Read Online Dead Boyfriends by David Housewright - Free Book Online Page A

time. Whaddya say?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBobby, the dream came back.”
    â€œThe dream? The shotgun dream?”
    â€œIt came back when I was in jail and then again last night.”
    â€œI thought you were done with that.”
    â€œSo did I.”
    â€œYou were supposed to get therapy,” Shelby said.
    â€œI did.”
    â€œYou went three times and then you quit—pronounced yourself cured and started dating the therapist.”
    â€œDr. Jillian DeMarais. She was a babe.”
    â€œShe was a bitch,” said Bobby.
    â€œNonetheless.”
    â€œMcKenzie, the dream,” said Shelby.
    â€œIt doesn’t freak me out,” I told her. “It wakes me up sometimes, but it’s not like I can’t sleep or I’m afraid to sleep. I don’t shake, rattle, or roll—I can still function. It’s just a dream. Like the one I used to have about not being able to find the classroom during finals. It’ll go away just like it did before. Don’t worry about it.”
    â€œWhat if it doesn’t go away?”
    â€œIt will.”
    â€œYou have to see someone, seriously this time.”
    â€œNot a bad idea,” said Bobby. “It wouldn’t hurt.”
    â€œI’d have to be nuts to go to a psychiatrist,” I said.
    No one laughed at the joke.
    Lemonade was sipped.
    Silent moments passed.
    â€œWhat are you going to do?” Bobby asked.
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œAbout Moorhead,” Bobby said.
    â€œAbout Nina,” Shelby said.
    They looked at each other. Shelby scowled and said, “First things first.” Bobby surrendered without firing a shot.
    â€œAbout Nina,” Shelby repeated.
    â€œI’ll apologize. Again. I’ll try to win her back. Will that make you happy?”
    Shelby smiled like it would.
    â€œAbout Moorhead?” asked Bobby.
    â€œThe bastard put me in jail. He gave me bad dreams. Fuck ’im.”
    â€œMcKenzie,” Shelby said.
    â€œBalderdash.”
    It just didn’t sound the same.
    Â 
    I looked at my watch. Eleven forty-seven. Eleven forty-seven at night and I was sweating in my car, the windows rolled down, crickets chirping all over the damn place. I could have closed the windows and used the AC, but that would have been a dead giveaway. A car parked along a residential street with the engine running—I might as well hang a sign from both bumpers reading UP TO NO GOOD . AS it was, I was surprised the good folks in Mahtomedi weren’t more observant. I was surprised someone hadn’t already called the cops. I was surprised that the cops weren’t shining their bright lights inside my Audi and demanding that I state my business.
    â€œIt’s like this, Officer, I’m spying on my girlfriend.”
    Yeah, that would go over big.
    What the hell
are
you doing here?
my inner voice wanted to know.
    Just curious, I told it.
    What else?
    Angry, excited, afraid, jealous, guilty, hopeful. . .
    Hopeful?
    Especially hopeful, although hopeful for what I couldn’t say. I had been parked down the street from Nina’s home for the better part of two hours, and I couldn’t explain my motives to myself any better than when I first arrived. I guess I just wanted to see it for myself—Nina with another man. I could believe it if I saw it for myself.
    What good would that do?
    My God, you ask a lot of questions.
    I looked at my watch again. Eleven forty-nine. How long does it take to eat dinner, anyway?
    I turned on my radio and hit the scan button until it stopped at 89.3 FM, the Current, Minnesota Public Radio’s new alternative rock station. Some people have labeled it the radio station for music connoisseurs, and it certainly is that. The first hour I listened to it I heard Otis Redding, Chet Baker, Johnny Cash, the Jayhawks, Little Eva, Blind Willie Johnson, the Byrds, Chaka Khan, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and five bands that