Heaven's Gate

                                                 Heaven’s Gate

I’ve been dreaming a lot lately. They’re not ordinary dreams. They’re dreams about the one that I love. When I wake up, there isn’t even that moment where I almost forget he’s gone. Even before I wake up, I know he’s dead.

It’s a simple dream. No embellishments. No wandering clocks or white clouds. There isn’t even a gate. The only thing I can see is a dark road and the unkempt grass and trees. I can only feel the ground beneath my feet. I don’t even have a second to react to the loud roar behind me. There’s not even a moment where I can cock my head to look behind me. All I see is the pavement run up to catch me.

Or, rather, catch Roy.

Then I wake up shaking. My back aches as if I’d been hit by a truck. And that’s how Roy died. I’ve never been hit by a truck, but I’m guessing this is how it feels to be pummeled by a two-ton steel death monger at eighty miles an hour. I’m speculating, but I’m guessing this is how it feels.

It hurts.

I never dreamt of Roy before. Not even when we were loving and sweet. I never have those dreams were he appears opaque in the clouds reaching down to me. I imagine if he did, he would take my hand, float down, and kiss me. He might even tell me I should move on and everything will be fine. I’ve never had dreams like that. Sometimes, I’ll remember how it felt to hold his hand. It was so warm and soft.

But I’m never sleeping when that happens. I’m awake and it’ll feel like he’s right next to me, holding my hand tightly. For that moment, I can almost believe he’s alive. And, like a tragic love story, I become weak, look behind me and then he disappears into the earth.

And during those moments, I actually cry. I didn’t cry at his funeral. I never went. I was too far away. By the time I got back, he was gone. He wasn’t even deep, deep down in the ground. No, he was on the wind. And I couldn’t touch him to see if he was really gone. I couldn’t see him and say goodbye. I couldn’t hold his hand and say that I was sorry. No, none of that. I couldn’t even hold his hand to see if he was dead. I didn’t have the chance to recoil from his hard flesh.

I couldn’t test to see if he were dead. I didn’t even have the chance to hold onto the delusion that he would jump out of his coffin, swing his legs over and land down with a gymnast’s precision. I don’t have that luxury and I never will.

That’s why this dream scares me so much. I’m walking, like he was walking, down the old road we used to go. I can feel the cool shade on my shoulders and my hair flit in the breeze that made the green frill whisper. It’s hauntingly beautiful. I have looked at the road. I look down it every morning, but I haven’t walked down it in more than three years.

But the sun is so warm. It’s his sun. A gentle, thoughtful warmth that reminds me too much of him. The pavement in cool under my feet and I’m carrying my shoes in my right hand. Only Roy did that. I would reach out to him with my grubby left paw because I’d want to hold his right hand. Even if he was carrying something, I’d always reach out with my left to take his right. And he’d always switch hands, because the truth was was that he’d only want to hold my left, because that’s the hand I carried my shoes with. We never seemed to make it work; we didn’t mind.

The same song plays from the alarm he bought me five years ago. It still plays every morning his favorite song: Green sleeves. Every morning, that’s how I settle down. It helps because for an hour I can’t breath. I can’t relax. Then this song plays. It reminds me that he’s dead. Dead and gone and I’ll never see him again. It reminds me that I’ll never get to ask him if it hurt to die like that. All alone. Bruised and crushed and broken like old hamburger meat on a hot afternoon left in the dirt.

They ran him over. They never even stopped to look at him. The dried trail of blood never stopped or swerved. It clung to the side of the road and faded away. It was so careless. So thoughtless. He deserved better than that.

I wake up and walk to the bathroom. I don’t bother looking at the other side of the bed. He’s gone. It won’t be disturbed. There won’t be blankets to fix. There won’t be pillows to arrange. There’s nothing there because he’s dead. He’s dead and the dead don’t wake up. The dead can’t throw back the sheets and grumble.

I make my way to the sink in the dark. I feel around for the facet and I throw the water on my face and find the soap. I wash my face and brush my teeth. I can’t turn on the light. His side is right in the reflection in the mirror. He wouldn’t be there. And to admit that to myself would be too sad to bear.

I make my way to the bed. I sit down and the sun begins to rise. Green sleeves is still playing. The sun shines on my clothes hanging from the wardrobe and I swallow hard. Where there would be a cool shadow on my back is only the harsh burn of reality. I look behind me. The blinds are drawn and no one is there.

I stand up, meander to the blinds, and thrust them open. I wince and turn my back to the bright light. I go to my wardrobe and scratch my bare stomach. I hook my bra over my breasts and slip into a pair on cotton underwear. The rest is compulsory.

I make my way down the street and buy one kiwi, a pound of blueberries, and one apple. The man, Mr. Vinicci, gives me two kiwis, two pounds of blueberries, and two apples. He looks at me and apologizes in his thick accent. He forgets that Roy is gone and so do I. Every morning I almost give him double what I need to. We both stop, stiffen, and correct ourselves. Nothing needs to be said.

I go to work. It’s a meaningless, compulsory job. Sweep, sweep, sweep, mop, mop, mop, wax, wax, wax. I leave for lunch because I can’t stand the squawk, squawk, squawking of those stupid, selfish little girls and the click, click, click of their plastic nails and gaudy shoes on the once-clean floors.

The outside is nice. It’s quiet. I don’t have to listen to any of them and their grating voices and shrill laughs. I sit by the fountain. It’s sweet. The fish swim in circles and I see a patch of sandy hair behind me.

I turn quickly and I bite my lip. There isn’t anyone there. I close my eyes and I swear I can feel soft fingers press into the flesh of my arms. I can feel his breath on my neck. And if I can keep my eyes closed long enough: he kisses my cheek.

My eyes open and the tickle leaves the nape of my neck. He’s gone. I take a deep breath. He’s gone. I look up at the clouds and hold back the tears. I remember. Roy’s dead.

I throw my lunch away. I just can’t do it today. It’s too hard. I don’t want this. This is too sad. A life with him is no life at all. No amount of pride or vanity can change that. With me, he was complete. With him, I was whole. Together, together we were happy. I love him. I love him and each day without him is harder than the last.

I walk off to the old part of town than fades into tall grass and wild wheat. I look at the beginning of the road we used to go. I swallow hard and take off my old tennis shoes. I left my job as a secretary three years ago. I couldn’t stand the clack of the keys or the feel of my boss’ hands on my shoulders. It’s only me now, so I transferred to something less social. With mopping comes the luxury of tennis shoes.

I hold them in my right hand and I toss them aside. They’re old anyway. I coil my toes and feel the loose bits of gravel on the soles of my feet. I take the first step. It’s easy. I smile and throw down my jacket. I don’t know why, but I don’t think it’s useful anymore. I feel something hold my left hand. I don’t look. I can’t look. I squeeze tighter and it’s so solid. I don’t even bother to dry my aching eyes.

He squeezes tighter and I cry. He’s alive. He was here all this time waiting for me. I look over and there he is. His hair is clean and his face doesn’t look like hamburger. No one is there to keep me from seeing him. No well-meaning townfolk can tell me it’s better if I don’t see him.

He smiles and all of his teeth are there. He scratches him nose and he grins. He whispers something I can’t hear. I don’t care. He’s alive! He’s alive! It was all a lie! A terrible, terrible dream.

I reach out to him. ‘…love you’, he says. I fall into the embrace and for one second he catches me and I feel his chest. I fell. I fell through him. I look up at him and he cries. Our hands go through each other’s but I stand on my own. He fades away.

I’m alone. All alone. Roy is gone. He’s gone.

All I can hear is the breeze in my ears when hands push me down. I spin on my hip and I see a bright red truck pass through Roy. He stays there and looks down at me. I stand and dust myself off. The truck keeps on going. Roy and I smile.

He stands ahead of me. “I’m sorry,” I say, “I never got to see you off.” Roy nods and takes my hand, “I know…” He closed his eyes and disappears whispering. I smile and rub my cheeks clean. Maybe now I can keep on going. Maybe I can move to a new town and find a new job and just maybe I can carry on. Even if the ache never leaves and I never love someone else I can keep holding on. Because one day, I’ll be with Roy.

I silently pray. I want to go to the same place as him. I want to got to heaven with him. Not being able to feel him is hell and I want to be with him. As long as Roy is there, that place must be heaven.

I turn around. I have to get my jacket. I need my shoes too. I turn my back on the red truck and I begin to walk up the road. Roy is ahead of me. He’s shaking his head. He’s running towards me as fast as he can. All I can hear is a load roar and I know it’s too late to run.

I kept looking ahead of me. And I whimpered when he caught me. I didn’t even notice the sting at my back when I tumbled forward. I cried because this time I didn’t fall through his chest. And I thought, I thought, this must be heaven.