Our Love Was Like a Dream That I Don't Remember That Well
Composed with much affection

By Adam Bourret

Posted May 28th, 2007

I've been thinking of you a lot lately, which is surprising. It has been ten years since we broke up, a solid decade of dimly recalling the good times we had, struggling to picture your angelic face, and not being haunted by your memory. Oh Stephanie, how I long to relive those happy days and often think of what I could have done differently. I don't know if we'd still be together, but I totally could have fucked you and got that over with. Damn my boyish chastity!

Do you remember all the plans we made together? I often picture you spotting me in a crowd, running towards me and grasping me in your arms. You would beg me to take you back so that all our youthful dreams could come true. If this happened I would say "yeah, about that..." and then claim that I was "really busy."

For the record, I did make one legitimate attempt to kill your stepfather like I promised. Three or four years after we parted, I spotted him walking down Geneva St. on his way to the mall. I considered running him over with my car, sweet justice, considering he often "joked" that he had a similar fate in store for me. But I faltered. If I went through with it he might not have had time to see who was driving the car and thus appreciate the irony. I thought about maybe glancing him with the car and yelling something like "now who's running whom over with whose car, Mr. Lalonde?" But the phrasing seemed awkward. So I made up my mind that the best action was inaction. I decided not to inform him of the dangers of smoking and eating trans-fat. Take that your step-dad's lung and arteries! I can only hope that his massive heart attack won't be traced back to me. But it was worth it for you, my love, kind of.

I'm afraid I've been less effective in fulfilling our second goal, which, as you recall, was to open a subspace portal that would transform our school into a mystical hell-dimension. If you've driven past it recently you'll notice it's still there. So, my bad. But honestly, getting the job done proved even more difficult than trying to please you sexually. My magical skills did progress to a certain point, but the portal is still just a bit beyond me. You may or may not be impressed to learn that I have mastered the tarot cards you gave me. I only give readings once in a while, because they are generally unhelpful and fill people with anxiety. I imagine that if you saw me in action, deftly shuffling and divining possible futures, you would be very impressed, even aroused. Unfortunately I am now totally gay.

So, if it's all the same to you, my once-love, is it okay if I just scrap the hell-dimension plan? I mean, the kids in the school now aren't the ones who made fun of us back then. I even ran into Keith Tatum at the supermarket the other day, he's a pretty nice guy. Megan Garth even added me to her Facebook. She has three children, that's kind of like a hell-dimension. And that girl who stole your sweater works at the big call centre downtown. Honestly I think she'd prefer to be gored to death by our demon brethren.

One more thing, I was throwing out my lava lamp the other day and guess what was under it? Remembered the eensy little matter of our Suicide Pact? Yeah, according to this paper, since I have failed to become a practicing warlock (I guess), my life is forfeit. Actually it was forfeit on my twenty-fifth birthday, a good four or five months ago. According to the pact, only your love can release me from this fatal bond. But since you're not here, I'm going to go ahead and chuck this sucker out. I mean, I was fifteen, and you were seventeen, you kind of talked me into it. Also, provided you held up your end of the bargain, you have been dead for two and a half years. Had I found the note sooner, I totally would have brought it up on Classmates.com.

It says here in the pact that "I will always love you, you are the cause of all my wikidness (sic) and insanity." It turns out that I also had obsessive compulsive disorder and now I take these little pills that make me feel better. But I guess I'll still always love you. Loving you is the easiest thing in the world, considering you are elsewhere / married / dead and make no demands on me.

Some fires burn forever, some don't stand the test of time. Some fires are not actually fires, but crude drawings of fires that you cling to your chest, pretending they will warm you because please God I'm weird enough already don't let me be gay too.

I will tell our story, my love.

Because people find it funny at parties.

all content is copyright of the authors, 2007 — email us! editor [at] mondomagazine.net
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