Day 127

Several weeks ago I had a bizarre dream in which I needed to get my room number from my former college roommate — Libby, who died twenty-three years ago. In the dream she was alive, and I was frantic trying to reach her by phone to find out the room number. She wouldn’t answer my call, but when I texted her, she responded with the room number 720. I immediately felt better — relieved — to know where I was going. Some of you seemed to think it indicated that something good might happen on 7/20. That I would have a change of fortune on this day. Others thought maybe not specifically July 20th, but maybe sometime in the month of July because that would also be 7/20. Regardless, all month I’ve been wondering, almost waiting, hoping that after the worst months of my life something good would happen. I’d finally get that email, an acceptance, a job, something to indicate all my hard work in life had paid off.

All day I periodically checked my email. Nothing, except another rejection letter (definitely not the change of fortune I was hoping for). No calls, no texts, nothing special or out of the ordinary. It turned out 7/20 was just going to be another day. Perhaps, it was just a dream and 720 was nothing more than a random number, not the secret message I had hoped it would be.

Then around 8:40, shortly after my taekwondo class, my phone rang. I thought it was my spouse, but when I picked up the phone I saw that it was my mother’s good friend, a woman who lives down the block from her in Queens. I thought it odd that she was calling me and not Mom, but I answered, “Hi, how are you?” She responded, “Not well, my son is dead.” I gasped. It was not at all the answer I expected. Her son was young, younger than me. I offered my condolences which always sound so forced and artificial when I speak them, as if I am reciting something I learned by rote years ago. Despite being a writer and being good with words most of the time, when I most need them, words fail me. Mom’s friend thanked me and then went on to say the paramedics thought it was a heart attack. But they don’t know definitively. They won’t know until they do an autopsy. She was still waiting for them to take away her son’s body. Still waiting for the buzz of police and EMT’s to leave. When I hung up I told Mom. She was shocked. She is still reeling. It’s late but she can’t sleep. A new death to process has her working on the white sky of the jigsaw puzzle that has stumped both her and my son.

Apparently, I can’t sleep either. I wasn’t going to write this evening, but what else can I do. Writing is how I process everything. I didn’t know K well, but I did know him. Often when I was visiting my parents and taking a walk I’d stop by and say hello. K was a smart guy. He loved to read and we would discuss the most random things: nature, mythology, literature. He was also an extremely talented artist. We have a few of his works up in our dining room. One year, when he found out how much my spouse liked turtles he sketched one for her. When he was younger he developed an interest in masks, cultural masks. Frequently when I traveled, I brought him back a mask from the far reaches of the globe. I know he appreciated them because one of the works on our wall is a compilation of the masks I had given him.

I though Dad was too young to die. K was even younger. Experiencing the death of my father has been crippling. I can’t even begin to imagine what mom’s friend is going through. How difficult this must be for her. How do you move on from finding your child dead in his bed?

2020 keeps getting worse. Will it ever get better? 

Is there a connection between my dream and K’s death? I can’t see how. In the dream 720 brought relief, peace. At the moment, I feel neither. A friend of mine asked if Libby knew K. I don’t think they knew each other, but I could be wrong. We all went to the same high school, but that was so long ago and Libby would have graduated before K started.