This morning I awoke recalling a wonderful dream of an old friend Sara Burks, my brother's ex-girlfriend from Cal days. In the dream, we met at a scooter rally, and she beamed as she passed around her newly published monograph, which placed her among the – unbeknownst to me – many others in their crowd who were authors. (I've lost contact with her)
As dreams go, they never make any sense. My brother, sister, mom, and husband were also in the picture, playing all their usual roles – hubby had built a beautiful garden trellis, mom was admiring it, sister had something to do with food, and brother was frenetically digging up the crab grass with a shovel and mumbling to himself.
I always try to recall more of the dream, in this case the parts about the scooter rally. I enjoyed scooter rallies in my youth, and until recently, had a Vespa (now in my brother's scooter graveyard – another story). Out of nowhere, and very suddenly, came the memory of a horror! An old boyfriend – the one I blame for developing several of my personality flaws – had stolen a GS (the earliest Vespa model, now a collector's item) in San Francisco and transported it to his parents' house in Sonora…
It says something that I didn't leave him at that point. I had somehow become the worst incarnation of myself. He continued to commit unforgivable crimes – unmentionable acts – and yet I stayed, and suffered, and became an unwilling accessory by being an innocent, and victimized, bystander.
I shrink with disgust at the memory.
It's hard to imagine anything good about that relationship, now that all the bad bits have tainted the whole – even the beginning when it was innocent and true. He became such a monster, I was amazed every time I saw him. His mantra at the end was, "I'm not a bad person." He said it continually, as if to convince himself after every horrific deed. The very worst thing was, this went on for years. I wasted years (and my entire college career) fretting about this guy.
Anyway, I'm on to more and deeper thoughts and anxieties. It must be the Christmas season, bringing memories to the fore. I'm longing for some sort of closure and it's an itch I can't scratch. Just can't put my finger on it.