Deadly Dreams

John Weston was the wildest son of a gun you could ever meet as far as I was concerned. At age 19, he could out-hunt, fish, wrestle (thumb, arm, or on the mat), and drink any other man in our county. I wouldn't call him impulsive, but he had a short fuse. He did not suffer fools gladly, and it didn't take long for one (or more) to earn a challenge from John to shut up, get out, or fight. As quick as he was to mix it up, though, when the matter was settled to his satisfaction, he'd stop the fight and move on with his life. "No need to humiliate anyone, Billy," he'd say to me. "Just prove your point."

Most people in Phillips County didn't annoy John Weston, however. His reputation was well-established, and it was just the newcomers or punks that caused trouble. Plus, if they messed with him, they contended with me. And folks knew that Billy Smith was no pushover. I stand 6'2" tall, and weigh 240 pounds, and that's all muscle. Between playing linebacker for the Phillips County High football team in the fall and center field for PCHS baseball in the spring, I was rugged enough for most situations, and I also happened to be John Weston's best friend.

Weston and I had been nearly inseparable since 8th grade. We both loved football, baseball, trucks, and fishing, and we were fiercely loyal to our families. He liked blondes and I preferred brunettes, so we never chased the same girls. The thing is, John's a year older than I am. A couple of years before we met, he'd experienced a catastrophic illness of some sort that required him to repeat a grade. He didn't like talking about it, but when he stayed over at ours, his nightmares revealed the story.

It wasn't until John was a sophomore that he began sleeping over. His parents weren't comfortable letting him do that for a long time. I could stay at their house, though, and as they got to know my family and me, they became open to the idea of him staying with us. I later understood why they hesitated.

Neither of us grew up in religious homes, yet in our many conversations about girls, we discovered that we agreed that we wanted our "first time" to be after we were married, so we fought the cultural trend of sleeping with every girl we dated and kept our relationships to hand-holding and chaste kissing. Partly due to that, and partly due to how close our friendship was, rumors flew around PCHS that we were more than friends. If they knew what happened during our sleepovers they'd have been completely convinced of it. But we were only friends.

Big, tough, John Weston slept at my house for the first time one weekend in March of our sophomore year. He seemed nervous all evening, and when it came time for sleep, he said, "Billy, I need you to share the bed with me, please. I can't sleep alone at your house."

There was nothing suggestive about his tone or his look. It was a matter-of-fact statement, but I had to clarify, anyway. "You want me to sleep with you, John? I, uh, don't understand."

"Not in a funny way, Big Guy. It's connected to my, uh, situation from a few years ago. I'm not into you, okay? I just...it would help if you were in the bed with me. Please."

I'd never known Weston to beg for anything, but he was close to that, so I shrugged and said, "Okay."

"Your mom knows already." He added. "I told her. I didn't want her to be shocked if she came in and found us together. And she knows why."

"Oh. Okay. Um...I usually sleep in my underwear. Is that a problem?" I asked.

"Are you willing to wear shorts and a T-shirt?" John replied. "I'll do the same."

"I'll try. No promises that the shirt will stay on, though."

"Fair enough," my friend said.

Twenty awkward minutes later, I was sound asleep next to John.

*****POV: JOHN WESTON AT BILLY SMITH'S HOUSE*****

Billy and I have been friends for several years, but the last close friend I had...well, I lost him, and it's been difficult to trust anyone since then. I know why my parents have been so reluctant to let me stay over at Billy's house, but I've been eager to do this, and I'm finally here!

I felt obligated to tell Mrs. Smith about my nightmares, though, and how I needed her son's help through them. No cause to overexcite her if she entered his room and found him calming me down during the night or in the morning. If I don't have the nightmare tonight, then no harm done; we're just two dudes sharing a mattress. But I'm sure it'll make an appearance. It always does when I'm trying to enjoy myself. And without my brother or dad here to calm me, I'll need Billy's help.

It was almost funny when he clarified what I meant by "sharing" his bed. I'm certain there's no attraction by him for me, just as there's none by me for him, but those dweebs at school would have a field day if they saw us tonight. I could laugh if it weren't so aggravating.

Listen to him breathing. He sounds so peaceful. Is that what I sound like as I fall asleep? Quiet? Soothing. Maybe tonight will be different? Before I knew it, I had joined him in slumber.

Why is my neck itchy? I reach up and scratch the back of my neck. It's sweaty. I wipe my fingers on the blanket. The back of my head is soaked in sweat. Why am I so warm? I roll over and open my eyes. The dark sky is lit up with flames dancing across the fields in my direction. The scorching heat has reached me already. In a panic, I try to fling off the covers to get away, but my feet are trapped. I start screaming for help and flailing my arms. My friend! My friend is out there!! Help!

Strong arms wrap around me and I hear a voice calmly say, "I got you, John. You're safe now. You're safe. It's okay, John. It's okay." The embrace engulfs me and the terrifying images fade. Billy Smith's voice becomes clearer, "It's over, John. You're here now. It's over." His lips gently touch my forehead. "Are you awake now, John?" I nod, and he releases me.

*****POV: Billy Smith*****

Now I'm beginning to understand my friend's situation. I woke up when he tossed and turned, but he got my full attention when the screaming started. I know better than to wake a sleepwalker, but I hoped that embracing and speaking to him wouldn't end up with a punch in my nose. I'm glad it worked out. He was shaking so badly at the end that the little kiss on his forehead seemed appropriate. It was more like what a dad would give his kid or an uncle might give a nephew or niece than anything else. I have questions for John, but they'll wait.

"Thanks, Billy. You did exactly the right thing. I'm sorry I didn't explain it better first." John was the most soft-spoken that I'd ever heard him. "I was afraid you wouldn't be my friend if I told you about my nightmares."

"I'm here for you, buddy. Are all your nightmares like this one?" I wanted to know as much as he'd tell me.

"It would be more accurate to say my 'nightmare,' honestly. It's the same one every time. It doesn't start the same way, but it ends the same. This time, for example, the back of my neck felt itchy, and then my head was covered in sweat. When I rolled over and opened my eyes, I could see flames racing across the field in the night, and I felt the scorching heat. As I tried to get away and call for help, I realized my friend was caught in the fire. Just before you took hold of me, I saw a skull in the flames." John's voice shook.

I wanted to understand clearly. "So the flames in the night, seeing the skull, and knowing your friend is in the fire--this is the nightmare you have?"

He nodded grimly, his face pale from the ordeal. I yearned to know more. "John?"

"Yeah, Billy?" My friend seemed open to talking so I pressed him for details.

"Are you willing to tell me what happened...what caused this nightmare?" I spoke gently, trying to keep my morbid curiosity in check.

John Weston's face filled with sadness. "I'll tell you, Billy, but I need some promises from you first."

Promises? "Sure, John. What do you need?" I attempted to sound more confident that I felt.

"First, remember that I was just a kid when it happened, like 9 years old, okay?" I nodded, so he continued, "Second, you're the closest friend I've had since then, and no one else knows this about me except my family and your mom. I'm trusting you to keep it to yourself." I nodded again, so he said, "And lastly, you asked, which means you really want to know, and as my friend, you must be prepared to be my friend after I'm done talking, too. If you know the worst about me and can't be my friend, then I can't tell you. Do you promise to remain my friend, Billy?"

I'd never seen John Weston more serious in my life. What could he possibly tell me that would break our friendship? "Of course I'll remain your friend, Weston!" I exclaimed, giving him a bro-hug of reassurance.

John sighed and said, "When I was nine, my best friend Tom and I were messing around in an abandoned barn one day. We'd been there a bunch of times before. It was in the middle of a hayfield, but the hay wasn't any good. Just junk grass, mulch at best, and it hadn't been cut. The weather had been dry for about three weeks, and we needed rain, though that wasn't something Tom and I thought about much. It was just a topic of conversation among our parents."

"Anyway, Tom was a year older than I, and he'd sneaked some of his dad's cigarettes and a lighter for us to try that day. The barn was the perfect spot to do it because it was empty. No hay, no animals, no nothing. It had a dirt floor, so we figured we could smoke and then crush out the cigarettes on the dirt. Plus, the dirt floor helped keep the barn cool on those hot summer days."

John put his hands up in protest as he saw me preparing to open my mouth. "I know, I know, Billy. Nine years old is too young to smoke! But when your best friend has cigs and a lighter, you go along with it, y'know what I mean? Well, it didn't take me long to realize that Tom had smoked before. He was sucking on those things like an expert, while I was choking and gagging. He got a big kick out of that. In fact, I was recovering from my first two drags when Tom showed his true colors towards me, and they weren't friendship."

"For three years, I'd been under the impression that Tom and I were best friends, but on that summer day, Tom betrayed my friendship. While I was coughing from my first attempt at smoking, he called out, 'Okay, guys, come see the wuss!' Two of his friends from school came out from behind a wall and joined him in making fun of me. I was crushed, and my first reaction was to fight back, but in a three-to-one situation, they beat me up pretty bad."

"I don't know if Tom's conscience kicked in at some point or what, but his buddies left, and it was just him and me in the barn again. He told me that he and I were 'done' hanging out. 'I don't have time for brats like you anymore,' he said to me. 'I've had enough of babysitting you, Weston.'"

"Never in a hundred years did I expect him to say such terrible things to me, Billy, and what happened next still haunts me to this day. As bruised and beaten up as I was, Tom's words infuriated me. I jumped up and charged at him, hitting him as hard as I could. He stumbled back and hit his head on a beam, knocking him unconscious. Scared of what I'd done, I ran out of the barn and headed for home. I hadn't gone far when I smelled smoke. I turned around, and the barn was engulfed in flames, and the fire was burning the field behind me. I screamed for Tom, but it was no use. I never saw him again."

"I don't know how the fire started, but I know I killed my best friend as a kid, even if it was self-defense. The trauma has never healed, and it causes this nightmare to recur every night, especially when I'm enjoying myself. It's my penance for losing my temper and ending a deep friendship. I'm a killer, Billy. I'm sorry."

John looked at me for my response. I sat and blinked at him, processing his tale. "Well?" he said.

"Well what?" I said. "That explains a lot about you, John. I'm sorry that happened to you. Thanks for telling me. Can we try to get back to sleep now, or do you want some ice cream first?"

"Is that all you have, Smith?"

"Weston, what did I promise you?"

"You promised to remember I was nine when it happened, that I've never told another friend, and to still be my friend."

"Exactly. So, what other response do you want, my friend? You experienced a horrible betrayal by someone you trusted. You and he fought. He brought in allies to attack you and you defended yourself. He may or may not have died in that fire, but you have held yourself responsible for his actions. You need to accept that you inflicted bodily harm on an older aggressor and be done with it. Stand up for yourself. Live your life. Love your family and friends. We love you. Yes, love you, and not in a weird way, 'Big Guy,'" I said. "Is that enough response?"

John Weston grabbed me in a bear hug and I became aware of wetness forming on the back of my shirt. When he finally let me go he said, "Ice cream first, please, Billy," and then wiped his eyes. "I think I can do sleepovers here more often now. Just make sure to have ice cream, shorts, and shirts. I'll need bedtime hugs for a little longer."

I smiled. "You got it, Weston."