Lepsy

​It's kind of odd that Dr. Sandoval invited me to her house at this hour. The sun went down an hour ago, and the rain is beginning to pick up. My old rain poncho is nearly falling apart at this point, and I still can't find my car keys. The moon's light is a cool blue that makes the desert look like a dry ocean bed that the rain is threatening to fill up and drown us all in. The rain only seems to pick up more as I get closer to her house. Louder and louder, the patter of rain turns into a hiss from every direction, then thunder and light fill the sky above me and my ears with a natural song. Lightning strikes and burns while water consumes and suffocates, both threatening me right now. I can only hope they succeed.

​Dr. Sandoval's usual office burned down a month ago, which is unfortunate, but as far as I can remember, I had nothing to do with it. Or did it burn down? The last time I slept, it hadn't burned down, but now it has. Yet in the email, she said it happened two months ago. I remember having a session there about how all of this started a month after the supposed burning. I'll sort it out later. Dr. Sandoval's house is lovely; her yard is full of lush desert native plants, and her front door has a grand arched overhang where you can take a moment to kick the dust off your shoes or dry off, safe from the harsh rain. I ring the doorbell and take off my poncho to stuff it into my backpack.

​“Hello, Ethan. I am ready for you to come in.” Dr. Sandoval's voice is comforting and smooth. She's been more casual lately, wearing a sweater with the letters UCLA on it, sweatpants with what is probably Korean writing on each leg, and socks with slides. I walk through the front door of her residence, and we make our way over to her office so we can start. I had only been here one other time for a session—a session I'm not too sure really happened, but it was comforting being there nonetheless. Even though the couch may have been a different color before and the positioning of the kitchen counter seems a little bit off now, I don't know how much it matters.

​“So how have you been, Ethan? Are there any new updates as of late?” Dr. Sandoval asks while taking her seat at her desk. She then reaches into a drawer and pulls out her pen and notebook.

​ “Not great. I might have quit my job,” I say, leaning my head back as I sit on the couch in my usual spot. The light in her office seems dimmer than last time, and the dark wooden shelves and drawers in her office seem relaxing. “Did you get a new bulb for your desk lamp?”

​ Dr. Sandoval looks puzzled for a moment, but then returns to her usual stoic expression. “Very observant, Ethan, but what is this about losing your job?” she says in a tone meant to guide me back in a more productive direction.

​ “The bulb is dimmer and more yellow than the white light you had before. And I didn't lose my job. I quit… or I might have.” I shuffle my body to lie down on the couch and turn my head to face her.

​ “How do you not know if you quit your job, Ethan?” Dr. Sandoval has never made me feel more stupid before this moment. Her tone has a bit more sharpness to it than usual.

​ “I woke up again. four months deep this time and… I lost it, I guess. I was being considered for a *yawns* promotion, and I even started talking to people again.” The soft yellow light in the room pulls me deeper into comfort and nearly into sleep. I sit up and stretch my arms above my head. “But I don't know if I'm asleep now or not.”

​ “Ethan, you can't tell if you're awake right now?” She sits up in her chair, giving greater attention to my words now.

​“No… Can I use the restroom?” I say, standing up and turning to the door.

​Dr. Sandoval sits up to point through the doorway. “Sure, it's down—”

​“The hall on the left,” I interrupt, now standing in the doorway.

​I head down the hall and reach the restroom. The bags under my eyes in the mirror are dark, and the sunken cheeks on my face can't be covered up by a smile, frown, or any other facial expression at this point. I rinse my face and pinch my bicep in an attempt to keep myself awake. The rain outside the bathroom window splashes and hisses, calling me toward it. “Come sleep in our cool water. Let us fill your lungs with answers.” I listen for a moment and then walk back to Dr. Sandoval's office.

​“Ethan.” Dr. Sandoval is standing at her desk, flipping through a notebook. “I do not believe you have ever been to my house before. Is that correct?”

​ “Yes, I'd say so. Only in a dream, I suppose,” I say, walking toward the couch to take my seat.

​ “Ethan, how can you know the layout of my house if you haven't really been here?” Dr. Sandoval asks, looking down at her notes and then up at me.

​ “I don't know. I figured I’m either in a dream now or the other session wasn't a dream,” I say, sitting up on the couch to face her. My eyelids are becoming almost too heavy to keep open.

​“…When was the last time you slept, Ethan?” she asks, slowly sitting back in her chair. “I do not mean waking up and going backward, but just sleeping purposefully?”

​ “I’d say about six days ago now.”

​ “Okay. Maybe you should now. I don't mind.”

​ “We’ve barely started the session, though,” I say, leaning over with my elbows on my knees to support my body.

​ “No, it's okay, Ethan. How about you start from the beginning then? Just to review.” Dr. Sandoval says, leaning back in her chair. I begin to do the same.

​ “I was nineteen when it first happened. I was sleeping after a night shift, and the light was so bright on my face through the window, but I was so comfortable it didn't matter. When I started feeling myself fall asleep, I felt an earthquake and I couldn't move until it was over. I was so worried about my sisters and my mom that when I got up, I ran around the house looking for them. First, my mom across the hall, but her door was locked; then to my sisters down the hall, but nobody was inside. Then I'd run to the living room, and it would… start again in my bed. It happened about six times until…”

​I begin dozing off by this point. I slap myself awake and stand up. Dr. Sandoval flinches at my sudden movement.

​ “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” I stand up and pace the room as the storm grows outside, its hissing rain and booming thunder leaking into the office, telling me to “WAKE UP.”

​ Dr. Sandoval stands and leans over her desk, tracking me with her old brown eyes. “Rest now. It's okay to sleep.”

​ “No. That's what it wants me to do. It wants me to sleep.”

​ Dr. Sandoval's eyebrows furrow and her eyes squint. “You need to sleep, Ethan.”

​I feel her eyes stabbing me as I walk from one side of the room to the other. Her invitation has turned into a demand, her soft, grandmotherly temperament breaking.

​“The seventh time, I was walking into the kitchen and one of the chairs… it was floating about three feet in the air.”

​ Dr. Sandoval's left hand reaches for her phone on the desk while her right hand pretends to write on her notepad. I stop walking and go to sit on the couch.

​ “I'm sorry. I don't mean to scare you.”

​“Why do you keep yelling, Ethan?” Dr. Sandoval's hand returns to its usual place.

​ “I'm not… Am I?” My head, at the slightest moment of rest, drifts toward sleep. But have I been yelling? AM I YELLING?

​“YES, YOU ARE, ETHAN!” Dr. Sandoval's scream answering my question pulls me fully into an awake state. Her face is serious and firm, her eyes locked on mine, commanding me to sit still. “You need to sleep now. You look like you haven't eaten in days, and you are scaring me. I know it's scary, but you need to sleep. I'll write a hold now, and if you aren't feeling better by the time you wake up, you need to go to the psychiatric facility.”

​ “Okay,” I whisper, lying back down on the couch. The storm's hiss turns to a windy, howling scream: “WAKE UP NOW!”

​ “You aren't in danger, dear.” Her voice sounds like my mother's now warm, reassuring, and safe, but also rehearsed. The light on her desk grows dimmer and dimmer as she lulls me into comfort. “You're safe. How about you think of a happy time in your life? Be careful to watch your breath, okay?”

​“Okay.” I close my eyes and remember my mom making dinner. The sink was running steamy water into the pot, and the dark sky outside the window had imposing dark clouds. I asked if I was awake and explained the dream I had. She listened and assured me that I was awake and safe. I told her I had a headache and was feeling dizzy; right after that, I threw up in the toilet. She told me to get dressed, and we started driving to the hospital. I was getting dizzy again, looking out the window when I realized how dark everything was. The farther we got from the house, the darker everything became, as if a spotlight had been solely on our home. I looked out the windshield and saw that the headlights weren't on—there was only darkness ahead of us.

​“Why aren't the headlights on?” I asked.

​ “What do you mean?” She turned to look at me.

​ I looked out the window. “What time is it?”

​ “It's four-thirty.”

​ “Why is it so dark out?” I asked, looking back at her.

​ She looked out at the pitch-black road ahead of us, then back to me. “It's starting to feel more real, isn't it?” Her eyes went black and pearly as she stared into mine, her usually comforting smile now full of threat.

​ I rolled down the window and woke up again.

​ It wants me to sleep and feel comfortable. It wants me to feel safe. I open my eyes in the dark office and see Dr. Sandoval's pearly black eyes behind the desk. Her short body stretches up far past where I estimate the ceiling to be, looming in a corner. The storm has stopped or cannot be heard, and I cannot move.

​ “Why don't you sleep?” Dr. Sandoval asks from the corner. The window lights up the room for a moment before sending it back into darkness. The taps of her footsteps approach me but stop in the middle of the room. Her large, dark eyes stare into me, seeming larger as she approaches, until her head is right over mine.

​ “SLEEP!” she screams into my ear.

​“NOOO!” I yell as the windows shatter and light fills the room.

​When I woke up, I saw the psychiatric hold on the table in front of me. The rain had gone down from a hiss to a light patter and the cool sunlight filtered through the clouds are beautiful real or not. Dr. Sandoval leans into the doorway. “How did you sleep?”