In high school, I had a crush on the one of the bad boys, the leather jacket wearing, smoking in the boys' room, skipping class bad boy. Billy was rarely in school, but, when he was, everyone knew it. You couldn't miss the 12-inch mohawk coming down the hall. He was tall, dark-haired, with stunning eyes which were usually clouded over in some sort of narcotic haze. I admired him from afar. Same school, two different worlds.
Then, those worlds collided. The summer before our Senior year, Billy found God and cleaned up his life. The hot mohawk-sporting bad boy was gone. In his place, stood a typical Dockers-wearing Young Republican with a dream to become a minister. *shudder*
He was still attractive in a clean-cut way, but the crush was gone. We became more than acquaintances, but not quite friends.
Last night, I dreamed about him.
As I sat at my desk this morning, reading the WaPo articles about the events at VA Tech, I began to wonder if that's what triggered my dream. That summer, someone offered Billy a helping hand ... and he took it. And that made all the difference.
"You had a hundred billion chances and ways to have avoided today," said Cho Seung Hui.