I persist

 

I remain involved in this living business, so here I am to document the fringes of my existence. I dreamed some disjointed snapshots which are already fading in the light, but here goes. I was in a car, discussing disability with someone, Lesa I imagine, an old flame from my high school years, with whom I've recently reconnected. More on this later.

Aaah! It's all pouring through my brain and not much is getting caught in the sieve. So, if it comes back, I'll bring it into my narrative, but for now, I guess I'll have to entertain you with the reality of my life's little details which, in themselves, seem dreamlike.

Lesa, was a girl with whom I shared some intimacy back in high school. Notice, I said intimacy, and not a more tawdry and explicit word. I am trying to be more deliberate and give the people in my life a more thoughtful description, rather than the immediately sensational glossy visual. 

Back in high school, though, I was a slut of ginormous proportions. No fancying that up. Lesa and I became involved during the height of my hormonally fueled social popularity. I met her through my friend and bandmate Ricky. She was his brother Danny's girlfriend. It became a bit messy, as we were all friends.

Our initial attraction was magnetic and I quickly fell prey to her hypnotic allure. She was a mixed race African European hybrid and she exuded sexuality. She had a sort of sixties voodoo child wild vibe but was also very demure, which made her that much more enticing. What was behind those come hither glances and coy smiles? 

The invitation was subtle and yet, to my pheromone enhanced perception, it was a neon sign that said "Open" and "Welcome, come on in!" So, I did. 

I made no secret of our attraction, then as now. It got me into trouble at the time, though, because Danny was the jealous type. I was not to be dissuaded, though, and continued to see her off and on, until the circumstances of my wayward teenage life made us drift apart.

Well, we've been messaging on Facebook recently like a couple of teenagers. We have become each other's long-distance guilty obsessions. Emojis and long, rambling declarations of feelings are flowing back and forth, and I'm in my usual over the top effusive form.  The difference is that she seems to be reciprocating my sentiments. I'm feeling enamored of this girl with whom I only share an internet relationship and a memory of a brief but intense physical relationship that happened over thirty years ago.

Ok, a small snapshot from my dream made itself pop up just now. I was walking along a path near the top of a very nicely manicured hillside estate. It appeared that a party or memorial of some kind was in full swing. I navigated around groups of people and made my way down to the town below. 

I passed through a coffee shop where I saw a young lady, a server. who was in tears. I presumed that it was related to the event going on up on the hill. I approached her, as she seemed in obvious need of a comforting hug.

"God bless the dream world," I thought in my dream as I drew up to her and held her close to comfort her. She responded favorably by kissing my cheek as she told me of the beloved person for whom the event was planned. I lingered in this embrace comfortably and drew my own rejuvenating solace from it, though it had nothing to do with the person everyone else was grieving. I was just taking advantage of the moment to feel some human warmth.

Somewhere nearby was a hotel room that I was checked into. Apparently, I was engaged in some criminal theft activities involving stolen computer hard drives. I would break into other rooms in the hotel and take apart peoples desktop computers, leaving a big mess of disassembled parts for the police to find. 

There was another individual with whom I was in cahoots. I'm not sure what the nature of our business was, just that I'd steal the drives and deliver them to this guy, and we were trying to evade the authorities, who seemed to be getting closer to catch up with us. I remember telling the guy about how the dots were all there for them to connect and that the jig was almost up.

I never did get caught, though. The last thing I remember was walking around the small town and finding the storefront of my criminal associate. It was a bookstore, quite antiquated and in seeming disuse. It had a closed sign when I walked by it during normal business hours. I wandered around the little mall that it shared with the coffee shop where I'd had my encounter with the grieving barista earlier. 

That's about it. Now, I'm awake and watching my Facebook messenger for the telltale little dots which indicate that Lesa is typing something. I am indeed getting severely addicted to these communiques, eagerly anticipating the little red notification with the Pavlovian "ding" sound stimulating me to arousal.

I don't feel guilty about my guilty pleasure, though. Just pleasure and a little wistful longing. Damn 500 mile distance. I'd jump in my car this minute and be in her arms by now if this were a dream.