I had a dream about Shorty Saturday night. I dreamed that I was at a party and overheard someone talking about her being there. I ran frantically around the house, my mind racing a million miles an hour. I finally found her laying on a bed. I immediately confronted her. What the hell was happening? She said that her whole family had rigged the entire situation, that she'd fallen madly in love shortly after her divorce and needed to escape for a while to get herself together and start a new life with this guy.
I was dumbfounded. Visions from her funeral flashed through my mind, images of her family, devastated, crying, angry, her brother's eulogy. I demanded answers. Her whole family had made up the suicide story? The entire funeral was faked, even the open casket (which incidentally isn't that hard to believe since I've only looked in an open casket once, at Shorty, and no part of it looked real)? They'd even made up the suicide note. Didn't I wonder why there wasn't an obituary in the newspaper?
She looked so sheepish and guilty, yet happy and content at the same time. I was angry. But then I was glad she was alive, glad she was happy, an unusual emotion for her. I had to leave the room, take a minute to process this.
That's all I remember, and I didn't remember it until well into the day on Sunday. I don't know what reminded me of it, but I'm glad it came back. It's amazing how one tiny dream (they last like a couple of seconds, right?) can awaken feelings I've shelved for a while. Honestly I haven't thought of Shorty in some time, and the triggers that cause me to remember her come less and less.
If only she had faked the whole thing. There are so many things I want to tell her, to share with her. What's so strange is that we probably wouldn't even be friends now if she hadn't done this and life went on like normal. So weird to think about.