I was in a shopping arcade with a group of girls that I can only assume were my friends. We were all pretty drunk and I told them that I had never kissed a man with dreadlocks. So, they dared me to kiss the next guy with dreadlocks that I saw. When I saw him, I approached him and explained the situation I was in and asked as politely as possible if I could kiss him. He agreed and it was the most amazing kiss of my life.
Next, I was standing in a beautiful, old, cottage-feeling house. I was standing in the kitchen with my arms around the neck of the man that I had kissed. I looked him lovingly in the eyes and said, “We will be together forever, my Matty and I.”
Then I was upstairs in the house alone. It was darker than before and looked a little neglected. I called out; “Matthew?” no answer, so I walked from room to room calling him. Finally I went outside and saw some of the villagers sitting on park benches. I walk over to an elderly gentleman that I obviously know quite well and ask him, “Have you seen Matthew? I can’t seem to find him.” He says that he has and nods to table a little way away. I thank him and head over to where Matthew is sitting and chatting to another elderly man. I sit opposite him and ask him in a generally uplifted tone, “Where were you? I was looking for you.” He was unshaven and bent over a pint. He looked up at me with his eyes only and said, “What is it with you recently?”
I’m in our bedroom now with our son and two daughters and their dogs. Matthew is not with us. I try the door but it’s locked. The children and the dogs are running around the room as if nothing was going on but I was worried. I saw a crack in the wall and peaked through. I could see into the guest room and there was ‘my Matty’ giving it good and proper to the plump lady who lived next door. What made this worse was the wall sized mirror beside the bed, doubling my anguish. I didn’t get angry nor did I cry, I just stood for a moment with a mild look of shock on my face before stepping back and sitting on our bed. My expression was frozen and the children carried on playing.
We were old finally and Matthew looked gaunt, grey and furious. He was bringing his packed bags outside and I was begging him not to leave. I told him I forgave him for the affair and that I still loved him and he said that it was my fault he slept around, I made him miserable. Then our grown-up daughter stepped out of the house. I gasped. “Is this really our little girl?” I asked. “She’s so grown-up and beautiful. How did that happen?” Then Matthew turned and smiled at me and I saw in his wrinkled old face, the young man with dreadlocks I kissed for a dare all those years ago. I put my arthritic hands either side of his face and he said, “You know why I let you kiss me? You were so timid and polite. You have the kind of personality that just doesn’t exist anymore.” He kissed me then and it felt just like it did the first time. It felt as though time stood still for a moment so that it could admire the love, the passion and the workings of destiny and fate. He placed his now youthful hands on my face and said, “We will be together forever,” “my Matty and I.” I finished.
Do you think love like this really exists or does my mind torture me so because I am a writer with an over-active imagination?