Sorry that you lost friends, Tilly. It's happened to me too. Sad, but never mind -- we make new ones, don't we. And your husband sounds lovely.
Years ago, when young, I shared a house with my boyfriend's two sisters. To be honest, I didn't get my feelings hurt when they had locks installed on their bedroom doors. I wasn't even miffed by the fact they hadn't told me they'd arranged it or by the fact they'd failed to ask me if I wanted to have one installed on my room at the same time. I couldn't afford it anyway. And their explanations about fear of break-ins sounded perfectly reasonable.
It was only after we all parted company, that one of them told me she couldn't believe I hadn't known why (at the time) they'd had the locks installed. It was because they thought I was a witch, she said. Well, it had been a long time (since childhood stories in fact) that I'd heard anyone mention witches. I laughed, thinking she was joking. But she wasn't. So then I
was hurt and insulted (I was a little wuss back then)to the point I wouldn't even ask her why she was saying these things.
But she told me anyway.
Apparently, back when we were sharing a house, I used to get up in the middle of conversation around the kitchen table, and begin making the speical hot drink that my boyfriend liked. At other times, I'd light the gas under his meal, which was still warm from cooking, but covered and set to the side. Then there were the times I'd stop whatever I was doing and dash outside (night or day) and wrench open the old garage doors. Moments later, my boyfriend (their brother) would drive up the driveway and into the garage and then enter the house and look around for his meal or hot drink or whatever.
Pretty simple stuff, but it convinced them I was a witch, when we realise now that I was simply tuned-in to my boyfriend ( then the entire reason, I believed, for my existence).
Many years later, I was wooed by a lovely-seeming man. He had two young sons and in an attempt to persuade me to marry him, he would leap and bound up the street to my house with a rose between his teeth, a big box of chocolates in his hand, humming ballet music, and dressed only in a pair of football shorts in the middle of winter. Alongside him, roses in their teeth too, were his young sons, dressed in matching shorts. Together they would prance and pirouhette up the darkened street, twirling under the street lights and calling: ' Oh lovely lay -deeeee, lovely lay-deeeee, will you marry us --- pleeeeeeese '. You had to be there, I guess, but it was pretty charming, funny and different.
He was highly intelligent, hilariously funny, attractive and sexy, daring, courageous, interesting, great communicator, etc. Perfect, and I was swept away, to be honest. His sons were cute as buttons; big warm eyes, lovely little smiles, always taking my hand shyly or giving me a hug.
The reason I wouldn't marry him was entirely because of one of
those dreams I'd had. It was short and to the point. In the dream, the man's children and my own two were playing together around a little grassy mound which actually existed a short way from his property. In the dream, I called to my children, as I had a hundred times, to say we had to go home now. When they didn't appear, I went to find them. As I approached the little mound, I saw my son's face (and that of the man's younger son) numb with shock. My son simply stared at me, unable to speak.
I climbed up the side of the mound, calling for my daughter. When I reached the top, there she lay, a gaping wound in her head and heavy, dark blood matted in her hair. She was lying there, pale and unmoving. My eyes rose to the man's oldest son. He stood there, an expression of satisfaction on his face and a cricket wicket in his hand.
End of dream. I awoke immediately. I knew that was it. Come hell or high water, I would not be putting my children in the kind of danger I'd been shown.
After that, whenever I went to the man's home, I watched my children like a hawk. It annoyed the man. Too bad. I refused to marry him. He insisted he'd convince me, nevertheless.
Time went by. Life would have been much easier for my children and me if I'd simply married him. But no.
I told a few close friends about my dream. They were incredulous. How could I base such an important decision on something as meaningless as a dream, they asked. You're being stupid, they said. You're going to lose him, they warned. It's just a dream, they insisted. They had dreams every night, they added. That's all they were -- dreams. They meant nothing.
Sure, I had lots of dreams that meant nothing too. But I also had other dreams and I'd learned to heed them.
Several years later, and the boy in the dream was in his teens. He'd been in a lot of trouble already, despite his angelic appearance. He'd set fire to a wild-life reserve. This was beyond dispute; the boys with him testified to precisely how he'd started the fire, then lit several others around the perimeter. He was found with petrol in a can next to his bike. He had matches in his pockets. He finally admitted it.
However, once he was sure the fire was well alight, he'd run home and called the fire brigade. He gave his name. Then, when fire-fighters arrived, he'd jumped into the thick of the carnage, screaming and wailing in distress about " all the poor little animals ". He'd made a big impression on the fire-fighters, initially; they said what a brave little guy he was and how he'd be welcome to join them when he was older; they needed decent guys like him.
Next, he'd set a homeless man's shack alight --- while the homeless man was still in it. It was in a semi-rural location, but he'd been spotted by several people who later identified him by the unusual T-shirt he'd been wearing. Once again, he called the fire-fighters and dashed around, under the pretence of helping them and the 'poor old man'. Only later did it come out that he'd been hanging around the shack for days, as witnessed by locals. And he'd boasted to school mates before and after the fact, about 'burning the old slob alive'.
He was big and heavy for his age. He became notorious as a bully of smaller children. He was a proven thief. He always denied everything, wailing piteously to his father, who used to become livid at the mere suggestion his sons would do anything wrong.
In the end, the boy became too much of an embarrassment to his father, who sent him to live with his mother. She threw in the towel after only a few weeks. The boy was then sent to a boarding school which had a reputation for straightening troublesome boys out. He was accepted mid-term. By term's end, he'd been expelled. During that time, he'd run the gamut of his usual crimes, bullying and theft being the most prevalent. One bullied boy apparently hung himself from a shed roof. There had been unexplained fires.
My male-friend's son was put to work scrubbing the empty school swimming pool with a toothbrush during the holidays and after his father refused to let him come home.
The father continued to press me to marry him, claiming his sons would turn over a new leaf if provided a happy combined family. He was extremely persuasive.
But nothing he could possible say had the power of that simple dream.
The dream didn't come true; I refused to let it.
However, if I hadn't had that dream, I may well have given in, after which the dream events may have occurred in reality.
After being kicked out of boarding school, the boy was then sent to his grandmother; a high-school teacher. Within four months, she'd had the shingles and a stroke. The boy was implicated in drug issues, theft, fires, bullying etc. He ran away to a southern city. He's still out there and I do not for a second regret my decision to protect my daughter from him. My daughter is alive and well. People can think whatever they like about it.
So don't worry about other people's opinions, Tilly. The only ones that matter are those whose opinions you respect and for that to occur, they'd have previously demonstrated respect for you and
everything that makes you You
)
