My nights were filled with a healthy Kate and my Pretty Boy. Both of whom I loved more than I knew how to say. I couldn’t sit by and watch Kate die, but I stayed with her anyway. My heart breaking each day that passed. There was resentment in my heart, but so much love.
Before too long Kate was in the hospital — a place I couldn’t visit easily for fear that Kate’s children would find out about me. Kate understood why I didn’t visit. I called her; we chatted for hours, but it wasn’t the same. Her voice was weak, and she was tired all the time. But in the dreams she was lovely — healthy, and we had a great time. It wasn’t all about sex, but it was a lot of it.
I took Kate to Paris and London. We visited the Sydney Opera house, Big Ben, and so many other places she wanted to see again.
I spent my days and nights in my dreams when Kate slipped into a coma. I knew before the doctors called me to tell Katie had passed in the night. I was with her. I held her as she faded into nothingness. Her light left the world and took a piece of my heart with her.
My son was born. Katie’s daughter spirted him away before I could see him. But why would she let me see my son, when she didn’t even know I existed?
New York was hell. I packed up my things and left the same night Katie passed. I drove until I couldn’t drive again. I had nowhere to go, and when I fell asleep in a hotel room, I expected to drift in nothingness like I felt all day.
But the nothingness wasn’t empty. A lone figure stood standing next to my Pretty Boy’s sleeping orb. He called to me and I didn’t go. I didn’t want to be with him.
“Hey, son.” The man said staring into Pretty Boy’s dreams. “He’s so young.”
I laughed, “He’s got issues. He’s a few years younger than me. He always starts like that, since I’ve known him.”
The man turned to look at me, his eyes pierced my soul. “Dad?” I croaked out. How?
“Dream Walker.” he said, simply answering my unasked question.
I nodded like I understood. “I knew there would be a time when you would need me. So I cast a dream to find you when you did.”
“How?” I asked.
He smiled, “I’ll tell you. But you have to find my journal first. It’s all in there. Things I learned about myself, about being a dream walker.”
“Where is it?” I asked. I knew dreams could be real. I wasn’t asleep completely, I knew that. I had expected to sleep, not dream, but here I was dreaming.
“Do you remember where your mom took you? The old man Solomon who taught you how to dream?”
“Good.” He smiled. “Underneath the stack of wood outside his house, I dug a whole, wrapped the journal in an old raincoat and buried it Only Solomon knew it was there. He’d have left it. He told me to pass on my knowledge to my son. I knew I’d never make it to see you born.”
“How did you know you would die?” I asked.
“It’s part of my line’s curse. I hate you are born of it. Live a good life, son.” And with that, my dad faded from my dream.
What the fuck!
I woke groggy from no sleep, but more out of confusion than anything. How could my father talk to me from beyond the grave? What curse? At least I had a destination now — Ward, Colorado, here I come.