Life’s road has twists and turns that can be confusing. What you think might have happened, may not have.

When you believe you have reached the end of the road, it may actually be a new beginning, as you will experience in . . .

MMDS

     The wind blew through the trees on this chilly autumn morning. I sat on the Landon Park bench wondering what life was all about. As my mind drifted off, a very pleasant female voice broke into my silent world.

     “Do you have the time, sir?”

     “Oh, yes. It’s ten forty-five.”

     She chanted, “Thank you.”

     “Do I know you?” I gasped. “You look awfully familiar.”

     ‘No, I don’t think so.”

     And then, without saying another word, this fifty-something woman, dressed in an attractive red and white jogging outfit and bright red running shoes, danced off.

     I sat there stunned. Then I heard a familiar voice.

     “Ben, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

     Turning to my right, I saw Randall staring at me. He looked concerned. “Oh, I’m all right. Just spoke with a women who looked like Maria.”

     “Hey, that happens. You guys loved each other very much. Wish I had your luck with women.”

     “But she’s gone. Not quite two years since the crash. Lost control of the car on Interstate 82. Crashed into the center divide. Coroner said she was dead on impact.”

     “I know. At least she didn’t suffer.”

     “Doesn’t make it any easier for me to deal with.” I started to tear up. Randall handed me a handkerchief that appeared to have never seen a washing machine. But I used it anyway.

     “I know it’s hard when something like that happens,” he said in a caring manner.

     “You do? You’ve never been married. I’ve known you over thirty years. Have you ever had a serious relationship?”

     “Well . . . no. But . . .”

     “But what? You can’t possibly know how I feel.”

     “Okay, not in that way. However, you’re my best friend and I care about you. You’ve got to go on with your life.”

     “What life? I’m sixty-nine years old. How much longer do I have?”

     “The way you’re talking, you might as well just end it now.”

     “Maybe I should.”

     “Come on, I wasn’t being serious. I’m seventy-one and I haven’t given up on finding my soul mate.”

     “You’re already done that. And you’re walking all over her.”

     “Huh?”

     “She’s on the bottom of your shoes, my friend”

     “Oh, I get it—sole mate—not soul mate. See, you smiled.”

     “I guess I did. Just a little one, but, yes, I did smile.”

     After Randall and I grabbed a bite to eat at “Jordan’s Lunch-A-Bunch Truck” that serviced the park, we said our good-byes and I moseyed on home. All I could think about was the woman I’d encountered in the park. Maria was fifty-nine when she died. This woman appeared to be around the same age. And she looked so much like Maria. Had Maria returned?

     These crazy thoughts marched through my mind. I needed to flush them out and get on with my life. Maybe Randall was right. I needed to meet a woman—a real woman, and not the reincarnation of Maria.

     As I readied myself for bed, I seemed to be at peace. I had a restful night and awoke to a beautiful sunny day. And yes, I had a smile on my face.

     As I sat at the kitchen table munching on a bagel and cream cheese, the phone on the counter rang. I reached over and grabbed it. “Hello,” I mumbled, a piece of bagel still lodged in my mouth.

     “Hey Ben, it’s me, Randall. What’re you doing today?”

     “Uh, I hadn’t thought much about it.”

     “Well, I have an idea about something we both need to do.”

     “Okay. What?”

     “Our lives are stuck in neutral and we’ve got to push them into drive.”

     “So, how do you propose to do that?”

     “A dating service.”

     “Aw, come on. Why do we need a dating service? We live in a senior community. There are lots of women to choose from.”

     “But they’re all wrong for us. And I should know. I’ve lived here ten years and who do I have in my life—you and a pair of shoes. And God knows, I’ve tried to find someone.”

     “I don’t know. A service costs money and I’ve heard you have to fill out all kinds of forms. And most people don’t tell the truth. They want to appear better than they are. So how do you know what you’re really getting?”

     “Do you ever know?”

     “I knew with Maria. She was my dream come true.”

     “I hear you, man. She was the greatest. But she’s gone. And she’s not coming back.”

     “Yeah, I know. I feel so alone. But I don’t have the courage to do anything about it. Guess I’m not ready.”

     “You’d better be ready soon. Time’s running out. Give the service a try.”

     “Why are you so sure the service is the way to go. Are you not telling me something? Have you tried it?”

     “Well, no. But I’ve thought about it a lot. I guess I need a kick in the butt to move me in the right direction.”

     “Maybe we both do, Randall. It could be my time to start life over again. How do we do this?”

     “Meet me in hour at Rocky’s and I’ll share the information I’ve collected on MMDS with you. It could contain the answers to a better life.”

     “MMDS? Sounds like a disease to me. Oh well, I’ve got nothing better to do today. See you at the diner.”

     I hung up, put my dishes in the sink, and trudged off to the bedroom to dress. Twenty minutes later I headed to Rocky’s.

     The day was chilly, but the glow of the bright sun made the mile walk to the Herald Square Shopping Center a pleasure. MMDS—what the heck do the letters stand for? I thought.

     When I reached the shopping center, I swung around the corner and entered the double-glass doors of Rocky’s Sports Bar and Grill. My eyes scanned the restaurant and I saw Randall sitting in a booth in the corner, with brochures strewn all over the table. He motioned to me to join him. He swept all of the brochures except one to the far end of the table.

     Somewhat anxious, I moved with caution toward the booth and slid in across from him. The one remaining brochure stared up at me. Across the top it read, “MMDS, Senior Focus.”

     “Okay, so what do I do now?” I asked.

     “Open it, stupid. Or should I say, coward?”

     “I guess that makes two of us.”

     I opened the brochure and, for the first time, saw what the letters MMDS, meant—“Miraculous Match Dating Service, a resource for seniors focused on bringing the past and present together for a miraculous future."

     I shook my head in dismay. I looked up at Randall, but he was gone. And I wasn’t in the diner. I lay in a bed in a very strange room. I was hooked up to monitors. “What kind of dating service is this?” I moaned.

     A voice interrupted my confusion. “Doctor, he’s come out of it. Yes, I’ll do that.”

     A woman in a bluish-gray uniform slipped the phone into the front pocket of her jacket. Before I could get a word out, she left the room.

     Moments later, other uniformed men and women flooded my space—taking my pulse, checking my heart and reflexes, and seeing if my eyes followed their moving hands. What the hell is this all about?

     Then I saw her again—the beautiful woman from the park, dressed in a gorgeous green dress and not a jogging outfit. She smiled—the warmest smile I’d ever experienced and took my hand in hers. It felt so good. So real. MMDS certainly came through. They helped me find my soul mate.

     Then I heard a voice, a soft, loving voice. “Ben, it’s Maria, your wife.”

     “But you can’t be. You died in the accident almost two years ago.”

     “No, Ben. You were in that accident, not me. You’ve been in a coma since then. I’ve been waiting for you. And now you’ve come back to me.”

     “But Randall, the dating service—MMDS, getting on with my life.”

     “Ben, I’m sad to say, Randall was driving the car when it hit the center divide. He died at the scene. You survived. And the MMDS you’re referring to is the Monterey Medical Doctors Sanatorium—your home for the past two years.”

     “This is all so confusing.”

     “I know, but things will become clearer now that you’ve come out of the coma. All that is important is that I love you and we can get on with our lives.”

Copyright © 2015 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.