Encounter with the Future: Excerpts
freedom
When I opened my eyes, I did not recognize the sun-soaked room. Then it came to me. I was in my dream. Not dreaming a dream. I was living the dream. I was in England. Flesh and blood, body and soul.
My attic room was not quite Jane Eyre, but to me, it was special. The window was small, and too high for me to be able to see out of, but, on a sunny day, the little square filled the room with bright light.
I looked at my watch. It was 9:00 a.m. My stomach reminded me that it had not received any food since my lunch at the Prague airport in Communist Czechoslovakia some twntey hours earlier.
I had just turned eighteen and was embarking on a journey to the unknown.
*****
the power of the violin
Most of our electricity was hydraulic and was supplied by the rivers that run from the mountains in the north toward the valleys in the south. In the winter, when the rivers froze and with it our electricity, we would gather around the large wood-burning stove, the heartbeat of our family. A single candle on the wooden table provided flickering light and added mystery or nostalgia to the tale in progress. As a child, I looked forward to those nights. My mother often invoked music in her stories. The violin, in particular, steered in her deep emotions. I often thought it would be nice if one of her children learned to play the instrument that had such a deep meaning for her.
*****
finley’s gift
Nobody, least of all me, could have imagined that Eros, whose statue is mounted atop the Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain in Piccadilly Circus, would pierce my heart before the year was over.
The fountain beneath the statue often served as my perch, from which I liked to observe people. The imaginary complications of strangers helped me to shrink my own troubles.
“Hello, what are you doing here?”
I was not sure if the question was for me, but the voice sounded familiar. It brought me back to reality. I looked up to see the tall, slim figure of a young man I recognized from work.
****
"A beautifully written and captivating memoir that will make you look differently at your own life."
— Cindi Myers, author, most recently, of Mile High Mystery
“Stories that are at turns funny and poignant, sometimes at the same time, and always memorable.”
— Emma Hamilton, Literary Professor, Endicott College
the playboy club
“Put your cuties in,” said the diminutive seamstress with an infectious smile.
The seamstress room where all the girls were fitted for their bunny costumes was on the fifth floor of the Playboy Club. I finished my training, during which time I had to wear the “retired” costumes left behind by the girls who left the club. The costumes were in too good a condition to be discarded and so were used for the bunnies in training. Not all the girls who went through the three-week training program made it onto the floor.
“What could possibly take them three weeks to teach me?” I wolled my eyes none too discreetly when I first heard it would take three weeks before I could be a fully trained bunny. “I’ve waited tables before,” I thought. Boy, was I in for a surprise.
*****
