The Dead Boy Who Lives in my Dreams

 He came floating down on a cloud to meet me below. I couldn’t believe that this beautiful human being was in front of me again. There was a soft white light surrounding his body. Everything about him seemed lighter than what I was used to. No longer was his skin a soft shade of brown but a pale white. His hair, his eyes, his demeanor, everything, seemed so foreign to me, but the sky behind him reassured me that he was the same as always. It was lit up with soft yellows and oranges, the same colors of the many sunsets we used to watch on his roof together. I immediately thought of all the pictures of Heaven that people try to paint. I wondered if this cliched world around me was what Heaven looked like.

            “Hi”, he says. Just hearing his voice overwhelmed me enough to leave me completely speechless. My heart is in my throat and I hope to god I don't say something stupid or start stumbling over my words. He probes me more.

            “Say something.”

But, I had absolutely nothing to say. Most people claim that if they see someone they had lost, they would have a list of things they would like to say, but with me, that wasn’t the case. Instead of speaking, I cry, but one can say that my tears spoke a thousand words to him. He steps forward and hugs me, telling me that he doesn’t want me to cry anymore, that he doesn’t like seeing me cry. Then I speak to him for the first time in a week.

            “Why can’t I come with you?”

My words hang in the air for a few minutes. He looks down at his feet frowning, thinking of what an appropriate response would be to the girl you left behind.

            “Because it’s not your time yet.”

I look back at him and he is floating away, leaving me tangled up in my emotions. I chase after him, screaming for him to come back to me, begging him to not leave me like this again, but nothing I could say or do would bring him back to me. I fall to my feet and the realization that he is really gone hits me so hard that I begin gasping for air. I am about to scream his name when I feel my phone vibrating.

 I opened my eyes and turned my alarm off, realizing that everything that had just happened only existed in a dream. It was almost too much to handle. I wanted, no needed, to go back to sleep. I closed my eyes and told myself that I could not open my eyes. I would make myself go to sleep, even if it took me a few more hours. I popped in my headphones, hoping Band of Horses would lull me back to sleep, but nothing could quiet my mind. I opened my eyes realizing that, once again, Danny was really gone and all the emotions and feelings I had been able to suppress came flooding back to me.

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Danny and I had what many people would a ‘whirlwind romance’. When we met, I was instantly drawn to him, not necessarily because of his looks, but because he had a smile that was bigger than anything I had ever seen, yet as I would learn, that smile was hiding an immense amount of hurt and disappointment that he was trying so desperately to hide. From that moment on, I was completely caught up in him. I wanted to know everything about him. I wanted to know about his happiness, his struggles, and his sufferings. I wanted to touch his scars and let him know that it’s okay to be flawed. I didn’t just want to be with him. Being with him was not enough. I wanted to be a part of him. I wanted to breathe him in and wrap myself so closely around his heart.

Day by day, I witness us becoming one person, divulging our secrets and opening up about our pasts. The most important thing that I discovered about Danny was that he was the product of a broken home His father was the definition of a dead-beat. He had never been around much when Danny was younger, choosing beer and cocaine over his own children, but as he got older, his father started coming around, claiming he wanted to “build a relationship” with Danny. His father would say,

            “Son, come meet me at the mall so we can see a movie together.”

 But, they wouldn’t see a movie. Everyone knew the real reason he father wanted him there. He was an abusive man, especially when he was drunk and his mother was too weak and scared to offer him any protection. For years, she allowed his father to come around and whisk Danny away to unknown places, leaving no hint at where they were. Weeks would go by with no word, of where they were. Eventually Danny would find his way home, stumbling through the door, screaming that he was fine even though the bruises all over his body said something completely different. Eventually, his brother Jake invited him to come live in his small apartment. It wasn’t much but Jake could offer him the protection he needed against his father. I believed that he would be safe from his father with his brother there, but that was far from true.

Sunday, October 7^th, Danny and his best friend Jasper decided to go skateboard outside Jake’s apartment. I was at home, falling asleep, when I got a text message from who I thought was Danny. The text message read, “Danny just…” and that was all it took to completely knock the air out of me. I quickly learned that Danny’s father had shown up and stabbed him 3 times. By the time I found out, the ambulance was there, ready to scoop him up and take him to the hospital where I was sure they would heal him. I kept telling myself that Danny was strong, that he could survive this.

I told myself every single day he was in that hospital that he was going to live, but I ended up in this endless cycle of being hopeful to hopeless to hopeful to hopeless and on and on and on. I would wake up, telling myself that today would be the day the doctors would allow us into his room. Five days would pass before anyone learned of what shape he was in. Five days would pass and so would he.

The day Danny died, I was particularly hopeful and I’m not exactly sure why. It was a Wednesday and I woke up to rain hitting my window. When I got to school, I was suddenly reminded that this Wednesday people were wearing purple to honor those who had committed suicide because of bullying. As I was driving home from school that afternoon, his older brother Jake told me he was gone. At first it didn’t resonate with me. I, for some reason, thought that Jake meant that he was on so many different drugs that he was not like himself. It was only when he explicitly said, “he’s dead”, that I finally reacted. I was angry and heartbroken. I cried and completely lost all control for my actions.

 When my mom came home, I met her at the door and collapsed in her arms. I told her in between sobs that Danny had died. At first, I could tell that she wasn't sure how to tackle this situation, but she did the typical mom act. She held me while I cried and rubbed my back, while saying she was sorry over and over and over again, but there was no way my mom could understand anything I was feeling. Her and my dad were high school sweethearts. She had no idea what it felt like to lose someone you love, not to another person, but to God. She somehow convinced me that going into work that night would be a good idea, but I couldn’t get my mind off the fact that Danny was dead.

I walked into work to my always chipper manager Melissa. All she had to do was ask me how I was doing and the tears started flowing, but I bit my tongue to make them stop. During the five hours I was on the floor, I almost broke down in tears at the thought of him. It’s not possible to pretend to be happy in front of customers, to pretend like you give a fuck about how their day went when your heart is breaking and your mind is racing at a mile a minute. There were only so many smiles I could fake until I just gave into my emotions. I took numerous bathroom breaks to compose myself, looking in the mirror wondering how I would get through this night and the rest of my life. Each time I would think I was pulled together enough to go out into the store, I would become so completely overwhelmed all over again.

For days, I crawled into myself, letting my emotions take complete control over the way I lived my life. I wasn’t hungry anymore. I didn’t want to do anything anymore. I didn’t smile anymore. I was totally and completely numb. The only time I would let myself feel anything was when I could listen to music. I would go to my backyard and put my feet in the pool while listening to songs about loss that I had often listened to before, this time, every song I heard had taken on a completely new meaning. I didn’t just sing along, but I felt every single word they were saying.

Eventually, I mustered up the courage to move on with my life. I didn’t do it because it was what I wanted but because I knew it was what Danny wanted. I immersed myself in school and in the people who were still breathing, but I could never truly get my mind off of him. Each time my heart got too heavy to carry, I would write what I called ‘Letters to Danny.’ Over the time span of two and a half years, I wrote 14 letters and deposited them into this box that I keep in the darkest corner of my mind. I haven’t opened that box since the anniversary of his death. I just leave it there, collecting dust, making sure that the memories I have of his death stay hidden, making sure that the old memories I have of him do not make their way back into the forefront of my mind. Instead, every night when I go to sleep, I find myself wishing, hoping, praying, wanting to make new memories with the dead boy who lives in my dreams.