**I pondered whether to friend-protect this one, but friend-protecting is for smack talk and only smack talk. This would be “non smack-talk.” Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.
He has this disturbing habit of coming to me in dreams. While my conscious mind has vivid recollections of his voice, I can’t willingly pull up a perfect picture of his face. This is pretty normal for me, as I can identify people by their shoes and voices because I spend an apparently disproportionate amount of time staring at the floor. I remember people as folds of fabric, laughs, hair. The faces always end up sort of nebulous. All that information is stored somewhere, though, because it comes to me in sleep. He’s there in sleep, exactly as I remembered. Maybe a little skinnier (death is the ultimate diet).
Last night I had a dream that he woke from the dead. He’d heard about my last dream, where I imagined I’d dug up his body just to get one last look at it. I put it in a garbage bag and took it home with me just to have it near me. I kept it in the attic. This was not a pleasant dream, as my subconscious used the opportunity to show me every single nasty detail of what I’d never seen and can now never un-see. Thus, he woke from the dead as a very good-looking zombie, just to make me remember something else. He was also a little upset about having died a virgin. (In real life, he was fiercely proud of this.)
In real life, I’d offered up my own red neon virgin sign. The old, “you’re going to die without having sex…would you like to?” I’ve been waiting for love. That love came in a different form than I’d expected, but hey. Desperate times. I offered sex if he would let me visit, or if he would visit me. I meant it, but he didn’t take me up on the offer. As a zombie, though, he’d reconsidered.
I will spare you gory details, but after the proverbial deed was done, his zombie body started to disintegrate. Not in a gross “pus coming out of your eye socket way,” but more in a “I’d hear a thump and look over at him and he’d be standing there holding his arm and rolling his eyes” way. We had to get him back to his grave asap, so we went to the cemetery to put him back. We got to the grave (which was so much more fabulous than the real-life one) and he just passed out, dissolving into a pile of dust.