I opened my eyes, to find Sheldon standing by my bed in the moonlight.  He was smirking his odd Data smirk (if Data from Star-Trek could smirk that is).

He spoke to me, “Now Avi, isn’t that much more satisfying?fantasy-519274_1280

I replied rather forcefully, “No, NO it isn’t. Not in the least! Get away from me!”

At that point, I really opened my eyes, bathed in sweat, my heart racing from my odd dream.

I could only remember bits and pieces of it, but obviously, I had been watching, too much Big Bang Theory.

It seems Sheldon was showing me some bizarre technique he had discovered, allowing one to have sex without actually touching your partner.

Frankly, I’m glad I could only remember bits and pieces of the dream.

Sheldon has always fascinated me. All his crazy detailed rules, that actually make an odd sort of sense.

but his odd reluctance to have physical contact with his woman has always puzzled me. There’s just something not quite  right about that boy!

I love women. Everything about them. Their smells, walks, shapes, skin…just everything. So I just don’t get that Sheldon! Seriously, if I am going to have dreams like this, I’m going to have to take a break for awhile.

I got up and went to the window. There was a full moon and a gentle breeze blowing the curtains gently inwards.

city-362298_1920As I gazed out over Tel-Aviv, my mind churned over recent events. My son Samuel has been asking questions lately.  I really must figure out how to answer him. He is of an age to start school this year and the other children are making fun of him because he has no mother.

How to explain to a five year old why he has no mother like the other children. Why indeed? It has never been an issue before. My sister immigrated here to help me raise Samuel and that is all he has ever known. It has been oh so normal.

Now though, he is made to feel as if he doesn’t fit in. Like he’s an outsider.

I know all about feeling the outsider. Little Jewish boy with red hair, living in Chicago. The only Jewish boy, or girl for that matter, who had red hair. Oy! the things that the other children would say to me!red-hair-946746_640

My mother would sit me on her ample lap and dry my little boy tears and regale  me with stories about King David who was also red-headed. How he felled the giant with a stone and went on to be a great king of our people.  She said the other children were just jealous.  None of them could claim even the remotest link to our great King.

So I know what my son is feeling.  But how to explain his mother died giving birth to him, without making his feelings of outcast worse?  Without instilling unwanted and undeserved guilt upon him?

Oh how I wish my wise mother were here instead of Chicago!  She would know the exact thing to say. But my father’s health prevents it.father-992908_1280

She always told me my red hair meant I had a special purpose awaiting me. Like King David.

Actually, it was my red hair that made me so attractive to Mossad.  My knowledge of Hebrew, Aramaic, Farsi and a couple of other languages, the fact I’m American AND redheaded, helps me, as an agent, to remain undetected. I just ‘play’ myself.

I mingle where I am needed to mingle, and play the American tourist. None have ever suspected I can understand everything being said.

My role is information gathering and writing reports on what I observe and hear.  King Saul Boulevard decides what to do with it.  In other words, I am that rare field agent who doesn’t get his hands dirty.  My cover has never been blown.

But back to Samuel.  What to say? I have toyed with the idea of taking him sailing on the Sea of Galilee–just us boys. Beyond that, I’m clueless.child-355176_1280

“Oh Y’shua”, I began to cry out. Then abruptly stifled myself. If Mossad or Rabbi ever found out I now believe in Messiah, I would be reviled, spit on, kicked out of Mossad and maybe even kicked out of my beloved Israel!  I would lose my family, as they would sit shiva for me. I would be dead to them. I would really be an outsider then!  I have to carry this secret and it’s tearing me apart at times. But at least, if it were made known, I would get my wish to retire in one piece, ahhhhhh! Just one more pressing issue I must deal with soon, soon, soon……

And then, with the touch of Samuel’s hand on my face, I really, really did open my eyes.  All of my problems, yet none of my problems, dealt with, in my sleep.

Lydia Wiley was born and raised in the Appalachian area. These days, she is having fun learning, and hopes to never stop that process.