He stood at the foot of the bed, looking especially handsome with his shirt off, leaning in towards me, talking in a hushed tone of voice. I lay on the bed, waiting for him to finish undressing. I hadn’t seen him in years but it felt so right to be doing this again. We smiled at each other and kissed, me wrapping my arms around his neck, before there was a knock at the door. He got up, walking past the long wooden chest that sat against the wall. The size and shape reminded me of a casket. I looked out the second story window and down at the people milling about on the lawn below. Friends we’d partied with when we were younger were drinking and talking amongst a sea of unfamiliar faces.
The knocking became more intense and the door opened a crack. Someone was being very persistent, and trying to rattle and push the door open. “WAIT, I’m not ready yet!” shouted my friend, pushing back up against the door, but the guy on the other side wouldn’t let up. It was then that I realized he had a gun. The struggle continued with both men pushing against the door in opposite directions, then…
BANG!!!! I shot up in bed. My body was shaking, tears streaming down my cheeks. I hadn’t thought about him in years. It had been at least a decade since we’d seen each other and my life was so different. Why now? Why would I have a dream about HIM, of all people? Not that we’d ever had any kind of fight or argument, he just hadn’t so much as crossed my mind in ages.
My part- time minister husband was working his regular job that night and not at home. It was hard for me to fall back asleep in the dark. My mind was swimming with memories and questions. Had God awoken me with a dream like that for a reason? Was I supposed to pray for this guy, and the people I had known in the past? Maybe that was it. I buried my face in the pillow, trying to pray, trying to quell my racing heart and the feeling of fear that I couldn’t shake.
Two days later my sister called me. Had I heard about what happened? The guy in my dream had been killed two days before. Shot, at a party, and then beaten with the gun. All the people there had scattered, and left him to die alone. According to my calculations he would have been laying there, on the verge of death at the approximate time of my dream. It happened in a second story apartment. Chills ran through my body as his voice echoed in my ears “WAIT, I’m not ready yet!”
At the time of his death he was 28 years old. My mind flashed back to moments in the past. The time when I’d been sitting on the curb with him after his sister died. He was drunk and trying to call her on the cordless phone. It’s the only time I’d ever seen him break down and cry. He’d told me then that he knew he’d never live to be 30 and I kept telling him to stop saying that but he insisted it was true. He said he wanted to get out of the lifestyle he was living, the parties, the chaos and I asked him why he didn’t just ask everyone to leave now and he said he couldn’t do it.
Years before he’d said the same thing. We were lying in bed after having sex and I was imploring him to tell me what he wanted to do with his future. “Are you going to go to college?” I asked and he’d responded that there would be no point since he knew he’d never live to be 30. Unconvinced, I insisted that it didn’t have to be that way, that he shouldn’t give up and he relented and said he’d probably go to community college.
I wanted to attend his funeral but couldn’t. My ex-husband thought I should forgo all contact with the people of the past and that even thinking or talking about it was “glorifying Satan” and quite possibly tempting myself to return to my former sinful ways. Plus a wake was an evil Catholic concoction that was simply an excuse for drinking alcohol. I grieved in silence. My sister, who had only known him in passing, went with her then boyfriend and reported back to me. She kept me updated on the news the papers failed to report, the underground word on the street, the fact that he’d had large amounts of cocaine coursing through his veins and a recent drug deal under his belt at the time of his death.
I have to wonder what that dream really meant. Was he still alive when I dreamt it? Was he lying on the floor dying, his life flashing before his eyes and somehow I crossed his mind? Did he come to me for a reason, after his death? If so, why me? I’ve had many dreams that were eerily prophetic but that was one of the most vivid and real I have ever experienced.
What’s funny is that he and I were never what I’d really call “close”. We’d had sex on quite a few occasions, maybe a dozen times, but it was far from a “relationship”. More like fuck buddies and we were relatively emotionally distant from one another. Still I’d spent quite a bit of time around him and at his house, sleeping with other people and sometimes he was there with other girls too. Neither one of us cared or was jealous or bothered by it at all.
He was the quintessential “alpha male” of the pack. The guy everyone looked up to and respected as a leader. His house was the center for many of the wilder get-togethers and parties of my youth. He was also the biggest manwhore I have ever met! Upon his death he had at least 6 or 7 known children with different women, one of my sister’s friends was pregnant with his baby and another friend of mine had a teenage daughter that he never even knew belonged to him. I honestly think he had sex with at LEAST 2/3 of the females I knew in high school. LOL
I can trace many of my more debase sexual experiences back to him, though I hold no grudges. He was never mean and as someone described him in a newspaper after his death, was “always debonair with the ladies”. I even remember once walking into a room at his house, when it was full of people, and finding him sitting on the end of the bed, watching his 10 year old sister sleep. He said there was no way he was letting any of these guys near her and was determined to protect her. Unfortunately he was unable to protect her from her own untimely death at the age of 13, which was truly heartbreaking.
It’s funny how the people of the past and the experiences you have with them shape the person you are today. Every person I have had sex with, even the one night stands, hold some kind of meaning in my life. Granted there is at least one on my written list that I can’t remember who the hell he was for the life of me, but overall we become a compilation of those we’ve had sexual relations with. It defines how we ourselves become in bed.
The guy I mentioned above once asked me who was the best in bed out of all the guys I’d slept with (or more specifically out of the ones I’d slept with that he knew personally, aka “his boys”, lol). He begged me to be totally honest and tell the truth, so I did. Even though I knew he wanted me to say it was him I told him what I really thought, and that was someone else, his best friend. He took it well and didn’t get upset. Another friend of mine thought he was the best in bed ever, but I just didn’t. To me the sex was mediocre, yet there are a lot of things I never would have experienced had it not been for him.
I think the people in our pasts, like it or not, will always haunt us, whether it be for good or bad. Sure, we can rid ourselves of a lot of unwanted baggage but the skeletons are still there in the closet, the memories that hide within popping out on us in moments we never expected. One guy will do something that reminds me of someone else. We pick people that have mannerisms or sexual behaviors that are similar to those we enjoyed in the past. From that we develop a “type” and some of us are very true to that. There are things I expect from men that maybe other women don’t and kinks I’ve developed in bed that are carried over from other lovers. It’s interesting how it all works out.
I wonder sometimes if it isn’t easier for those who are virgins until they find “the one” and stay together forever because they haven’t had those ghosts to live up to. Yet at the same time I wouldn’t trade the experiences that I’ve had because then I would never have discovered so many turn-ons that I enjoy now. It takes awhile to really develop a knowledge for what YOU want sexually and that realization would be hard to come to without trial and error. In any case, I’m ever growing as a sexual being, even now and thoroughly enjoying the process, even when it involves Ghostbusting! lol 😉