Okay, not the very first... I'd had some snippets in highschool literary magazines as a youth and, later, some snippets of journalism in the Church News, Ensign, etcetera. But this is the story that got me hooked on writing, that got me thinking about a career in journalism (or, oh my heck, as an actual "author!). I in fact enrolled in journalism school (Colorado State University) just a few weeks after it sold, but the same week it got published in a full-page layout (with art) as the First Place winner in the Lure of the West contest covering northern Colorado. My professors knew my name the day I walked into class-- heady stuff. But, as any writer knows, the sort of thing that happens far less often than we ever wish or dream.
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Summer was fading fast and Audrey Phelps was dying. It had been a long and useful life, albeit somewhat eventless; more the nature of a commute to work than a journey to the pyramids. Always busy, usually rushed, but rarely inspirational. But they had always had each other, Audrey and Jim. Or so it seemed now. Fifty-four years of happy marriage and now Jim sat there in the old rocker -- everything was old -- watching as Audrey's frail life slipped away without so much as a quiet goodbye. Audrey hadn't opened her eyes or uttered a word in three days. The doctor had reassured Jim that she was free from pain. There was really nothing to be done but keep her comfortable and wait. It was just a matter of time now. Time. That was the one thing Jim felt he had never had enough of. But was time the real culprit, or was it ambition? Heaven knows he had always tried and never stopped dreaming. For thirty-nine years he had broken his back, worn out his hands and malnourished his mind on a diet of stress and monotony. All for the dreams and adventures which would someday be theirs. But there had never been enough: enough time, enough money, or even enough gumption to just say, "Goodbye security, sunset here we come!" And now it was a pretty good bet that there would never be enough. Especially time. For many years now they hadn't even approached the subject with each other. The early years' devotion to retirement in Hawaii had turned slowly into a private fascination with the world to the west beyond their doorstep. A kind of festering sore; it almost drove Jim mad sometimes. "Tiger" Phelps they had called him in his younger days in western Nebraska: all that drive and ambition and reckless pride. Four decades later someone had crowned his success with dinner, a handshake, and a gold watch. There it was again. Would time just stop for a while and let them be! Audrey had often sat watching Jim nearly hypnotized by the crackling flames in the fireplace. She always knew where his thoughts were. She knew of his bittersweet musings on places he had never been, the exotic and romantic isles far beyond the reach of his westward gaze. As they stood hand in hand on the beach at Carmel. As they pondered the setting sun at Coos Bay. During the earliest years of their marriage they had taken a job in California, a calculated move which brought them closer to their silent dreams somehow. How he longed to see the places beyond that distant horizon. How they beckoned to him, how they called! And now, at 74, Jim was facing the clear fact that he never would see those places. Neither one of them would. He had tried to bury the feelings, to extinguish them altogether. He'd try to conjure up the images, the feelings. And he could do pretty well; he had secretly collected travel folders and magazine photos over the years and kept them in a locked briefcase, like some of his cronies kept their girly magazines. He hoped Audrey never got the wrong idea, but he just couldn't share the adventurous fantasies with her any more, fearing the depressing reality would hurt her too badly. But now the reality hurt anyway. There was nothing else they could do now. Just wait. And dream. Jim leaned from his chair and caressed her face. He tightened his grip on her fragile hand and stroked her arm. She had been a wonderful companion; always a support, never a harsh word, as if there had never been any real disappointment for her in their lack of worldly achievements. She never brought up the island dreams after a few years because he didn't. And now Jim really didn't know, and wanted to ask. They had been very happy with each other and maybe that was all that mattered. How he hoped she had not felt the discouragement he had of the private dreams, the private failures. Jim now looked up and realized the hot August sun was no longer beating down on Audrey's bed by the window, so he slid the thin curtains apart to allow the last hint of dusk to brighten the room. From this window Jim could see far to the west over the last sloping hills and out across the fading blue distance of the ocean. He thought of those places he'd never been. He no longer needed a photo to entice him, in fact the old briefcase had been quietly tucked into a trash bag a couple of years back and secretly discarded with the rest of the week's by-products. Unopened, unexamined, in a secret act of defiance and private disgrace -- but with poise, Jim declared to himself! He no longer needed those pictures; the scenes were etched permanently on his mind. Jim could even imagine what the rest of the scene in the photo would have looked like, down to the finest details. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He could feel the warm sun, hear the crash of the surf on the rocks down the beach, even feel the warm salt water lick at his feet, the gentle rustling of palm leaves over his head, the melody of an island bird, the chatter of insects. The warm, salty air, the even breeze, the smells, the sounds, the feelings! It was as if he were really there. He felt so young, so vibrant, and alive! Oh, the islands! And there! There was Audrey, not 50 yards away and as beautiful as the day he had fallen in love with her 54 years before. Yes, she was young, and beautiful, and so tan! And wearing much too little, he thought, as he glanced around the empty beach. Empty but for them. In an instant he was standing next to her, gently kissing her cheeks, stroking her long auburn hair, which was blazing with fire in the tropical sun. Oh this was heaven! He could feel her touch, sense her breathing and taste her cool lips. She lowered her hands, taking him by the wrist and they turned and ran up the beach, splashing through the surf, giggling and hooting. As they neared the point, Jim could see that it sheltered a magnificent cove, an inlet of serene and peaceful water with a beach as soft as baby powder and water as clear as a still winter night. They brushed past the ferns, waded a shallow tidepool and entered the cove. A more magnificent site Jim had never even imagined. The lush greenery fell nearly to the waters' edge on the far side, framing a beautiful silver waterfall perhaps 40 feet high. Jim and Audrey splashed into the pool and dived under the spray. Jim lost all track of time. For hours, it seemed, they frolicked and danced in the warm tropical waters, chased and teased in the tempting white sand. The high tropical sun at mid-day failed to find the lovers, now hidden deep in some adventure in paradise. Suddenly Audrey felt something on her shoulders and forehead, something cool. A breeze? She opened her eyes and blinked incessantly at the dimming light. It wasn't intense, rather like sunset or twilight, but it seemed days since she had opened her eyes. She strained to raise her arm to pull the window closed. Her arm would respond with only a slight movement at the elbow. Then she saw Jim. He was sitting in the old rocker next to the bed, fast asleep, still clutching her hand in his, tightly closed. She smiled at him, all her being thrilling at his presence. He was really out; his head back against the wall, his mouth dangling open, his upper plate sagging. How long had he been there? How long had she been here? The past few weeks she had weakened and grown faint doing the slightest of tasks. The doctor had warned her that it would no longer take much effort on her part to cause some real problems. "Slow down," he had said. "Take it easy." Take it easy -- that sounded nice. They hadn't really expended a lot of effort for the last ten years, but by the same token, neither had they yet fulfilled many of their fondest dreams. Like travelling to the islands, or even retiring on one somewhere. Some time, some place, in the last 30 years she had accepted the conclusion that they would probably never achieve it. Heaven knew they had earned it -- Jim had earned it. Deserved it anyway. But never received it. She remembered the night of his retirement dinner: the watch, the applause... the empty gaze behind the veneer of his smile. He had kept silent about those dreams since just a few years after their marriage, yet she never forgot. And that old briefcase he kept hidden in the back of the closet behind his cowboy boots... She first spied it while cleaning up after the cat one time. So that's what the strange little key in his nightstand was for! She worried over it for nearly three days: should she try the key? Was that honest? Was it necessary or important that she know? She finally went for it out of sheer curiosity. If it wasn't totally honest she felt at least partially redeemed by the fact that it was very exciting, a secret of her own! A mystery to be solved. When at last she pried the case open it surprised her, to be sure, but it was delightful. Dozens of magazine clippings, none of them of young ladies in scanty clothing, or none at all. She sat on the bedroom floor and leafed slowly through every page, each pamphlet, every travel folder. Tears came to her eyes, then and now, as she realized what he had suppressed, what he had sacrificed for her, for their family, for the stability of a "normal" job, whatever that had come to mean after all these exhausting years. Audrey reflected on that afternoon so many years ago. She had never told Jim that she knew his secret. She replaced everything just as it had been and went on about her "normal" life. How she loved him, how she ached for him. And for herself, she confessed. They had wanted this together, all along. For weeks she spent hour upon secret hour in that briefcase, absorbing everything she could about the island paradises they secretly longed to visit. Together. It wouldn't change their love for each other; they had enough of that for forever, or whatever they had coming. But it sure would be marvelous. After a while she resolved to never open that briefcase again, feeling it too private, too ... well, sacred in a way. And then one day the briefcase disappeared and she never saw it again. But the memories never faded. At that thought she sighed and once again opened her eyes. The sun was down and it was definitely cool now. With great effort she lifted Jim's hand from hers and stretched toward the open window to pull it closed. Then she drew the blinds and replaced her hand in Jim's, who was still sound asleep with his head arched back to the wall. She gave his hand all the squeeze she could muster and closed her eyes. As soon as she completed her sigh she was startled by the silhouette of towering palm trees on the horizon, dancing in the rising heat of a glistening, snow-white beach. It was more real than any eight-by-ten journey she had ever enjoyed! As she gasped in surprise she almost choked on the thick taste of salt mist and seaweed in the warm, moist air. Was this real, or was she dreaming? She should open her eyes -- but she had tried that the very first moment. She found that she could walk, jump, twirl pirouettes in the sand, none of which she had done very well in years. Especially the pirouettes. But what made her heart jump was the fact that she could see her own hand, her arm, feel the long hair on her back... And she could see Jim. A Jim she hadn't seen in nearly 50 years, but a Jim she remembered so well. He came to her slowly, her breathing raced. They embraced, they kissed. He whispered in her ear and they disappeared into the heart of the island, the luscious sound of tumbling water somewhere in the distance. THE END