I reached toward the red button and stopped just a fraction of an inch away. ?Perhaps not the red,? I thought. ?Perhaps the white first. Let's see what happens with the white. Press the white button. Go on, John, push the white button . . . now.? With great effort, I moved my finger to the white button. The entire scene appeared to be in slow motion. I was reminded of those TV movies where the hero is moving away from the scene of the crime. The faster he tries to move the more obstacles appear to block his way. My finger finally reached the white button and I pressed. It clicked easily, and I stood there, as if suspended, waiting for something to happen.



At first, nothing seemed to happen, and then, out of the moonlight, came a sound from the beach. It was as if someone were calling my name. To see a little better I leaned forward and noticed a figure in a white, flowing dress walking toward me. There was a familiarity in that walk ? long, graceful and purposeful. And then I heard Marla's voice again above the wind and the sea.

?John,? she said. ?You called. Here I am.?

By this time she had reached where I was standing and, with both arms extended, enveloped me in a big hug. ?Marla,? I exclaimed, ?I was becoming frightened by what was happening. I was starting to think that this was all make-believe and that I had no right to be here and I was not supposed to ??

?Hold it, John,? she interrupted. ?I know. That's precisely the reason I wanted you to have access to the white button on your control. I had a feeling you would need me.?

?I'm sorry,? I replied, somewhat dejected. ?I didn't mean to cause any trouble. It was just that . . . it was, well . . . .? ?No need for explanations,? she said. And then she added, ?It's a beautiful night. Let's walk down by the water. Or would you prefer to return to the restaurant now??

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