You know how it is when a love relationship is new and the
two sit and dream of a future together. They map out what it is they aspire to
share, the places they will go, things they will do, children they will raise.
I had a second chance when I was 35 and met my ex. We had big dreams – he had
big dreams, and his dreams became my dreams -- I dared not dream my own.
We were going to go to the Deep South and open hearts,
expand minds, spread the love of racial harmonics across Mississippi. We would
teach the people who, he assured me, were truly good-hearted well-meaning but
brainwashed. We would show them their brown-skinned brothers were the same as
they. I had long fought this battle in West Virginia; I jumped on the bandwagon
wholeheartedly, happily, joyfully in fact.
One night I had a vision. Crystal clear. A middle-aged heavy
set bearded white man in work clothes raised a rifle to his shoulder and aimed
it at my ex (who at the time was a handsome, dark-haired thirty-year-old). The
man was livid, shaking with anger. He spat hateful words as he lifted the
weapon and prepared to fire. I stepped forward between my ex and the angry man
just as the gun discharged. There was no tender death scene, no sobbing lover
cradling me in his arms, no deathbed confession of eternal devotion. I simply
took a bullet for him, and I died.
I felt this premonition on a gut level. I knew without a
doubt this was prophesy.
We never moved to Mississippi. We did our share of
community service. I did take a bullet for him, just not a literal piece of
metal to the heart. Still, I died that he might live. I stepped between the
angry man and the good man, and let the angry man take his wrath out on me to
preserve the good man’s life. Although I meant well, it didn’t accomplish what
I’d hoped it would. The good man lost me; the angry man simply reloaded and
fired again; and I died to both myself and the good man I sought to save.
They say three works the charm. I am resurrected. I have my own dreams now.
Although I still have a massive capacity to give and receive love, I’ve taken
my last bullet. Of course, there’s more to this story than what is here – there
always is.
Stay tuned for the next exciting chapter, and perhaps the backstory
as well. ~~GH
Happy Easter.
~~in loving memory of David Oso, who would be 13 now, and is, in my heart.
Happy Easter.
~~in loving memory of David Oso, who would be 13 now, and is, in my heart.
