"Love Knows The Heart"

    I used to think it was normal to go through life feeling unloved and unwanted ; to be lonely and afraid all the time.
    I was a kid then ; I didn't know any better. Now that I'm older , I know that it wasn't normal. But what do you do when you've been conditioned to feel this way? When you were raised in a family where no love was openly expressed? How else are you supposed to feel?
  My parents weren't the type to express love. Loneliness was a big part of my life when I was growing up , and because I was lonely , I spent a lot of time being alone.






   If you were given a choice between life and death , which would you choose?
   Most of us would choose life. But for those who lose hope , and don't know where to turn to for help , feel they have no choice but to choose death.    When you know that the end of your life is so close you can almost reach out and touch it , a curious thing begins to happen : the instinct for survival kicks in. Suddenly , the idea of living doesn't seem so bad. You no longer want to die. You want to live. 

   I know this to be true , because it happened to me. The day I tried to kill myself was the last day of my old life. When I woke up in the hospital , the following morning , it was the beginning of a new life. At the time , I didn't know it , but my life was about to change. About to change for the better.

Eaten Alive

As adults , we know there are no such things as monsters , no such things as creatures of the darkness. As children , we are conditioned by television and books to believe that monsters and creatures of the night are real. This is how some of us learn to fear the dark. After all , everyone knows that monsters can't come out until it gets dark. And so , some of us never lose our fear of the dark. From childhood , to adulthood , that fear remains constant , like an invisible chain around the neck , a chain that keeps us connected to our own fear , a fear of the unknown.
My fear of the unknown began when I was seven. My older brother , Frank , used to torment me with the most gruesome ghost stories. He knew I didn't like ghost stories ; they gave me nightmares. And so , almost night after night , he would come up with the bloodiest stories he could think of.

Dream Journal

  The first dream took place in the backyard of the house I grew up in. I was outside with a lot of people I didn't know. I found this small piece of chalk like statue shaped and made to look like a young female movie star. I remember sucking on it's lips , like I was trying to make out with it. Then a woman says that two of the things were missing. There was an old man who asked me if I had them , and I said no. "Are you sure you didn't put them in your pocket?" he said. I said no. Of course , I was lying. They were in my pocket , whatever the hell they were. So , we all started walking toward the back fence. In just a few seconds , we were in a different place. It was like a white room , with a door in the back ground.

    The dream shifted again. I'm now in my back yard , at the back gate , trying to hide under a blanket that's been draped over the side of the fence by the gate. Here , I'm like a short dwarf or something. My legs are like a foot and a half long. Some guy goes through the open gate , comes back in , sees me hiding behind the blanket , and says , "Whoa!"

   In the next part of the dream , I'm in the back yard with someone else (I can't remember who it was). A woman (she looked like Patricia Richardson) who was staying outside , in back of the house - behind the garage - comes in to the back yard completely naked for some reason. We're trying to get a peek at her around the edge of the house. When she went back out the gate , we followed her. But there was no one there. I think Tony and a girlfriend of his had sleeping bags outside the back gate. But they were gone now.

  

   I also had a dream about my oldest sister , Debbie. She died twenty-two years ago. Once again , in this dream , it was the house I grew up in. Debbie was going to the beach with Marshall.

Memories Of My Life , part 3

    When I was a kid , we went to Big Bear a lot during the summer months. We would often visit the same campgrounds week after week. We would spend whole Saturdays and Sundays there , picnicking , hiking , and just hanging out. Sometimes mom and dad would take us to Santa's Village. Those were some of the best times of my early life.

    One summer day , we visited one of our favorite spots. I must have been around eight or nine at the time. I remember I had these small toy animals. I thought I dropped one of them ( I can still remember the color - it was orange ) somewhere , and when I couldn't find it , everyone was sure a Blue Jay must have taken it. I remember we gabbed about it excitedly for some time.

Memories of my life , part 2

  When I was fifteen , I went to the California Jam with my cousins , Walter , Jackie , and Candy , and several of their friends from school. They picked me up the night before ( Friday ) , in an old gray van , that must have belonged to Walter. My aunt Shirley lived in a house by Azusa High school. I remember sitting on the floor , in the living room with the others , while cock roaches crawled sluggishly across the carpet several feet from us.

   I don't remember a whole lot about that night , or the following day , but I do remember that there was a lot of smoking and drinking , and the music was loud ( incredibly loud ) and exciting. I also remember that the main reason I wanted to go , was Black Sabbath. I was outside on the front porch with an old transistor radio , listening to KLOS. Bob Coburn came on and said , something like Here's one of the bands that will be appearing at the California Jam. The song he played was Sabbath , Bloody Sabbath.

   I remember that the speakers were huge , as big as houses. My ears have been ringing ever since.

Memories of my life , part 1

   When I was twelve , and thirteen years old , I was a basketball player and fan. I liked the Lakers , and the UCLA bruins. I remember staying up late on Friday and Saturday nights to watch Bruins basketball when mom and dad were next door playing games with Dorothy and Stan. I would also watch Alfred Hitchcock , and The Sixth Sense. While watching Hitchcock and Sixth Sense , my imagination often ran wild. Sometimes I would hear footsteps on the front porch , and sounds of the house settling became sounds of someone knocking or trying to break in.

   One night while watching something scary , I heard a scream. I almost jumped through the ceiling - literally. It hadn't come from the television. It came from next door. Later mom told me it was Dana Grinter. Apparently she'd awakened during the night to discover that her sister , Dawn , was not there.

 

 

The Hour Before Dawn

 

 

 

The Hour before dawn ,
when dark things creep ,
things unknown ,
things unseen ,
they come in dreams ,
they make you scream.


 

"The Man Who Wasn't There"

   Today I saw a man who wasn't there ,
   he looked like my father ,
   same eyes , same smile , same tousled hair ,
   he looked my way and seemed to recognize me ,
   I just stood there and stared. 
  

   It wasn't the first time I'd seen my father.
I' seen him many times before ,
the last time I'd seen him , was the day he walked out the door.



  

The Boy Who Didn't Exist

   The boy sat quietly at the front of the room , staring out one of the windows , waiting for Mrs. Kennedy to finish reading the letter that his foster mother had sent to school with him. Through the open windows , the sounds of children at play could be heard. In fifteen minutes , the bell would ring , signaling an end to first period recess. Every now and then the boy would smile , perhaps seeing something outside that caught his fancy , or recalling something pleasant from his past.
    As she read the letter , Mrs. Kennedy glanced up at him every so often. He never once looked her way. He just stared out the window , smiling that half smile. When he wasn't smiling , his face was devoid of emotion. Blank and empty. He hadn't said a word since his mother dropped him off with the letter. She remembered how the other children had stared at him as if he were an undiscovered species of insect. She had asked him his name ; he had not looked at her , and he had not answered. He had just stood there with his hands behind his back , and his head lowered , as if in shame.
    He was an enigma. But the letter did explain some things about him. He was a loner. He kept to himself , and did not socialize with others , especially with children his own age. He seldom spoke , even when spoken to. 
    No one knew where he had come from , or who his birth parents had been. All that was known of him , was that one day he had suddenly and mysteriously appeared on the doorstep of the Third Street Orphanage , in a fruit basket , with a note that read : My name is Jeffrey. Please take care of me.
    Because nothing was known about his background , other than his name , most people were reluctant to adopt such a child. The first six and a half years of his  life had been spent in and out of the orphanage. From the time of his arrival , the Sisters noticed something strange about  him : the child never cried , not even when he was hungry.
    The other children knew  that he was different , not like them. They had heard  the nuns talking about him , and so the boy became an easy target. They did their best to torment him. They made fun of him and called him names , and once he had received a beating  sever enough that he had to be hospitalized. As he lay in a pool of his own blood , some of the children swore that the boy had become translucent , as if he were beginning to fade.
     But , these were children , and children could not always be believed , so the Mother Superior dismissed it as an attempt to distract her attention  from their guilt.
    Jeffrey was adopted soon after his seventh birthday , but was returned to the orphanage just after six weeks , with no explanation. He was almost eight when he was adopted a second time , but once again was returned , this time after two weeks , again with no explanation as to why.
    Mrs. Kennedy finished reading the letter and put it away.
    "Would you like to go outside , Jeffrey?"
    The boy didn't answer. He continued staring out the window. He was no longer smiling.
     "I'll let you go outside , if you answer some  questions. Do we have a deal?"
      He was silent so long , she didn't think he would answer. Then , without looking away from the window , he said in a voice so low that she could barley hear him , "It depends on what you want to know."
     "I guess I'd like to know why you're so distant."
     "People don't like me."
     "Why do you think people don't like you?"
    This time he did look at her. Tears welled in his eyes , and his lower lip trembled slightly.  She felt a sudden urge to hug the boy. 
    Turning back to the window , he said , "I think it's because they...can sense that I don't belong here. They know I'm  different , and it scares them. They don't know how to behave around me. They're afraid of me. I don't want them to be afraid of me! It's not my fault it happens! It only happens when I get really lonely , and  want to go home."
    "What happens , Jeffrey?"
    "When I fade  out."
   
    Jeffrey sat on one of the swings , watching the other children play. Mrs. Kennedy watched him through the same window he had been staring out only minutes ago. None of the other children paid the slightest attention to him.
    As if he knew she were watching him , he raised a hand , as if to wave. But  it took her a moment to realize that he wasn't waving. He was staring at his raised hand. He continued staring at it , realizing that something was about to happen , something he had desperately been hoping for. Then , with a wistful smile , he began to swing , propelling himself forward , harder and higher , faster and faster , building up speed , picking up  momentum , until he was swinging for the sky , swinging for  all he was worth , swinging as if for the first time in his life.
     He felt a sudden joy , and laughed  , and was surprised to hear himself laugh. It was the first time he could ever remember laughing , and it felt like nothing he had ever felt before. The confusion , fear , and loneliness of the past eight years - which were more like a life time - was slipping away. Now , all he felt was joy. Now he was beginning to understand what was happening to him. He was going home. Not to a place where he was feared , but to a place where he had already been accepted , long before he had been born. Where he already belonged , and always had , and his parents would be there , parents he had never known. He smiled again , remembering their faces. He knew he would see them soon.
    Mrs. Kennedy glanced over at the clock on the wall. In less than two minutes the bell would ring. When she looked back at him , he was gone. She gasped. She looked around the school yard , not seeing him anywhere among the other children. She panicked. She ran outside , and halted at the swings. The one he had been on was still moving back and forth , as if he were still swinging on it. Up and down it went , reaching for the sky. She stared at it , noticing that there was no wind.
    It continued swinging for a  moment or two , and then slowly came to a stop. Several of the nearest children were staring at her. One was a girl of about seven , with a freckled face and pig tails. 
    "Are you OK Mrs. Kennedy?" she said.
    "Did you see where he went?"
    "Who?"
    "The boy on the swing."
    The girl frowned. "There was no boy on the swing , Mrs. Kennedy."
    "Yes , there was. It was Jeffrey. His name was Jeffrey!"
     The girl frowned again. "Who's Jeffrey?"
   The bell rang. The girl turned and ran back to the classroom with the other children. Mrs. Kennedy started to follow , but stopped when she noticed that something was lying in the dirt below the swing. It was a piece of paper. Frowning , she picked it up and read it. It was addressed to her. It said : 
    I'm going home now. Where no one is afraid of me. Where I don't have to be lonely anymore. Please remember me. Jeffrey.
     As she stared at the words , tears filling her eyes - her mind unable to comprehend what had just happened - she noticed that they were beginning to fade. In a moment , they too would be gone forever , like the boy who didn't exist.
   

    
    
  
   
    
   

Dream Journal

   Had an incredible dream this morning. One of those dreams that stays with you long after you wake up , the kind of dream you look forward to. 

   I was at home again ( home , being the house I grew up in ). I seemed to have been in my late twenties or early thirties. Debra ( my older sister ) was still alive.

    Debra , Lori , and I were outside at night , wrapped in blankets ; it must have been chilly , although it didn't really feel like it. There was a dinosaur-like monster on our property that we were trying to avoid. It was tall and black , which made it more difficult to see in the dark. So , we ran next door , to the house on the left , where the Strevell's lived.

    Now , what's strange about this dream , is that the Strevell's lived there when I was in my early teens. As far as I can remember , they were gone by the time I was in my late teens , and I don't remember ever being in that house.

    As we passed the front of the house , I noticed that there was a bedroom window open and I could hear loud music.
    The dream seemed to skip from here to inside the house. Now we're in the living room ; I'm leaning back in an arm chair. The lights are off. The second oldest sister is in the kitchen , cooking. I asked her if she ever remembered anything strange that happened around a house I owned somewhere else in California. This must have been about the black monster that was after the three of us.
    I don't recall her answering me. The oldest sister came in after that and noticed that someone was sitting in the chair , but said nothing about the lights being off. She got real close to me , asking who I was. I told her who I was , and that must have been when I woke up.