yesterday • (sequel to "And I Love Her")

ten: in my dreams

She wore her beautiful white dress. Her straightened blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders. Her veil wrapped her in purity. Her smile would never leave.
Paul stared at the beautiful girl in all her glory. She radiated light throughout the room and even when the room turned to a tunnel of trees, she was still brighter than the sun.
Paul tried to move, and he couldn't. He longed for her soft skin and he couldn't reach it. He wanted to kiss her hair and he could reach it. He was moving toward her, but she was moving away just as quickly. She seemed to realize that he was trying to reach her and her smile did fade; she began to look worried, the same look she had when she told her ex that she would go with him. She reached her hand out, and Paul reached his own out as far as he could. They were inches apart, and they stopped moving.
When they stopped, Paul noticed that he was dressed in a suit, the ones he used to wear during his Beatle days. His beard was gone. His hair was short. He was young and alive again, standing in front of his young love. When he looked back up at her, she was in the shorts and T-shirt that she wore when she was killed. Except they were clean, just like they were when she went to bed that night. Her hair was up and no longer cascading down her back and shoulders.
Paul couldn't make sense of what was going on. He was trying to figure out why he was seeing her again. Then he realized that he was fighting between life on earth and life with her.
He was forced to make the most difficult decision of his life.
His arm still reached out to her and he still stared into her gorgeous blue eyes. He touched her fingertips and it got so bright he couldn't see her. She grasped his hand. He felt electricity run through his body and he was numb. She pulled him towards her, and he closed his eyes, waiting patiently for her embrace.
But it never came.
He no longer felt any electricity. He was floating in air, nothing touching him. Her hand was no longer in his. Instead, he felt that he was wearing pajama pants and a T-shirt. He was barefoot and his hair was a bit longer, like it was in 1965.
He looked ahead and Casady stood there in her clothes in which she was killed, and blood began to seep through her shirt. There was no sound save her breathing. A hole in her abdomen opened on its own; nothing provoked it.
She still stood there as if nothing happened, except she was crying silently, staring into his eyes.
Paul couldn't move. He couldn't propel himself through the air. But he felt weight in his left hand, and held it up to find a pistol; the pistol, with his finger around the trigger.
His body wouldn't even let him cry as he watched her bleed out, blood running down her stomach and legs and pooling at her feet. She still stood there, unmoving, waiting for something that Paul couldn't give. She waited for help, but there was nobody around. He couldn't help because he was holding the gun and couldn't drop it. His surroundings faded from black to the patio behind their house. The sky was clear, every star visible. The moon shone down on them.
He remembered that his daughter was upstairs then, but he couldn't move to go save her. He heard her cries and couldn't do anything about it.
"Paul," he heard his wife's voice say. It echoed. "Help us," she cried.
He still couldn't move, his eyes darting between her and the pistol. He couldn't drop it. His feet were stuck. The cries stopped and he knew that John was up there now. But Jonathan wasn't anywhere around them. It was him and Casady. Something was trying to tell him that Jonathan had nothing to do with Casady's death; it was all Paul's fault.
He thought back to the reality of that night. He didn't try to save her, even though he was told that she couldn't have been saved anyway. There was no hope, no matter what he did.
Suddenly the pistol was gone, but he was the same. He looked at Casady and saw that she was clean of red. There was no hole, no blood, no tears. She smiled again and opened her arms.
Paul's feet were unstuck and he moved to her. A figure that wasn't John came out with Haydan and put her in Casady's arms. Paul reached them and felt the utmost relief when he was welcomed to her embrace. She wasn't some special spirit now who produced her own actual light; she was a human being that he was simply visiting, that he could touch and talk to and hear. She was his wife, his love, and nothing more or less. She was here.
But then she started to fade. Her soft touch became softer and her breathing became less audible. Paul panicked, looking up at her eyes. Haydan was left cradled in his arms as Casady stepped away from him.
She became clothed in white streaks of silk and feathers developed into feathers from her shoulderblades.
"I love you, Paul," she whispered. "I'll see you soon."

~

Paul woke up with no abnormal feeling. He felt like he slept like normal, that he didn't have any weird dreams that made him flail in his sleep.
But something was slightly different from the other dreams he's had before; he remembered every detail of it and it wasn't blurry or distorted. He never remembered dreams but he remembered this one all too well.
He decided to go home; to the home he shared with her. He wanted to see it again.
Nothing had changed except the flowers; they had grown. It still looked like it did when he left a few years ago.
Inside, everything was in the same place. Abby had kept it up nicely, cleaning it every week. She hadn't moved anything, per Paul's request 6 years ago. He paid her to keep it up, and she delivered well.
Her clothes were all still there. Her pillow was how she left it. Her bag of makeup was still on the counter, half opened from the previous evening. Her hoodie was still hanging up on the frame of their bed. Everything was the same, and clean. That overjoyed Paul to no end.
He just walked around for a while, looking at things that were once in heavy use; the piano in the spare bedroom, their bed, Haydan's crib, the kitchen table, the couch, and even the front door, where they had begun most intimate acts after getting home at night. He was reliving his life, but once again became sad knowing he'd never live anything close to it ever again.
Sure, with Linda there were dances in the kitchen, movies on the couch, sex against the wall, songwriting at the table, and fun, hot showers together. But it was different because she was nothing like Casady, personality-wise. They looked the same, but that never mattered.
Paul cherished every moment he had with Linda, something he put in the back of his head when Casady was alive. He enjoyed the moment, but didn't always take it with him later. He only remembers most things they did just because they were so wonderful that he couldn't help but remember. He wasn't going to risk that this time in case something happened to Linda too.
But that wasn't important. He couldn't afford to think like that in a happy marriage and family. What was important now was that he had to learn to look at every good time and leave the bad ones behind. Then, he had to learn to look forward to the good things and let the bad things pass him up. Finally, he had to remember that every good thing in life had to be found and he isn't the only one looking for the same happiness. With 2 daughters and a lovely wife, he had plenty of good to look forward to.

Since Thanksgiving is this Friday, I thought I'd post on Fruesday :)