Dearest Rachel –
While I may know better than to do the stock cliché of “middle-aged man creeps on girls young enough to be his daughter as part of his midlife crisis,” I have to confess that I’ve never been much for women my age. Scrolling through the dating website is looking at a catalogue of females who, even at their best, seem to actually look their age for the most part (and the ones who don’t leave me wondering why they’re here, as you’d think they’d get chatted up on the regular and find someone fairly quickly). I realize I shouldn’t be judging them based on their looks, but at this point, it’s most of what I have to go on (that, and the occasional comment about certain beliefs that I see as red flags); it does whittle away at the available pool of candidates. I know, too, that I don’t have the right to be picky, as I’ve never been an Adonis myself, but so many of these women clearly have their best days behind them.
Even women a few years younger than me just look… old, for the most part. And I know that hormone-addled teenage me (you know, the one that met you, back in the day) would have told me that they are old, as am I – to which I would retort that I still have bits of him within me; mindset, tastes, attitudes and all (which might well freak him out, as he never expected to get as old as me, to be honest). Sure, I may have a thing for girls with glasses and purple hair that I didn’t back in the day, but that’s a level of conditioning that you put me through, so that’s different. Besides, I think I could point to at least one or two girls who might have borne a certain vague resemblance to you at the time that I might have been attracted to (except the names would mean nothing to you, while they don’t need their past catching up with them).
So why are all these women so old in my eyes, when I was perfectly satisfied with you? Oh, come on, you know why. First of all, you carried yourself so much younger than you were, from the very day we met. And while you did grow up in certain ways, and enjoyed certain aspects of adulthood, you never completely let go of your inner child. And who knows? Maybe some of these women are like that, and it’s not clear from their photos; I’ll certainly grant that. But I knew – and still remember – younger you (even more so, as I continue to go through our old photographs); that’s a phase of life I wouldn’t get with anyone else going forward, even if I actually do manage to find someone.
But perhaps last night was a case of my unconscious teaming up with my id (although making sure he didn’t go too crazy), trying to encourage me to look at older women in a different light. If so, I give the two of them points for effort, but I can’t say I appreciate their particular choices as examples. Not that they weren’t appealing, mind you, but that I recognized them both, and they would decidedly not be suitable, for reasons I’ll get to.
***
Let’s start with Ace. Yes, that Ace, or rather Sophie, I suppose – I’m not sure I was dealing with the character or the actress. But when we were watching the last few episodes of the classic show in the student union’s TV lounge, it was fairly obvious that this was a twenty-something playing a teenager even then. And since we were all either still approaching twenty or just past it, she was decidedly older than us. So, yeah… that was in the back of mind the entire time the dreamscape storyline revolved around her.
The thing is, in the sequence, she was heavily pregnant, which would suggest that she was more the age she was when she starred as the character – complete with the fact that, as something of a delinquent (and indeed, the books published after the show was first cancelled gave the impression that she really got around), this was an out-of-wedlock thing. So, while she was always older than me, she was clearly younger than that here, and fertile; an odd choice of subject, boys, if that was your intent.
Moreover, after helping her deliver her triplets(!) in a church basement(!), along with a group of other peers of both myself and hers (and it was hard to tell who were whose), I made some sort of derogatory comment about her baby daddy (who had clearly long since left her to her own devices), she would hear none of it, from me or anyone else. She sent me off, like a footballer getting a red card.
“You want me to leave? Right now?!” I was incredulous. She’d just gone through three bouts of childbirth; she needed all the help she could get. Evidently, she disagreed – especially with someone who would say something against the kids’ father.
“Yes!” she practically screamed at me. “Right now! Go on, get out!”
Well. So much for that. The rest of the dream was rather aimless, involving me wandering about an amusement site (perhaps Blackpool? I assume it was in England, but I know nothing of such place in that country). And as with real life, even a roller coaster isn’t all that much fun on your own.
***
So it seems that the duo running my nighttime film festival decided to try again, this time with a rock concert, starring someone I know. That’s fine and all, but among other things, she’s happily married in real life, and I know this. And while she’s quite easy on the eyes despite having a good five years or so on me, that’s a ‘no trespassing’ sign right there. So, nice try, boys, but you’re 0 and 2.
Still, it was an impressive concert; not that I could recognize (or recreate) any of the music – would that I could; if I were able to write all the stories and songs my dream self came up with, I dare say I’d be considerably better off than I am. Granted, I thought of her (and I’m not even going to name her, like those old crushes from way back when, given that she might recognize herself) as a keyboard player rather than a guitarist, but in the dream, she could wield a mean axe. The whole thing was finished off with an elaborate solo and a chord that hung in the air over the sound of the cheering crowd for what seemed like minutes at a time; it was still going as she set the guitar down and bowed to the crowd along with her bandmates.
Really, quite the performance. Not the sort of thing that would leave me screaming “marry me!” at the stage – especially given the circumstances that, even in the dream, I was very much aware of – but nevertheless impressive. Not even remotely in character for her, to be sure, but you know what dreams can be like.
All in all, a solid collaboration between my unconscious and my lizard brains; guess I gave the former a few ideas from yesterday morning’s chat. Still, it’s not as if there was anything to act on, but at least it’s a story to tell you about that you might have found amusing. Let’s see what else they can come up with in future.
In which case, you’d better keep an eye on me, and wish me luck; I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 