off from most of the other tables in the room. There were two tall and slim candles lit at the table. It was a very romantic setting.

"Peter knows you," I said to Mary after Peter had left.

"Yes. I worked here for a year or two as hostess."

"That's probably how you got reservations, then. I thought I heard somebody in the lobby say that there was an hour wait out there."

"Yes. Peter's an old friend. I had told him about you back when I was working here. When I called earlier today, I mentioned it was you that I was bringing in. He's been wanting to meet you."

"Why did he want to meet me?" I asked.

"Well, Peter has always seemed to like me. I mean, he's married, and it wasn't like we ever went out or anything. He knew how I'd visit you every day," Mary explained.