Surreal Ecstasy Read Online Free Page B

tired of seeing me."
    "I
could never be tired of seeing you, especially since you created me to be so
patient."
    I
laughed, in spite of myself. "Is this normal? Let me correct that—is it
normal to create a man in your dreams as a child, and then continue to see that
same man as an adult?"
    Though
I couldn't see Friend's face that well, I had a feeling the expression on his
face was a gentle one. "Why do you always care about what is or isn't normal?
You are Morgan Constantina, the one and only, the beautiful, wise,
ever-illuminating spirit."
    I
stifled the desire to roll my eyes. I didn't want to hurt his feelings,
especially because he was always so nice to me. I sighed briefly and said, "It
doesn't feel that way. It hasn't felt that way for a very long time."
    "You're
too young to say things like 'for a very long time.'  What has wounded you? Why
so cynical? So you fell in love with a jerk. That's not the worst thing that
can happen. You had hope for him and decided to stick by him no matter what.
You can't be blamed for believing in the idea of happiness. You're young,
beautiful, and alive. Most importantly, you have the courage and ability to
learn what doesn't make you happy, and adapt accordingly."
    "Thanks,
but I kind of wish someone real would say that." I wished I wasn't whining
like a brat in my own fantasy, feeling sorry for myself. "This is a
terrible fantasy. Drugs and misery have left my imagination numb." I shook
my head.
    "Did
you really think sex was the ultimate fantasy?" he asked, not in a mocking
tone but in a genuinely interested one. When I didn't answer, he added, "What
would be the ultimate happiness for you?"
    I
didn't answer him for two reasons. One, he was created by my mind, and
therefore he would already know everything I knew. And two, some questions are
so ridiculous that they require no answer, just a steel glare.
    How
could I correctly answer him? What would make me happy would be everything, but
not anything in particular. Happiness without anger, mistrust, violence. To be
loved simply because I was Morgan. To be accepted by my holier-than-thou
family, and not because I suddenly became a saint, but because I was me,
because I was special to them.
    I
wanted to exist without people taking a front-row seat to my life and
commenting on every action. I wanted that freedom, and felt we were all
entitled to that. I wasn't a murderer or a thief. I had just been walking a
path of confusion, and had been taking steps to ease that confusion. Not
everyone agreed with the steps I took, but I didn't ask for their permission
and even if I did, I strongly believed we were all equal on this planet. This
would mean that no one would have cause to rule over or judge me.
    But
how does one say all this? I didn't have the emotional energy to speak of it
aloud. Doing so would require more effort than I was willing to put forth,
effort to elaborate and provide painful details, even though he already knew
all these things.
    I
looked up at Friend—inasmuch as I could. Perhaps he smiled, or maybe he was
growing impatient with my silence. Hopefully, he understood that I didn't want
to answer his question. I changed the subject instead.
    "Do you want me to call you
something besides Friend? Is there a real name you prefer?"
    "What do you want my name to
be?"
    I groaned and looked back down at
the blanket, which was easier on my dream-eyes than trying to see through the
sun. "Please. Don't turn my questions back around on me. I would really
like a civilized conversation, if you don't mind. Also…"
    "Also, what?" he asked
after I trailed off and didn't finish.
    "Also, that's what hookers
say, and that's not really what I picture for my dream man."
    He laughed—a good natured, genuine
laugh. "Am I your dream man?" he quizzed, a subtle teasing note in
his voice.
    I smiled without looking up. "I
thought that once, back when I was little. I thought that since I made you, I
might as well make you in the image of the