Richard

I was drifting in and out of consciousness. There was a chill beyond anything I had experienced before. Where was I, what happened, and why did I feel burning pain throughout my entire body?

I dreamt of a light. A long beaming light with an angel on the other end. I heard shouting, I heard the roaring of the waves, I heard crying.

Right now I would do anything to wake up from the storm being recreated in my subconscious. My soul was drifting from my body. The tremendous cold was overtaking my senses. The salt stung my eyes, my lungs, which was good, pain meant life. I was alive.

But there was no waking up from my nightmare. I could taste the salty air, something that never happened when I dreamt. The cold bite of the wind had my heart pumping several times faster than it ought to.

I was exhausted but I needed to continue fighting. I wasn't alone in this fight. I wanted the onslaught of water that was taking over my body to stop. Instinctively, I held my breath when I heard the rush of water coming toward me. Another wave; how much more was my body going to be able to withstand?

The last wave came too quick. I was still recovering from the previous one. This time I did not hold my breath on time. How much would it cost me?

I awoke in a cold sweat, long enough to know I was no longer on the boat, no longer in the frigid ocean, long enough to register my surroundings. Long enough to know I was indeed alive.

My dreams took me to a time when two young men met and became friends. There was something disturbing about this dream. I was trying to understand how the blonde woman fit into this dream. Everything was jumbling into one large melting pot. I was unable to decipher the fantasies of my dreams from the reality of my actions.

I dreamt of my family. Would they miss me if I were gone? Was I in a purgatory of my own misdeeds? As hard as I tried, I could find no fault in the life I had lived. I remained loyal to my father, to my friends, to my company.

It amused me that my father came first in my thought about loyalty. A father who had not been as loyal in his lifetime. All my memories flooding back from a place in my mind buried long ago.

My brain related to the fact I was dreaming, but my body was feeling something else. The warmth was returning. I thought about how people say you feel warm when you suffer from hyperthermia.

Was I in the final stages? I may not be on the boat or in the ocean — I was alive, but for how long?

I continued to dream, continued to feel heat returning to my body. At one point I felt my arousal and began dreaming of all the women I was acquainted with.

My life may not be flashing before my eyes, but my conquests were. Was I in a hell of my own making? I knew I was dreaming; my body was responding to my dreams in a most satisfying way.

I never made any apologies for my healthy sexual appetite. I never needed to. I wasn’t going to start now in my dreams.

What had triggered feelings of guilt for my promiscuity? Did I feel a need to repent with my maker if I could not follow the light out of tunnel and back into reality?

There was a distinct musty smell that triggered another memory of two young kids running on a beach.

We were friends, running into the ocean waves and running back to shore. We held hands and the sensation of the touch gave me a feeling of calm from this dream. I felt pangs of loneliness, remembering what being with her felt like.

I drifted in and out not sure what was a dream, what was real. Was I alive or was I in the space between? I refused to accept I might be dead. I was too young, had too many people depending on me.

I needed to fight, to wake up, to regain consciousness and take back my life. I liked my life. I was not ready to leave it all behind.

If it was my time I would not go quietly into that good night. I was going to fight it tooth and nail. If it was my time, I would leave knowing I may have been the heir apparent, my father's oldest son, but not his only son.

I could smell coffee. Was I remembering my last morning on the boat? How I sent my companion away with nothing more than a styrofoam cup of coffee?

No, the smell of fresh coffee was filling my nostrils. Awakening my senses, my body, my mind.

My eyes opened and did not flutter.

They remained open.

My angel was standing with her back to me. My eyes followed her long blonde hair all the way to her long slender legs. Legs that went on forever. I was aware who my Florence Nightingale was. Who my angel was. My friend from long ago.

I was enjoying the view but knew I would have to face her eventually.

She was going to have questions for me.

Questions I might not be ready to answer.