“Turn green, turn green!” Paul yelled. He pounded on his steering wheel. He was alone in his car. He read the bumper sticker on the red Ford pick up truck inches in front of him, “America: Love it or leave it”. To his right he noticed a young girl watching him. She was driving a late model, dirty gold Honda Civic. She glanced away nervously when he turned to look at her. In his rear view mirror, a large tractor-trailer pressed against his back bumper. He could only make out the grille, but recognized the Freightliner design. The light turned green and he banged on his horn. He had to make it one more block to get off this congested street. He had to get around these damn cars. He darted in front of the Honda without touching his blinker, a move that caused the Honda to brake. Now he was almost there. Sweat dripped from his brow. So much pressure, so much responsibility falling on him. God, he had to get there on time. Ahead he saw the corner where he needed to turn. He noticed a crowd by a hot dog vendor and a group of kids running towards the corner. The car in front of him, now a dark blue Chrysler mini-van put on its right blinker. “Damn!” he screamed. Maybe the driver heard him because the blinker immediately went off and the van did not turn. He squealed around the corner, taking a slightly wider course to avoid any of the kids who were near the street. He turned onto a boulevard lined with large glass buildings on both sides. He drove through two yellow lights then skidded to stop at a red light. He glanced to the right and noticed a giant digital clock over the entrance to a bank. The time read 6:37. “Right on time”, he thought, “but right on time for what?” He turned his head to the left and peered across the street to the front door of a chic apartment building. The revolving door rotated and a stream of people strode out onto the street. He saw her. He saw Bridgette. He was here for Bridgette. He rolled down his window and yelled her name. She squinted in his direction and then recognition filled her face. She began running towards him. He saw the car coming around the corner. The sleek red corvette speeding towards Bridgette. She did not see it. She should hear the squealing tires, she should hear the engine shifting. But he knew she did not hear a thing. This is it. This is why he flew through traffic. He swung open his car door, then heard the ding, ding, ding of a warning sound in his head. The warning alarm of his keys in the ignition and the car door open. Ding, ding, ding… he jumped out of the car… ding,ding,ding, the corvette was so close and…ding,ding,ding…”Noooooo!”, he screamed…ding,ding,ding…at the last moment she realized; her face turned to terror…ding,ding,ding…ding,ding,ding… He woke up in a cold sweat, his alarm ringing, ding, ding, ding. His palm slammed on top of the alarm. Silence. “ God damn, how many times am I going to have that nightmare”, he muttered. Then as he had done for the past five mornings he looked at the clock to see 6:37 and immediately phoned Bridgette to see that she was all right. “Hello,” a voice said over the phone. “Hi Babe, it’s me. Are you all right?” “Paul, did you have that same dream again?” she asked. “Exactly the same as the others. It’s starting to drive me crazy.” “I think I have it figured out. I’m your damsel in distress and you must save me from my wretched life as a single woman but if you save me your life is transformed. So I get run over in your dream even though it’s your life that you fear will be changed forever. Even in your dreams you can’t take responsibility for your own emotions.” “Whatever you say, but I am still not ready to live together.” “You big pussy,” she giggled. “And that’s the thanks I get for trying to save your life every night! Are we still on for dinner this evening?” “Sure, and what time will you be picking me up on your white horse dressed in shining armor?” “How about six?” “Perfect! See ya tonight, I love you.” “Love you too,” he said and hung up. Paul sprang out of bed and followed his routine. He pissed, brushed his teeth, took a shower, shaved in the shower to save time, brushed his short crop of hair, gathered the clothes he picked out the night before, dressed, made the bed, toweled clean the bathroom counters and sink, folded the towel and placed it neatly in the laundry basket, walked to the kitchen, grabbed a raisin bran nutrition bar, double locked the doors and drove to work. Paul arrived at work early. He was proud of his punctuality. He was early to work everyday of his entire three-year career as a systems analyst for DataSync, a small database software company. “Mornin’ Paul”, greeted the guard. “Good morning, Jack,” Paul responded. “You beat the crowds again,” Jack joked. “You bet,” answered Paul. Without breaking stride Paul marched directly to the bank of shiny gold elevator doors and pressed the up button. He then glanced at himself in the reflection of one of the doors, straightened his tie, and pulled at his coat to eliminate any wrinkles. When the first elevator arrived a moment later, he went inside, pressed floor three, and began counting in his head. “One thousand, two thousand, three thousand…” Most days, when he rode non-stop to the third floor he got to nine thousand and the doors would open. Today the doors opened at nine thousand, like clockwork, just the way he liked it. He thought to himself, “If only Bridgette was as predictable as these elevators…” And with that thought swirling in his head, Paul walked out of the elevator and headed for his first cup of coffee for the day. He took the customary route, nodding to other punctual fellow workers already pounding away at keyboards in the spacious office. While adding his second of three sugar lumps, John Adams, Paul’s boss, patted Paul on the back and said, “Well, Paul, ready for the big day?” Paul liked John. He liked the way John listened, the way he asked questions until he truly understood what the problem was. He liked the naked honesty, and the direct immediate feedback. He even liked John’s fondness of chewing on toothpicks. But he couldn’t stand John’s propensity for surprise. Especially before he had his first cup of coffee. “Yeah, yeah, I’m ready,” muttered Paul. “Good,” John replied with too much enthusiasm, “Good - because I think it’s going to be a long one as well!” And with that, he strode off. Paul dropped the third sugar cube into his coffee and made his way to his cubicle with no more interactions. He turned on his computer. He sat down and leaned back in his chair, took a sip of sweet java and stared at the screen as it went through the boot up process. He thought about the recurring nightmare. What could it mean? He was not the touchy-feely type that put any faith in dreams but he had never had one repeat like this before. Was it a sign not to marry Bridgette or just his fear of committing? She was so beautiful and so much fun to be with. She was the first girl to make him feel good about himself, who accepted him for who he was, who took at face value all of his nervous anxieties. She was so uninhibited, especially when making love. She seemed to always know the right thing to say or do. Maybe the dream was meant to show him if he doesn’t hurry it will be too late and he will lose her. Yet he was never late for anything. “Paul…Paul are you all right?” , asked Stan Kabbalski. Stan looked like an apple on steroids, but what he lacked in body he made up in brains. “Paul, what’s wrong with you? I’ve never seen you lost in thought before, are you OK?” “Sure Stan, I’m fine, I’m fine. What’s up?” Paul replied quickly. “Oh not much, Paul. Just the minor detail of preparing for the presentation this afternoon. You know the presentation for CBC, DataSync’s largest customer. Did you slip ludes into your morning coffee instead of sugar?” “What are you talking about Stan? We’ve been prepared for days.” “Ah, my little, overachieving bundle of nerves. As much as you despise surprise, and as much as you must always be one step ahead, you just can’t control God’s dice. CBC added a new hitch.” “What kind of hitch?” Paul asked. “Not that big a deal, they’d like to add one more level of security.” Paul exploded, “But that could potentially mean restructuring the whole database.” “We have until 3:30pm today.” Paul suddenly understood what John Adams had meant by it might be a long day. He ran his hands through his hair and took three deep breaths. “Jesus, Stan. Where do we start?” “Don’t you worry little man, I think I’ve got it all figured out. C’mon follow me.” Paul followed Stan into the cyber jail. Small and badly lit, the cyber jail was the one room where a group could work undisturbed. Stan ignored the chairs surrounding the table of computers and fell into the one comfortable recliner in the corner of the room. He closed his eyes and began what he said was a meditation technique, Paul thought he just took a nap. Yet, Paul stared at Stan envious of the big man’s ability to relax and focus with such ease. He wondered if the recliner and Stan’s meditation technique might not do him good, maybe get him through a night’s sleep without the nightmare. Around 1pm John entered the room. He held two plates of grilled chicken sandwiches and some pasta salad for the focused duo. Stan turned from his screen, noticed the two sandwiches and said, “Hey that’s great boss but what is Paul here going to eat?” “Stan, Stan, Stan! I need you sharp and on edge. Anyway you have enough stored energy to last a couple of weeks.” John replied. “I’ll make you pay for that remark at the post presentation celebration dinner!” Stan laughed and grabbed his plate of food. “So we’re going to have something to celebrate?” asked John. “Don’t you worry boss, Paul and I here are right on top of it.” “That’s what I like to hear, boys, that is what I like to hear.” John turned and walked out. “How can you be so confident?” Paul asked Stan, “We haven’t even started testing the new changes.” “It’s only a demo, little man, only a demo. Have I ever told you the time I made it through the demo of DataSync’s first database product; days before it was ready? It was…” “Yes, you’ve told me about a hundred times,” Paul interrupted, “but this is different.” “What’s different?” asked Stan. “What’s different is that I don’t like being unprepared, I’m no good at faking. So let’s just keep working and get this done in the next two and a half hours.” Paul hesitated, stared at Stan’s blank expression and then added, “Please.” Stan swallowed his last bite of chicken and said, “Mmmm. Let’s get back to work”. At 3:20 p.m. John opened the door to the cyber jail to find Stan and Paul completely absorbed and staring at one of the computer screens. “Hey guys.” John whispered. “Oh no, it’s not 3:30 already,” exclaimed Paul. “Not quite, but you have some extra time, the group from CBC just called to say they are running a half hour late.” John said and walked out the door. At four o’clock the group from CBC arrived anxious to see the new software. Paul and Stan were ready. They had done some brilliant code work in the past eight hours and were excited to show it off. The presentation went extremely well, so well in fact that Paul had lost track of time. As they were saying their good-byes, one of the members from CBC apologized for keeping them so late. It was then that Paul looked at his watch to see it was 6:15 p.m. “Bridgette!” he thought. He said his farewells and then excused himself and moved frantically to find the nearest phone. “Hello,” spoke a calm, friendly voice. “Hi, it’s me, I’m late, I’m so sorry.” Paul said. “Hey Darling it’s OK, I knew you would be late once in your life. Don’t worry, I’m not ready yet myself. When will you be leaving?” Bridgette asked. “I’m leaving immediately. I can’t believe I am going to be this late. I haven’t even called the restaurant to change the reservations. Can you call Lugiano’s and make the changes? I’ll be there in no time and I’ll just pick you up outside your building. I’m so sorry. Gotta go. See you in a few.” “OK, I’ll call the restaurant and meet you outside my building in twenty minutes. I love you and calm down”. Bridgette replied. Paul raced for the elevators, hit the button and waited. “Eight thousand, nine thousand” Paul counted to himself… he had never waited longer than eleven thousand for an elevator door to open. “C’mon already, C’mon” he said out loud. “Twelve thousand, thirteen thousand…” something was wrong. Paul sprinted to the stairs and bounded down each flight hitting one out of four steps the whole winding way down. Once he made it to the lobby level he was out of breath. Once outside he stepped it up to a jog. He made it to his car, unlocked the door, jammed the key into the ignition, and turned the motor over. His tires squealed as he backed out of his space and took the sharp turns of the parking deck. By the time he reached the road sweat poured from his body. Sweat dripped inside his shirt and pooled near his waist. Sweat soaked his crotch and legs marking his pants. Sweat rolled down his cheeks and into his mouth. “Why am I doing this? It’s just a dinner date and Bridgette understands. So I’m late, why am I acting so crazy?” But try as he might to slow down and calm down, his years of always pushing kept urging him on. At a red light he yelled, “turn green, turn green!” He was going to be late again if he hit all the red lights. “Turn green, turn green!” he yelled again as he pounded his hand on the steering wheel. He glanced to the right and noticed a young girl driver watching, but she turned away when he looked at her. He stared at the truck in front of him, a red Ford pickup truck. Something seemed too familiar. He had seen this scene before; it felt like déjà vu but with a twist. Then it hit him and he spoke out loud, “Oh my God, it’s the dream.” “It couldn’t be the dream,” he thought, “the dream took place in the morning. The clock above the bank and my alarm clock both read six thirty seven in the morn…,” then he realized, “there was no am or pm on either clock, I just assumed it was the morning.” Frantically he looked in his rear view mirror – there was a tractor-trailer pressed almost to his back bumper and it had the Freightliner grille. Looking back at the car to the right he saw that it was a dirty gold colored Honda. Ahead of him he stared wide-eyed at the “America: Love it or leave it” bumper sticker. “Christ, this is the dream!” Again he spoke the words out loud. The light turned green and no one moved, he honked his horn, but to no avail, traffic stood still. He knew he only had to make it one more block to get out of this mess. And he knew he had to get there faster than he had in his dream. “Wait a minute” he thought, “this is not my dream, this is real life – I’ll just call her on the cell phone and tell her not to meet me outside.” Paul picked up his cell phone and hit #2, Bridgette’s speed dial number. Just as it began to ring the cars in front of him started to move. He punched the accelerator and cut in front of the Honda at his first chance. The girl in the Honda slammed her brakes and honked at him in disgust. The phone rang six times and then the answering machine came on. “Damn it!” Paul blurted and waited for the beep. “Bridgette, this is Paul, I hope you are listening to this. Do not leave your apartment. I will come up and get you. Please stay in your apartment. Please.” He looked at the digital clock in his car. 6:30. She may already have left her apartment. He knew he was only a few minutes away in normal traffic. A new thought struck him. “What if I don’t show up. If I’m not there then she won’t cross the street.” Paul relaxed for the first time since he realized he was late. Another thought occurred to him. “What if she decides to wait on the other side of the street?” Anxiety shivered through Paul’s body once again. He had only one sure path. He had to get there before 6:37. The car in front of him was moving, it was a dark blue Chrysler minivan. He expected that. He looked to his right for the hot dog vendor surrounded by people and the kids running towards the corner, both scenes were exactly the same as he had seen the past five nights in a row. He neared the corner and as if on cue the minivan put it’s blinker on and then at the last minute turned it off and kept driving forward. He made the same wide turn he made in his dream and then he gunned it. He weaved in and out of cars and he sped through two yellow lights in a row. One more block to go. Memories of Bridgette raced through his head. The time they hiked for hours on the Appalachian Trail and then made love in the leaves. The time she invited his parents over for dinner without telling him. The time they built a giant sand moose on a Florida beach. The time he held her as she cried and cried when Flo, her twelve-year-old dog died. The time she nursed him when he had the flu. He loved her so much. At the corner he jerked his car into an open parking spot on the street. He looked at his car clock 6:34. He made it; he arrived early. Everything was going to be OK. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the bank. He stared at the giant digital clock above the door. The clock read 6:37. Immediately Paul jerked his head to the left to see Bridgette’s building. A stream of people paraded out of the revolving door. Bridgette marched with them. He rolled down his window and yelled. She saw him and just like the dream she smiled that unknowing smile at him. She started towards the street. “God damn it,” thoughts blasted through his head, “why did I get her attention, why didn’t I just remain silent.” But as his head exploded with second thoughts, and city noises barreled through the open window, he heard the dreadful low revving in the background. He knew where it was coming from. It was eerie how tuned he was to the sound. And then as he turned toward the corner he saw it. The red corvette speeding towards the corner. The tires squealed, the engine screamed as it downshifted, but Bridgette, as he had seen so many agonizing times before, remained unaware. He screamed “Nooooo!” as he flung open his door and jumped out of the car. As he bounded from the car he could see her eyes expand and widen, her jaw drop, her chest expand from a huge gasp and realized one moment before the speeding Chevy Suburban crushed him, that the look of terror on Bridgette’s face - was for him - not for her.