I still dream about him, you know.  The fat bastard.

He wasn’t in the dream at first, though.  Just at the end.  The first thing I remember is going to the mall for some strange article of clothing.  Strange to me, I mean.  It was sort of a poncho or shawl, and I don’t wear those.  It was a nice one, though, and something convinced me to want it.  Try it out and wear it.  It was too expensive for me, though.  Ended up near a pool.  Don’t remember how or why.  I was playing computer games on my laptop.  I stopped playing one because of a typo, and somebody nearby said, “Someone’s taking this too seriously.”  Pfft, yeah right.  I started playing my favorite game instead.  But then it was time to go.  Time for the birthday party.

Yeah, a guy I knew from high school was having his birthday.  I knew the fat bastard would be there too, but I went anyway because the others were friends of mine.  Imagine.  So I went.  In the car on the ride over, I tried to sleep.  Dreaming about sleeping.  That’s me.  There was something involving a jello cup.  I ate one.  I had a second one, but someone was trying to steal it.  So I stole it back, but there was rice in it now.  Annoying.  Then we got there.

Didn’t see the bastard.  But there were people on the porch.  We talked and laughed, and then I had to go to the bathroom.  There were holes in the floor, for some reason, and I could see his fat ugly stupid shaven head below in the basement.  Kind of ruined my trip to the bathroom.  I’d have to leave in order to avoid him.  I hung around though, for the birthday boy.  I don’t think me and him were ever such good friends in real life.  No, never mind that.  We weren’t, plain and simple.  But in the dream, there he was in the back yard, tossing me beers, and I told him I’d given all that up.  It was nice and green back there, and here came another highschool “friend” carrying a snake in a way that were very dangerous to the animal.  Not that I actually know the right way to handle a snake, but I reproached him rather loudly, telling him to either put it down or hold it correctly.  But I guess that shows the impression those different guys left in me all these years later.

I left an impression in them, too.  Birthday boy told me not to set anything on fire if I wanted to do something special.  I told him I wouldn’t.  Since I stopped drinking I tended to have more money.  So I though maybe I could get food.  Anyway, we, the guests, started moving toward one of the rooms in the house and sitting down in chairs.  And there’s the fat bastard.  Of course he had to sit right next to me.  There was some kind of contest between him and one of the guys who drove me over.  And I watched them, and I realised I couldn’t have told my driver anything helpful about the fat bastard’s weaknesses.  After all the years I knew him, I hadn’t learned any.  Then he’s next to me again.  I refuse to engage with him.  And he said something about me refusing to apologize.  The lie just made me so angry.  I thought he wanted me to apologize to him after he tried to kill me.  He said he was just at the area today, and I interrupted his lie and told him I was there too so don’t bullshit me about it.  Everyone laughed, because they thought I said, “Don’t give me shit about it.”  Then there was something about “the other driver.”  Now I’ve figured it out.  He told everyone I ran into someone or something like that.  I demanded everyone tell me the story he’d told them.  I was going to expose him  Everyone would know what he did to me.  But that’s when I woke up.

I’ve woken up so many times afraid and shaking, clutching my pillow.  Today I just woke up very lonely.  Imagine still having friends, piece of mind, all the things that drinking took away.  But I never had those things to begin with, or I may not have begun drinking at all.  Everyone I knew from highschool was people to get wasted with.

Imagine beating him.  But he was always so much bigger and stronger.  It’s weird and sort of hopeless, but maybe I’m starting to recover from that particular trauma.  Maybe.  I’ve had dreams about kicking his ass, or calling the cops on him, or, best of all, both.  These are gratifying, but they are not healthy fantasies.  I don’t like to wish for other people to get hurt.  I wish I could just forget him and the role he played in my life.  I wish it had never happened.  I never want to see his face again for as long as I live, but I still see it in my dreams.

But he’s not the first person whose role in my life was to hurt me, and likely won’t be the last.  I have so many traumas to heal from concerning people in “real life” off the internet.  I wonder if I’ll ever be able to be friends with someone that I can see and touch and talk to.  But if I had to, I’d settle for seeing that bastard go to jail.

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One Response to

  1. I think lots of us know a person we feel that way about. I’m sorry your dreams want to expound upon it so.

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