The Boy from the Band

Uncertainty: 1979-1981

I haven't had that damn dream again, but it haunts me. For the most part, when we dream we are not aware that we are dreaming, but occasionally a dream will be so powerful that it feels more real than reality. That's the kind of dream that when you wake up, you are surprised to be where you are, the dreamscape seems more real than your actual life.

That's what that dream was like. I will swear that I was actually talking to him, I wasn't dreaming about talking to him. It was all too real and it has me spooked because I believe it was a portent, that something is coming that I can't stop.

I've never told Rick about my psychic "tendencies". Number one, because he probably wouldn't believe me anyway, and number two, he'd tease me about it relentlessly. I don't understand why; he's Ukrainian and that part of the world contains a lot of "old souls" and people who are psychic. He's superstitious but tries not to show it, but I've seen him make the sign against the evil eye when he thought I wasn't looking.

I get it from a distant Irish ancestress, I think it's genetic. I have it, my grandmother has it, and so do my sisters. One of my sisters is a full-fledged witch, but outside of asking her for a favor once in a while, I pretty much leave that stuff alone.

My lawsuit is progressing slowly, but it's progressing. The last time I talked to my lawyer he told me that I could expect something in the realm of six figures after his cut. That would be nice, I'll replace my car and pay off my bills then put the rest in the bank, taking out a little here and there for fun.

Rick has gone from incredulous to curious, he keeps asking me how much money I think I'll get. I tell him I don't have a number yet.

"Be patient," I tell him, "Remember, I have a good job and I'm not hurting financially." I'm not rich or close to it, but I can take care of myself.

I don't know if it's his ADHD or stress, but he seems agitated lately. He's just finalized his divorce from his first wife and though he seems relieved he's also distressed. After all, she's the mother of his two children and she was there for him when he was recovering from the accident that could have killed him.

Their marriage was brief but settling the divorce was complicated. He hasn't lived with her for years, but kids and shared experiences tie them together. Just like he's tied now to Elizabeth and tied, in a way, to me.

I am seeing less of him and want to know why, but when he shows up at my door he is sweet and affectionate and as horny as the day we first met. When we spend time together, he seems distant somehow. I want to ask what's wrong but he'd tell me it's nothing. And then I would tell him he's lying. He doesn't like to talk—typical male—but I can read him like a book and I know he's keeping something from me.

1979 passes into 1980 which passes into 1981 and one night he comes over late and barely gives me a chance to say hello before he drags me into the bedroom. He makes love to me like he's desperate, staring into my eyes but not saying anything. He's rough, he's tender, and when he finishes he rolls off me, laying a little ways away from me, not touching me.

"I'm moving back to New York."

The dream comes back in a flash and sweeps over me, it's there and gone in a heartbeat. I put my hand to my chest because my heart is beating so fast that I feel like I'm going to black out.

"Why do you want to leave California?" I ask, but I already know what he will say.

"This isn't a good place anymore. The people here have changed, there are way too many drugs, and it's not safe, especially for teenagers."

This is strange coming from him. He has a heroin habit, and he likes his coke and alcohol. By definition, his kids shouldn't be around him.

"You should leave too," he continues, "it's not safe for a woman who lives by herself. You got mugged once, remember?"