Funeral Summer

I stepped through the door. I found myself in the entryway of a house in the desert, as dusk fell at the end of a hot summer day. Behind me a voice spoke, saying "I'm sorry again that you had to wear that suit today. I know you would have rather worn the dress I bought you, but you know how my family is." His voice made me feel a little better, but the suit encasing my body still imprisoned me. I went into our bedroom and began to get out of the outfit forced upon me for the funeral. It was the first time in I don't even remember how long that I'd been outside of our house.

He walked into the room while I was changing. "Are you feeling any better, Terry?" He's always been supportive of me, and I love him dearly, but sometimes I can't help but feel like he secretly hates me and keeps me around only for his use. I looked at him and nodded; I didn't really feel like speaking. As I was about to put a t-shirt on, he put his hand on my back to stop me, and I knew what it was he wanted. I acquiesced and laid down on our bed; how could I not, I owed everything to him after he took me in when no one else would.

Sometimes on nights like this I'd think about my childhood friend, who was the first person to accept me for who I was. Whenever we were together, it was as if the rest of the world didn't exist. As if we were the only two people who had ever lived. Then before I knew it he was gone, and it was as if I was the only person who had ever existed. When I met my partner, I had been living alone in a tiny apartment, working a dead end job that hated me, and the feeling was mutual. He promised me a stable life where I would be free to be myself and have all of my needs met.

He was right, of course. I now have a happy home with someone I love. But, I sometimes can't help but wonder how things would be if the boy from my childhood was here with me, instead. Just the two of us against the world. I miss him; I know I shouldn't. I have a life I'm supposed to be happy with, I shouldn't be wasting my thoughts on someone who is no longer in it.

When we finished dancing between the sheets, he got up to turn out the lights, so we could put this melancholic day behind us. "Sleep well, my dearest Terry. Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day." And it was then I noticed, in the darkness outside our bedroom, a figure standing outside our window. It was him, my childhood friend, somehow still looking exactly as I remembered him: short stature, striped shirt, khaki shorts, dark hair. Except there was one thing different about him. His eyes were more piercing than I remembered, like those of a predatory creature searching the darkness for its prey. His mouth didn't move, yet I heard his voice so clearly in my head: 

"Come back to me."

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