The Bus Stop pt. 2

Last month I turned forty-one. There is really nothing remarkable about me, despite whatever you have read in the papers. I’m average height and weight for a man who stands 5’9 ½, though I have to admit that I’ve noticed since turning forty that my waistline seems to keep expanding more and more each day. At the early age of twenty-six I began falling victim to the dreaded horseshoe balding pattern, so I decided on a whim to shave all my hair off. I’ve been bald ever since. I believe if you’re going to do something you should go balls to the wall, as my little league coach used to say. Nowadays, I have no real family to speak of. No kids. No wife. No girlfriend. In fact the last real meaningful relationship I had was with my old border collie Bozo who died two years ago at the ripe old age of thirteen. The only other thing of any real interest about me is that in a few short hours I’ll be dead.

To get you where we are, I think I’d better share where I’ve been. It all started with the man in white…the goddamn man in white. As early as elementary school I have had a recurring dream of the man in white. Who exactly is the man in white, and why did I ever start dreaming of him I don’t know. I will however share with you what I do know, and that involves five things that are an absolute certainty about the man in white:

Number One – He has haunted my dreams since I was eight years old.
Number Two – I have never seen his face.
Number Three – He has never spoken a word, nor made any sound at all.
Number Four – When I told my father about the dreams, he told me my imagination
was too big and proceeded to beat me with a power saw extension cord
for what seemed like forever. In reality, it was closer to fifteen
minutes. Throughout he repeated over and over the same five words
that I’ve never forgotten, “Do not ever come back!”
Number Five – I have never spoken another word about the man in white until this
moment.

The subject matter of the dream is of no importance to the man in white. He comes and goes throughout my dreams with the same frequency that the wind changes direction. Ever present and always lurking, I have on occasion tried to confront him when having particularly lucid dreams in which I am in control of myself in my dreams rather than simply watching events take place. Never once has a confrontation between me and the man in white been successful, as he is always just out of reach. Until recent events the man in white had become such a part of my life through his repeated visits to my dreams that I thought no more about him than a person thinks about breathing. Obviously, since last week I’ve done nothing but think of the man in white…the goddamn man in white.