I had a dream I was visiting Oviedo and it was completely different. It looked like the U.S., specifically somewhere around here. I felt like I was on a beach at Lake Washington looking at Vashon or Mercer Island, except the houses weren't huge fancy things like they are on Mercer--they were average 70s style houses with no notable gardening or architecture, and some of them were even ugly. I was sitting there on the beach marveling at how much Oviedo had changed, how trashy and American it looked, when a bunch of people walked by and I looked back in front of me and realized there was still some old world charm--cobblestone streets meant only for pedestrians, and the towering ancient churches. I settled into my blanket and grabbed my book but then I felt drawn to look up again. That's when I saw Jorge Fernandez Castro, my psycho ex who beat the hell out of me and denied it, who was absolved in court after I pressed charges and applied for a restraining order.
He was really the reason that I left Oviedo.
I noticed it was him even though he was wearing a large hooded jacket and a hat. Not sure why people were wearing jackets when it was this nice out and there were also people having picnics on the beach.
Then I did the unthinkable. I waved at him. I pretended everything was water under the bridge. I didn't address what happened 8 years ago, I didn't even yell at him. In my conscious waking mind I know I'd never talk to him even if I saw him on the street, but there really is a part of me that's curious about what he's up to, if he's abusing women as we speak, if he ever got in more legal trouble or got exposed as the villain he is. His eyes went wide, he said "It's you!" and he sat down on my blanket. "How are you?' he asked and I replied "Great!"
There wasn't much deep conversation and I don't remember what we talked about if anything. Sort of reflects the shallow mundane shit we used to talk about in reality: movies, music, people, food. Rarely did we actually talk about ideas and world events, and when I tried, he began talking so fast and passionately in Spanish that I couldn't really keep up or add new things to the conversation.
The next thing I knew we were in someone's flat having dinner at a long table with a bunch of other young people of all different nationalities. It felt like I was back then in time, meeting all kinds of people, trying to learn snippets of Portuguese, French, Japanese, whatever language of the person I met, while they asked me questions about English. Everyone at the table was jovial, wine was flowing, the food smelled delicious. Jorge's soft, jolly baritone voice was the most audible, and he made jokes and told stories. He made people laugh like he always used to. Some of his jokes seemed a little pointed or subtly harsh, and I saw a bit of a wounded reaction from one of the guys at the end of the table, who shuddered and glared at Jorge.
Jorge and I weren't sitting near eachother, but he kept looking at me as if he was trying to get my attention. I held steady and refused to make eye contact with him. I was realizing I didn't want to talk to him in the first place and was wishing he would leave. I was confused about why I was even here in the same room with him. He walked across the room a few times looking at me, talking about how he was getting out of here soon, making no attempt to hide the fact that he asking me to go with him. I waited it out and he eventually left. Before he did, he said, "Okay Lissa, I'm so glad I got to see you. I'm glad you're doing well" and I replied in a very emotionless and dead tone, "I'm glad I saw you on the street."
After he left I felt sick to my stomach. I immediately divulged to the people in the room what happened. "I never should have come here," I told them, "that guy Jorge is my ex and I haven't talked to him in 8 years. He attacked me in Budapest on New Year's 2011 and beat the shit out of me. He took my ID and threatened to leave me there. I took him to court and he was absolved. I was completely grief-stricken, depressed for the whole winter and spring, and triggered by childhood abuse. And I can't believe I talked to that fucker and sat in the same room as him. Entitled, misogynist piece of shit!"
Peoples' eyes went wide. The girl next to me was really sympathetic. She rubbed my shoulders and said, "Wow, I bet that dinner was really hard for. I wish I would've known." I told everyone about how he lied to everyone, turned mutual friends against me, etc. Then the guy at the other end of the table who I'd noticed earlier spoke up. Then I noticed he was shaking.
He said, "I'm so glad you said something. Jorge attacked me too. He held me down and tore off my clothes and told me he liked me. At first I was into it, but then he got rough and I told him to stop and he wouldn't. Then he raped me for hours after that, and wouldn't let me leave. It was the scariest night of my life."
Everyone in the room was crestfallen. The guy put is face in his hands and sobbed and the guy next to him hugged him and comforted him.
I felt angrier than I've felt in some time. "We have to do something to that fucker! We can't talk to him and be friendly anymore! We're just reinforcing the idea that what he did was okay and he can just go through the world doing whatever he wants to anyone and there are no repercussions and he's still adored and he's Mr. Popular. Fuck that!"
Other people agreed. "No, we can't talk to him anymore."
It was such an angering dream, and I was mostly angry at myself talking to that psycho.
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