This is for my Script of Dreams Collab:

I had a dream a few years ago. I think about it often. When I was a Junior in high school, a fellow friend and classmate by the name of Dave was killed when leaving the school’s parking lot. It was a rainy, mid-January day around 2 p.m. when Dave was leaving school. His truck was parked across the street from the school parking lot on a little, two lane country road.

As the hard rain fell, Dave ran across the road in front of the parking lot entrance as a visiting vehicle from another nearby school (to pick up a student at my school) hit him at a fast rate of speed. The impact catapulted Dave into the air and onto another student’s car coming out from the parking lot. The double impact killed Dave instantly.

I was already close to home when the accident happened, but majority of the school witnessed Dave’s death and the aftermath thereafter in the street. His girlfriend was in her car; she had just turned off the road, and if she had looked in her rear view mirror, she would have seen the entire accident happen.

I knew Dave since Kindergarten. He was the biggest football fan, and passionately loved the Raiders all throughout his life. He was always seen wearing his black Raiders jacket, always, not matter where or when. Dave had the blondest, platinum hair ever. Sometimes in the sun, it looked white, and his hair always complimented his baby blue eyes. I remember he was the class clown in elementary school. And in fourth grade, he was so jealous when a girl in our class (whom he really, really he liked), put Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” cassette cover in a heart shaped frame, and put it on her desk. There were numerous times when he took that framed photo out of spite, and raced across the playground with in hand during recess, tossing it through the air like a frisbee.

In Junior high, we didn’t have any classes together, but we made it a point to meet at my locker every now and then to exchange video game disks for our Commodore 64 computers. We were so into the Jack Nicolas Golf game, it was crazy, and we were so competitive about it.

In high school, still no classes together, but we would see each other in the hallways passing by, asking each other if we had seen or heard from fellow friends from childhood. In fact, that was one of the last times I saw him before he died. It was at the time, Dave was on the football team, and making a name for himself, and became very popular. Rumor had it that he was going to get a prestigious football scholarship when we graduated. But, in the end, the circumstances of his life took another route, a tragic route.

Because of the traumatic turmoil, and the stress from his death on his family, especially his mother, I decided not to attended his funeral. There were over 300 students attending, and I thought that one less body attending the service would help alleviate the stress. I also decided not to go because from what I had heard days before the service which was only confirmed thereafter; it was more of an attendance of questioned “popular priority.” “Did you know, Dave?” “Were you friends with him?” I wasn’t asked that personally, but I heard those were some of the stares that were being passed around the graveside service. It was so sad to learn this, as Dave was always a compassionate, caring, and accepting young man of anyone, no matter who they were.

A friend told me after the service, Dave was buried in his black Raiders jacket. I thought, how appropriate, and that he wouldn’t have asked for anything more or anything less.

It was almost ten years after his death, out of the blue, I had a dream. It was so real, so vivid, I remembering the colors; the sounds; being able to touch in the dream ...

In the dream, I’m sitting on a school bus, near the back. The bus is crowded with fellow students, which is kind of odd as we all had our own cars in high school. The bus is parked and students are talking really loud, creating chaotic noise. There is a line of students boarding and taking their seats. Then one of the students boards; I see a figure with an emanating glow around him. As he moves forward, I see it’s Dave, and he sees me.

He looked the same as when I last saw him before his death, and he was wearing his Raiders jacket. His blonde hair was illuminated with a gentle glow. As he stepped closer in the line, he gave me a slight grin. He knew I was so happy, and yet shocked to see him after the accident, and his death. He then stepped next to me, and looked down directly into my eyes. Even though he never said a word, he didn’t have to. It was all in his blue eyes. I remember gripping the seat in front of me, and I started to look around at the other students. I then yelled out, “Everybody! Hey! Listen! Listen up!

The bus then became silent, and so still. I looked at Dave and said to everyone,

“Listen, the man with the golden hair has something to say.”

I looked into his eyes, and then woke up instantly. I was immediately sad as I realized it was just a dream, but I also realized at the moment what Dave wanted to say. I knew then, right at that moment when I woke. His message to me was -- on that day, and moment, when he was killed in that heavy downpour of rain, he saw that oncoming car ... he saw the car and decided to take the risk, and outrun it as he raced across the street to his truck.

This message disturbed me, but years after having this dream, there is a reassurance in my heart to accept this from what was given to me, not only from the dream, but from Dave himself in that very dream.

Oh, great.

Somebody stole my bike.