Night -- a short story by Diana Bachir
I looked outside and saw it was still pitch dark. Here we go again I thought, another nocturnal
interlude with…myself. My half of the
comforter and sheet were predictably damp.
My husband lying next to me was giving off some type of unnatural
volcanic heat which would be welcome in December, but not now. I checked my cell phone lying on the bedside
table.
2:39.
Had I only been asleep for a little more than an hour? I vaguely remembered drifting off into some
kind of anesthetic trance while reading.
Wow, it seemed like light years ago.
I sat up straight and flipped my pillow over to its cooler side. Sometimes the renewed blast of coolness next
to my head would soothe me back to sleep.
Unfortunately, the whirlwind of activity pulsing through my brain like a
laser made me realize the attempt at falling back to sleep was futile.
I dragged myself up
carefully, checking that I hadn’t disturbed the bump that was my husband. I swung my legs and hit the cool floor with
both feet, hoping for some relief to filter through my body. Not really enough.
I wandered out to the hallway and made my way into the
kitchen. Maybe some milk? From past experience I knew peanut butter and
jelly was particularly soothing at mid-night.
I made myself a small bite and strolled into the salon. So quiet and reflective. I looked out the balcony doors into the
glimmering lights of the airport in the far distance. That part of the city was awake and operating
as usual despite the darkness. People
were checking in, arriving, claiming luggage, greeting relatives. Pilots were bustling off to their next
destination, janitors were washing the floors.
I envied their busyness as I stood there with my eyes wide open.
I thought to myself, tomorrow I will pay for this little
rendezvous. I will barely be able to
stumble out of bed and I will look at myself in the bathroom mirror annoyed at
my puffy eyes. However, for now, it was
strangely enjoyable being alone in the dark solitude. My mind took me back to the previous day and
its events. The unbearable heat that
everyone was complaining about “it’s too early for this kind of weather in
May!” I chuckled to myself because
every year there is at least a 3 day heat wave that comes at almost precisely
the same time. Am I the only one that
remembers these mundane facts? The
scathing e-mail from an employee when I asked her she must give more than a
four days’ notice and that she must wrap up all her tasks before leaving. I am always amazed when someone you’ve had
coffee with for two years can suddenly turn into a complete facade of
themselves. You wonder, “Who is this
person?” And more frightening “Am I that
bad of a judge in character?” Doesn’t she need references for these past 2
years for any future employment? Why do I care?
My eyes were starting to burn even though I really didn’t
feel the urge to sleep. I passed by my
son’s room. A lovely breeze was coming
from his open window. I checked on him
and noticed he was all bundled up. I
took the top blanket off and covered him only with the sheet. When he was younger he was obsessed with
always being fully covered in bed to protect him from zombies. Did he still believe in zombies? I remembered when I was a little girl and
being afraid that the wicked witch from the Wizard of Oz would fly into my
bedroom and whisk me away. Although, in
this day and age, she somehow does seem a lot tamer than zombies.
I had finished my snack and wished I could just start my day
right then and there. I had so much laundry and housework, just
thinking how I could get such a head start with it. Giggling to myself, but I’m not sure if my
neighbors would appreciate me rattling the pots and pans in the middle of the
night. Nor my husband for that
matter. Who made the rules that nighttime should be
void of productivity? Certainly not the
so-called night owls. You know who they
are by their grey skin pallor and sunken eyes.
“I was up until 3 a.m.” they say with hoarse voices “I am a night
person”. I once had a friend who would
always show up for work in the morning, shaky and mismatched, complaining of
sleep deprivation. She used to laugh like a maniac given the
slightest provocation. Much to the annoyance of her supervisor she would wear
sunglasses whenever she could get away with it.
She did this not to hide blood-shot eyes, but because she had a
sensitivity to bright light. She was
convinced that in a former life she was a wraith.
I heard footsteps and saw my son, in all his lankiness, walk
into the kitchen. I heard water being
poured and seconds later saw him again.
He squinted into the room and said “Mama is that you? “Yes honey, it’s okay go back to sleep”. “Why are you up?” he asked, “are you
okay?” “Yes, just couldn’t sleep”. “Okay, goodnight night, sweet dreams” he said,
a phrase that he has repeated every night since he could speak.
Insomniacs, what a breed. It has been studied that lack of sleep can
cause an array of health issues. However, I rather enjoy this sort of trance
that happens only at night, a kind of floating between consciousness and
reverie. It’s as if the darkness has its
own unique smells and sounds, energy completely different from the day.
I will smoke a cigarette and go back to bed with stinky
pajamas. I will hope that my lack of
sleep does not cross over into any daytime failures.
