Insomnia

When the sun slips below that horizontal threshold, my body convulses, an involuntary movement that wrecks the quiet. My palms are sweaty, my breathing labored into a yearning gasp. I want nothing more than to become the darkness. I want to disappear.

Instead, I lie in bed watching the perpetual revolution of the ceiling fan. The constant spin is lulling. A predictability discerned. All I feel is anxiety borne into motion, followed by the tingly sensation of fear, as it skirts along the back of my neck. Then it happens, without precursor or meaning, the blades come to an eventual stop. My eyes widen in a protracted disbelief, my pulse racing with panic. And the movement resumes in the opposite direction, as if the kiss of a demon propelled the physical world to action. The blades trace a counter clock-wise path toward something unknown. I am frozen. A realization hovers.

I close my eyes to unsee the unnatural order. Holding my breath, I clench my eyelids tighter. I can’t, no, I won’t look. The reaper is inches, maybe millimeters, from consuming me and everything suspended within this primordial night. My fingers dig deeper into the sheets. I whisper a prayer to the angels, words that do not take form into sound, a truncated motion.

“The Lor.. is my shepher…I will not wan…will or shall, it doesn’t make a difference.”

A train whistle breaks the silence, a wailing that cracks and calms. I loosen my death grip on the cotton fabric. A slow exhale passes from my lips. Without bringing the world into vision, I stumble through my worries, recounting the pile of fears that leave me beholden to the present.

There’s the flat tire that I can’t fix until payday. The spare has to survive until I can afford repairs. There are the myriad creditors who are on constant attack to siphon my measly wages. I’ve become indifferent to their greed. There’s the white lie I told my boss about that pending client account. It will lead to my pending removal. Of course, there’s that nagging mole on my abdomen. It changed from nude to a raging black in a matter of weeks, but I’ll ignore it a little longer, at least until I have the extra money to schedule a doctor’s appointment.

The racing thoughts propel an energy, an incessant churn of misery that manifests itself in physical reflex. My brain searches for a focal point of repose.

“Sarah,” I let her name take full form. It jumps from my lips with an aching.

She is travelling with her new job. Maybe she is back already. She has been shoving that proposal hint more frequently. Holy matrimony, her elixir for boredom. I’m not ready for the commitment sham or what follows, which we all know is the next step to retirement and the grave, with kids and dogs layered in between. She doesn’t suspect my sins disguised as weaknesses. It is my fault for hiding my resolute poverty. I know it’s more of a poverty of spirit, but whatever the tired label, it is my fate. I wish she could see the whole of my endeavors.

I’ve stopped taking Mom’s calls. She senses my demise. Sometimes, I pity her too. The one person who will not vanquish hope. She is naive for the belief she fosters, but I would be lost without her enduring admiration.

I peel my eyes open to see the present time. The demons have slipped behind the shadows. The digital clock holds its vigil next to the bed.

11:04

During the race and rush of it, five minutes have elapsed. I groan my way into a smirk and roll over to watch the silent noise outside my window. The early snowflakes of November fall with their heavy wetness. It is as if the heavens have released the stars. One by one they glide to a quiet, resting spot.

If only I could rest. Close my eyes and fall into a sweet slumber. My mind is the mortal enemy as the hours click a desultory path to nowhere. It morphs into this separate being, pelting questions. It is carnivorous in how it eats away my center.

Why did you leave your sister’s side when she was dying in the hospital? Were you really that hungry? Couldn’t resist the impulse to run?

Did you have to mislead your friend, Judi? Let her think that you were someone you are not? Now she’s gone, as well.

No chance of righting those wrongs.

Not to mention the unending self-absorption. Seriously, did you leave your dog out all night in the biting cold, forgetting to let him in? Too lazy (or is it defeated) to install the dog door that Sarah gave you last Christmas? Yes, the same one that you can see in the far corner of the room. The moonlight casts a fine light against the contours of the box.

Or the time that you yelled at the demure customer service rep, a free-flowing barrage of upended words, caustic and sharp. It wasn’t her fault that your bank account was overdrawn.

And what about the time…

Yanking back the covers, I yell a guttural cry, a masked pleading…. “STOP!!!”

Sitting up, the darkness reaches for me. I am loath to get out of bed, because nothing within the confines of these walls can alleviate my internal interrogation. I am tethered to the past and my relentless mistakes. I am exhausted.

A faintness tugs at my eyelids, beckons me to follow. I lean into the soft warmth of the pillow. It cradles my head. In an unforeseen way, it cradles my thoughts. Shifting my weight back underneath the blanket, I let my mind follow the cobblestone streets of St Ann. My footsteps are unsteady. If I could re-wind to New Orleans, I know I could find the spot where the deviation occurred. It could be fixed, righted, somehow made whole. But how do you break away from the forward momentum of time? How can you go back when the present moment is forever fleeting? My brain is racked with solitude.

Then there is a jolt, a knocking that pierces the quiet like a forgotten reminder. I sit up straight. My nerves are a frayed map of recollections that lead to here. The ensuing silence fills the void. Slowly, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The cold hardwood floor reminds me that I am still awake. Tiptoeing down the hallway to the front entryway, I wonder, almost laugh as to why I’m being furtive. It is my own home, after all. In its mess of cluttered artifacts and daily necessities, there is a beauty, felt not seen.

Passing by the living room mirror, I catch a reflection. It is ghostly. I am riveted by its softness, the ethereal way the light moves in the shadows. I fancy a closer look and edge my nose inches from the pristine glass. The eyes are vacant, staring back in a way that evokes sadness.

“Do I know you?” The words pass from my lips with no answer, but I don’t expect one like I don’t anticipate the outcome. There is an irreverency in explanations, in needing to know.

The rapping on the door resumes with two disjointed knocks. Hurrying to the door, I sidestep my shoes. They are tattered in the front seam. They will have to do until I find a way to hold it together. Leaning in toward the peephole, I will my eyes to adjust. The blackness of the night looms within my circular field of vision.

Opening the door, I stick my head out into autumn’s cold embrace. I look to and fro for the mystery visitor, but there is no one, the snow on the ground untouched. A tear glides down my cheek. A whimper. A defeat. With the door closed behind me, I let my body trace its way to the floor. My shoulders collapse under the weight, and I turn my head to the side. In these woeful hours, I pray to endure.