Gasping for breath

It was a typical bar scene: Dim lighting, blue-grey smoke hanging in the air, loud conversation and whatever music was playing on the jukebox. Seeing Andy there wasn’t a shock, after all, “our” friends were all there. They clustered around a table, beers in hand, cliqued off by couple or by conversation topic.

I took a seat next to Andy, as I normally would, and attempted to start up a conversation. But his response was chilly, and eventually he walked away. I resumed my socializing, talking instead to some of my other friends.

After some time had passed, I thought maybe I'd attempt another conversation with Andy. I saw him through the haze of smoke and the maze of tables, so I waved him over. I was in the mood to talk to him; finally, I was at a point in our relationship where seeing him, speaking to him didn’t remind me of what we’d had. I was at a point in our relationship where the phrase “just friends” was palatable. It had taken me so long to get there that I was grateful for the feeling. And I wanted to share that feeling.

“I don’t understand why she keeps talking to me,” Andy said to Rob (Julia's boyfriend and Andy's best friend). “It’s like she’s trying to be friends or something.”

“I don’t know, dude,” Rob replied. He turned back to Julia, unconcerned.

I was hurt by the statement, and confused. The last time I’d seen Andy, things were awkward, but was that any reason not to attempt civility in public? My face probably betrayed my inner thoughts; I’m not very good at controlling my facial expressions and reactions to others. Especially my reactions to him.

So when he walked over to my table, I thought maybe he was going to make peace and play nice. I slid off my bar stool, ready to greet him. But my hope for a civil friendship started fade as he got closer. The stormy expression on his face spoke not of making peace, but of making war.

I suppose I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was when he bent me back, over the table, and started choking me.

I felt his hands around my windpipe. I felt the air trapped in my throat, buried under the fear. I don’t know how I got the strength to break his hold, but somehow I did.

“What are you doing?!” I shouted at him.

"Why are you trying to be friends with me?! I don't want to be your friend!" he shouted in response.

He moved so quickly, I didn’t guess his intentions. He pushed the leg of a nearby barstool against my throat. He face was red and angry. There was a hatred there that I've never seen before on anyone... it was scary and I started to panic. "He's going to kill me," I thought. My vision started to dapple, but even as I felt life being strangled away, I registered the nonchalance on the faces of the other people in the bar. I'm not sure they were even looking at me or aware of what was happening. It was just another boring scene in a bar to them.

Imagine my relief when I woke up in a cold sweat, sheets tangled around my legs, heart pounding wildly in my chest. The room was dark, the house was quiet. My mind was groggy… but the dream stayed with me.