Troubling Dreams

I wish he would just go away.

I dreamed of him all night. I dreamed he brought me to his home, and I crawled into his bed to pass out after a harrowing night in the weather. Funny, though. It was like I didn’t realize where I was or whose bed I was in. When I came to, I could overhear him talking with Rachel* in the living room. I tried eavesdropping, but the television was too loud to make out most of it. I could tell Rachel was asking about his girlfriend, drilling for information as she always does. I heard him say something about her going out to put a final end to things with some guy. That was all I could make out. Then Miranda* was in the room with me while I tried getting myself together. Rachel and the SoHB joined us while I made up the bed. I silently stewed. Having him near made me angry. There was so much I wanted to say, but I couldn’t imagine any of it having the effect on him I wanted. So, I communicated my anger through my rigid features and terse silence. Then, I woke up.

It was a good time to wake up, I thought. Still morning, not too late, but the dream had me so unsettled I didn’t get out of bed. Next thing I know, I’m dreaming again.

This time I’m out with Rachel. We’re in an unfamiliar town looking for a place to hang out. The Flirt joins us, but when he does, so does the SoHB. Again, I try to keep my mouth shut. We move from one bar to another, trying to find a comfortable atmosphere. Nothing is just right. And all along, I’m waiting. Waiting to get settled in one place where the conversation will flow … waiting for him to slip up so I can release my pent up rage. Then, I woke up.

I let the dog out before getting into the shower. I contemplate the dreams while soaking my hair. I remember stories about people dreaming of a particular person, later learning that something terrible had occurred to the object of their dreams. I wonder if his drinking might have caught up with him. Could he have gotten himself killed in a drunk driving accident? If that happened, what would I do?

I imagine myself wanting to attend his wake. First, I try finding out when his girlfriend won’t be there. Then, I realize how silly that is. She would probably be there the whole time. Besides, I would definitely want to attend the funeral, where there would be no avoiding her. I imagine myself walking through the parlor doors. His sister rushes to greet me, and we offer each other sympathy. I make an effort to not look at his girlfriend. His sister asks if I want to go by the casket, and walks with me, her arm encircling my waist. I look down at him, but it’s as though he’s a stranger. I want to cry over him, but there are no tears. Besides, he left me long, long ago. I can feel the resentful stare of his girlfriend. I probably shouldn’t be there, but how could I stay away? I loved him with all my heart. I imagine being overcome during the funeral service, when the finality of it always strikes. I run from the back row and out of the chapel. I imagine our friends stand with me at the graveside, offering comfort to me instead of her. I sense her resentment. I feel it is because of insecurity over her importance in his life. I sense it, but I don’t care. Through it all, I never speak to her. After the funeral, I offer her simply a wish that we could have been friends. If things had been handled fairly … if he had been fair with both of us, we might have been friends. I offer her no explanation. I don’t speak ill of him, but I don’t avoid the truth, either.

I make myself stop thinking about it. How foolish! Nothing has happened to him. I couldn’t be so lucky.

I finish my shower and let the dog back in. I manage to avoid thinking about him while fixing my face. Once finished, I move to the living room and sit on the couch. Then, I realize how badly I need to cry, and so I do. I cry over how much I still love him, and how helplessly I still want to show it. I guess that is the seat of my anger. I love him, which should be a wonderful, positive feeling for someone, but he tied my hands at being able to express it just when I was ready to do so. Is this constant rage that I feel a result of pent up hate or of pent up love? I resent having to keep my distance. I resent having offered something so beautiful only to be rejected out of hand as though it were nothing. I resent not being given a chance, despite the strong feelings he had for me. And I know things have changed. I know life is different for us both now, most especially for him in that aspect of his life where I once belonged. I still think of him and wonder what could have been, but his thoughts of love are centered on another person entirely. There‘s no room for me. The resilience of my feelings for him convince me to hope for his silent devotion, but my own feelings cannot be regarded as evidence of his. I initially hoped that pangs of conscience would cause him to regret dismissing me for superficial reasons. I then hoped that a misunderstanding had caused him to act contrary to his feelings, and all could be set right again. Now, I find myself hoping that the effects of time have disillusioned him with his relationship, and he may long for the comradery we once shared.

In my mind, I know it is hopeless. He does not wish for me in the least, for if he did, he would be here. But my heart clings to hope, no matter how small or irrational. I can’t convince it otherwise.

* = Names have been changed to protect those whom I like.