The Last Handful of Clover - Book 2: Gifts Both Light and Dark

2.08 Keith's Journal - Nightmares

June 9, 2:43 am

Jesus Fucking Christ...

It's not even 3:00 in the goddamn morning, and I'm writing again.

For the second night in a row, my dreams have been super intense and strange, and I know that they're trying to tell me something important! I just wish they'd stop fucking around and get to the point already.

This one woke me out of a really deep sleep, and I want to get it written down before I lose it.

The first thing I remember from the dream is that I was back in high school, and I was hanging out with some friends. It wasn't Michelle or any of the other kids I hung out with back then, but it felt like perhaps I'd known these friends for years. Like maybe they were some of my old theater crowd, although I didn't recognize any of them. But the odd thing was, they were all still young, while I was older. I was at least as old as I am now, but maybe even older than that.

In the dream I knew Richard was dead, but I couldn't remember how he'd died. In the weird logic of the dream world, it felt like it was something that had happened long ago, and that somehow I'd pushed it out of my mind because it was too painful to recall. Richard felt like a distant memory, or perhaps even just a character from a book I once read.

My friends were on the stage of our old high school in Heber. There were two boys, and a girl, and they sat together on a tattered couch. The stage was set for some play that I didn't recognize, but at the back of the set was a shattered window, covered with plywood. I was trying to recall what play we were doing when I heard my friends talking.

"He was such a dick to me," the girl with golden hair said, laughing.

At first I thought maybe they were talking about me, but then I realized these actually weren't my friends. They were Richard's friends, and they were talking about him! They knew he was dead, but they were trash-talking him, anyway. It quickly made my blood boil.

"It wasn't just you," said the skinny, geeky boy. He looked like he should be competing at the state science fair. There was white tape holding his glasses together on the bridge of his nose. "Richard was a jerk to everybody. Me too."

I wanted to speak up, but I was too shocked and too angry to say anything.

"He wasn't a jerk. At least, not to me," the other boy said. I looked at him and saw that he was strong and muscled, looking a lot like a football player. He wouldn't have been the high school quarterback, but definitely a tackle, or a blocker. He looked like a guy who could plow through the opposing team like a knife through butter. The kind of young jock that would always turn Richard's head.

"He was always really friendly to me," the boy said.

"Of course he was," laughed the girl. "He probably thought you were hot. He probably wanted to fuck you under the bleachers!"

"He wanted to fuck all the boys," the skinny kid said, and they all broke into laughter. "He was such a perv!"

I stood up, furious, memories of my life with Richard finally flooding back.

"Have some respect!" I yelled at the kids. "The man is dead! He was my partner, and he loved me, and now he's dead!"

The three looked at each other, as if I was insane. Then the girl smiled and stood up to playfully pat me on the shoulder.

"Richard isn't dead, you silly willy!" she said.

I just stared at her. She was wearing a frilly dress, like some old school pioneer girl. Was that the play we were in? Were we doing Little House on the Prairie?