Despite the rain everything seemed brighter like a sunny autumn day, and I felt warm and happy, eager to see what Dave would be like after all these years. I unpacked the groceries and went into my bedroom and lifted the top end of my mattress and pulled out Dave’s envelope which was creased and dirty from all the times I’d opened it over the years. I knew what the letter said because I’d read it so many times. His words held hope in my heart and I couldn’t help but look at it again to see his writing, the only thing that seemed familiar about him to me. His message was short. He wrote that he had something he wanted to ask me face-to-face and that he’d be home in two weeks. For years, I dreamed the same dream. Dave faces me and holds my hands. He looks me in the eyes and opens his mouth to speak and I wake up. I can’t remember how many times I’ve had that dream. It is always the thirteen-year-old Dave that I see. Now we are both twenty-three. No matter how much I try, my mind refuses to create an older Dave. Instead, he’s locked in the past where I last saw him.
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