December 1985, a friend from grade school committed suicide. Two months later, February 1986, a friend from church committed suicide. In May, a classmate accidentally drowned while helping a family with their boat. Another friend from church crashed a motorcycle into a parked van in June. He was in critical condition for weeks. The final straw arrived in November 1986, a mentor and brilliant musician from church committed suicide.
The next thing I remember is February 1987. My boyfriend and I had a fun date planned. We stopped by for a quick lunch and the usual make out session before our adventure.
I remember eating lunch.
The next thing I remember we were in his room and to use baseball metaphor, Home plate was in sight. I froze. I couldn't move. I could barely breath. I whispered, "No."
The Home Run was made.
I experienced my Second Flashback. This time I was younger and the innocence exposed was different and more painful. Like the one my 18 year old body was experiencing. I felt the fabric of my mind shatter into a million pieces. I tried to move. No matter how much I willed it in my mind neither body in the flashback or in the real could move. When he was finished, we dressed and went on with our day.
Neither of us actually sure of what the other experienced. I know we have opposing memories of the day.
In the months that followed my sanity continued to slip away. I remember nothing of my second semester of college or most of that summer.
A confrontation transpired with The Parentals in Wonderland about my boyfriend. They spoke their judgment. I knew how I felt, what I thought was true. Their point of view and mine didn't exactly match, but I knew something was very wrong. The more I fought, the more my grip on reality slipped. I had to survive. I had to live. I would figure out what the truth might be at another time.
Travel well my friend, wherever you are.