I had this dream a few months after Bobby died. It was one in a series of dreams in which Bobby would show up at family functions as if nothing had happened. Everybody just acted like everything was normal. Even though they knew.
Anyway, I was smarter than that. I wasn’t about to waste a second with my brother. So, basically, I’d just follow him around hugging him. I remember, in the dream, even after waking up from the dream, that the hugs felt real.
So I’m on the back porch of my Uncle Phillip’s house, a house he sold before I graduated from high school, and I’m acting like a Bobby-parasite when Bobby finally turns to look at me. He’s loving—I can still see the compassionate smile on his tan, peaceful face—but a little fed up with dragging me around.
Then, in the most exciting dream moment in the history of dreamworld, he says to me,
"Jen, just calm down. Jesus is coming back in five years any…"
And right then, in the middle of his sentence, he stops, raises his eyebrows, and drops his jaw—like he’s just spilled the biggest secret in the history of the world.
Because he has.
In a split second, he disappears. And I never see him in a dream again.
I used to think about that dream a lot. But then I didn’t as much. I realized today I hadn’t thought about the dream in years. I realized, too, I had dreamed it eight years ago. And Jesus still hadn’t come back. And I was sad.
And a little suspicious that maybe Jesus had been forced to reschedule.