There are always a few blissful moments when I first wake up each morning that I still feel like myself. My eyelids slowly flutter open, glancing first at the clock, and then at my wife, Lauren, sleeping beside me. I take a few deep breaths, and close my eyes for a few moments more, meditatively. I rub my eyes. I scratch my nose.
Then, with no conscious input from me, I start going through the motions. I sit up, then stand up with care, trying not to wake Lauren prematurely. I strip off all of my nightclothes save yesterday’s boxers, as my undergarments are going to get sweaty during my morning run anyhow. I put on a pair of gym shorts, socks, a tank-top, and a pair of tennis shoes. I got new ones about two weeks ago.
I go into the bathroom for my morning piss, carefully washing my hands, lathering them in soap twice as I always do. I creep out of the bathroom and down the hall. I peak my head briefly into my son’s bedroom. Four-year-old Jeremy is sleeping soundly. I make my way into the kitchen and pour myself a tall glass of filtered water from the refrigerator, pouring more of the same into my Nalgene water bottle.
I run a 5K. I’m new to running, and the effort leaves me huffing and wheezing, wanting to catch my breath, but my body perseveres. It pushes me beyond the wall, and I run the full circuit without stopping. I slow to a cool-down pace about five blocks from my house, and I spend a little bit of time stretching in the front yard before I go back inside.
Lauren and Jeremy are awake by this point. Lauren has breakfast half prepared, and Jeremy is sitting in the living room watching his morning cartoons.
I smile widely as Lauren catches my eye. “Good morning,” I say, brightly.
“Good morning,” she replies, somewhat more subdued in her half-awake state. As I approach her from behind, she leans back to accept my kiss. Afterward, she gently clutches my chin so she can look me in the eye. “Is everything alright?”
No. “Of course,” I reply.
“Are you sure?”
She’s been asking that a lot lately. “Never better!” I assure her, smiling a politician’s smile.
“Daddy!” Jeremy exclaims, leaping into my arms as I enter the living room. “Legos?”
It’s always remarkable how little waking up time the small boy needs each morning. He’s got an on-off switch, that one. He’s either fast asleep or bright and shining. Nothing in-between. “Morning, buddy-boy,” I say. “You know I can’t play now. I have to go to work!”
“Why work? Just stay here like sometimes!”
I chuckle. “I wish I could, Jer-Bear. But daddy’s gotta do what daddy’s gotta do.”
“Daddy’s gah do what daddy gah do.”
“You got it, kiddo.”
I go into the bathroom. I strip off my gyms clothes. I hop in the shower. It’s on the edge of too hot. It is too hot. Uncomfortably hot. Why? Why does it need to be that hot? It’s five minutes spent just on the edge of torture beneath a steaming downpour, one step short of scalding.
My skin is red and tender when I step out five minutes later. I dry off and wrap a towel around my waist. I step up to the steam-cloaked mirror, wiping away a patch of it with my hand.
I gaze into my reflection.
I smile. I wink.
Then I brush my teeth, thoroughly. Front, back, top, sides. I follow that up with some dental floss and mouthwash. I never fail to take these steps that so many often neglect. Next, it’s time to shave. I lather up my chin, and mow my facial hair carefully in straight rows.
Once. Twice.
Ow! Shit!
Blood flows down my cheek freely. My face falls. “Damn it. I’ll never get this figured out.” I dab the wound with some hydrogen peroxide, then apply tissue to help the blood clot. I finish shaving. I get dressed.
Breakfast is eggs, bacon, and a side of fruit. I leave the bacon, although the sight of it makes my mouth water. Lauren seems mildly offended. “No bacon?” she asks.
I shrug. “It looks fantastic, but I’ve got my health to worry about, you know.”
With a kiss for my son and my wife, I’m out the door, briefcase in hand. Rush hour traffic is a nightmare as always. Everyone needs to get there before everyone else. I’ve perpetually got someone riding my ass or cutting me off or zipping across three lanes at the last minute to get to their exit, other drivers be-damned. I try not to let it bother me as I sip at a cup of gas-station coffee.
At one point, someone stops suddenly in front of me as I’m taking a sip. I see it happen, but my body is not responding quickly enough. Shit. Shit. SHIT!
I brake just in time.
“Whoops. That was close,” I say, cheerily, laughing to myself.
I arrive at work. I punch in. I exchange the regular pleasantries with my cubicle neighbors. I chat with the lady at the front desk for a few extra minutes as she shows me pictures of her new baby, and I show her some new pictures of Jeremy. I smile and laugh at all the right moments as though this is the highlight of my day.
Help me.
I’ve been at my job long enough to become skilled and efficient. I file reports and respond to e-mails promptly, professionally, and objectively. My friend Gary and I take an hour lunch at our favorite sub sandwich place five blocks from the office. We get back a couple of minutes late, but our boss doesn’t mind much, such model employees we are.
5:00 rolls around. I’m in the car by 5:02. More traffic. I-94 takes about fifteen minutes longer than usual. It turns out a cop has pulled over a Chevy Impala and everyone and their mother needs to slow down and have a look. The driver of the Impala is a middle-aged blonde lady, and she’s crying as the cop reads her the riot act.
I arrive home, and give Lauren my excuses for my tardiness. Dinner is nearly ready. It looks like it’s grilled cheese and minestrone soup for Lauren and me. Macaroni and hotdogs for Jeremy.
“One of these days, you ought to let me handle dinner,” I say, kissing Lauren on the cheek.
“Well,” she replies with a shrug, “You work. I don’t.”
Lauren and I eat in silence, but Jeremy is full of stories about his day in preschool. Apparently he has a new music teacher, and meanie Yolanda pushed him off the swing again today and got yelled at by Miss Katie. Lauren and I smile and laugh at all the appropriate moments.
Help me.
After dinner we go for a brisk walk around the neighborhood. I play Legos for a bit with Jeremy while Lauren reads a book, sipping a glass of red wine. I would desperately love a glass myself, but I haven’t had any wine in months. We all sit around for a couple of hours half-watching a Pixar movie together. I like watching movies. Any movie, really. Escapism. I can feel like myself, for a short while.
As everyone starts feeling tired, we agree to watch the second half of the movie tomorrow evening. Jeremy doesn’t complain. Lauren takes some time to herself in the bathroom. It’s my turn to make sure that Jeremy gets tucked in.
I carry him cradled in my arms, making plane noises and zipping into the bedroom as he giggles like crazy. I plop him down into bed, making sure he’s tucked in.
“Story, daddy!” he exclaims.
“Story? But of course, Jer-Bear. Which story shall I regale you with today?”
“Wormy Worm!’
Again?
“Wormy Worm? Sure! That one’s my all time favorites.”
I grab the book from the book bin next to Jeremy’s chest of drawers. It’s a small, cartoony-looking book with bright illustrations. The unusual thing is that Wormy the Worm is actually a plush finger puppet. There’s a hole right through the middle of the book, with a little Wormy finger puppet sticking out the middle of it creating a 3-D effect. I stick my finger through the back of the smiling, flesh-colored puppet, and in my high-pitched Wormy voice, I say, “Hiya, Jeremy!”
“Hi, Wormy!”
“I sure did miss you!” Then I attack Jeremy’s pudgy belly with Wormy, and he collapses into a fit of giggles.
I flip open the front cover, and begin to read. “Wormy Worm Likes to Burrow.”
Each page has a little rhyme on it, with an illustration to accompany it. On the first page, we see a little underground living room complete with a lamp, sofa, and television, except the walls and floor are made of dirt, and of course Wormy the Worm is wriggling about in the middle of it all.
When Wormy Worm is in his home/ He burrows in the dirt/ Don’t play too long in Wormy’s home/ You’ll get some on your shirt!
The next page shows Wormy happily eating his way out of an apple.
When Wormy Worm is in the yard/ He burrows in the fruit/ So check your food before you eat/ You big ol’ hungry brute!/
Now its dark and stormy outside, but Wormy continues to smile. He’s grooving to his own music, along with several of his wormy friends.
When Wormy feels it start to rain/ He dances on the ground/ Go dance with him; don’t go too far/ Or never you’ll be found!
Now it’s night, and Wormy is sticking out of a tree trunk right next to a cartoon owl and a cicada.
At nighttime Wormy wants to climb/ The very highest tree/ He burrows in the tallest branch/ As high as you can see.
Now there’s a menacing-looking sparrow, stalking around the yard for its morning meal.
In sunshine wormy has to hide/ There’s danger all about/ The early birdie wants some Wormy/ Of that there is no doubt.
There’s a picture of the inside of a pocket, with some lint, a quarter, a paperclip, and Wormy himself.
So keep your little Wormy safe/ You keep him very close/ But don’t let mommy see him, friend./ (She thinks he’s kind of gross.)
The final illustration is of a gigantic child’s ear with wormy hanging out of it.
And don’t let Wormy near your face/ Heed this advice, my dear/ You wouldn’t want this Wormy Worm/ To burrow in your ear!
At this point, as I always do, I stick the little wormy finger puppet in Jeremy’s ear. He wiggles and contorts, howling with laughter.
Don’t touch him.
“”Gain, daddy! ‘Gain!” Jeremy demands.
“Not tonight, Jer-Bear. You need to sleep, and daddy needs some sleep too. Another big day at the office again.”
Jeremy starts whining. “You should stay home, like sometimes.”
“Oh, buddy, I wish I could.” I pat him on the head. He curls up, and I leave him to it, keeping the door open just a crack.
Lauren is in the hallway, apparently having been listening in. “I don’t know why you read him that book,” she says. “I think it’s kind of creepy.”
I shrug. “Well, he likes it.” Help me.
“Like, I feel like Wormy might actually be a metaphor for something else, if you know what I mean.”
Help me.
I say, “Well, maybe you might be interested letting my Wormy do a little burrowing tonight.”
Help me.
Lauren’s jaw drops open in mock indignation. “If you start calling it your ‘Wormy’ there’s no way you’re do any burrowing tonight.”
Help me!
“HELP ME!” My heart skips a beat. I actually said it. I said it out loud, and Lauren heard me. A veil of dread falls across her face.
“W-What?” she stammers.
Quickly, I stammer, “I mean…that is…help me. Help me find Jeremy another book if you don’t think he should be reading the Wormy book.”
Lauren nods, but still looks slightly uncertain. “I think he has enough books for now. Keep reading him the Wormy book if it makes him happy.”
“Will do.” Sweat has formed on my brow, and I wipe it away. “Tell you what, hon. I’ll meet you in the bedroom. I’m going to make myself a little snack before I tuck in.”
“Oh. Okay.”
She walks away. I about-face into the kitchen. I’m walking very deliberately. I’m usually in the habit of tip-toeing about at this time a night so as not to wake Jeremy or the downstairs neighbors. Why am I going to the kitchen? This is unlike me. This isn’t part of the routine!
I grab a serrated kitchen knife out of the block on the high counter.
Oh shit. Oh shit. What is this?
I march back down the hallway toward our bedroom.
Lauren? LAUREN! Oh god, Lauren!
But I don’t get quite as far as the bedroom. I go into the bathroom instead and firmly pull the door shut.
I approach the sink, gazing at myself in the mirror. My face is not my own, etched with startling lines of anger. My bottom lip quivers, my brow twitches, and my eyes bear the flames of fury. As I stare unblinkingly at this stranger in the mirror, my instinct is to run away, but of course that’s not an option.
I place the knife very deliberately on the counter. I pull my sweatpants and underwear down to my ankles. I snatch the knife off the counter and brandish the blade to my genitals, stopping just short of drawing blood. My whole body is stabbed with needles of terror, and I feel tears brimming in my eyes as the blade softly prods my pink, sensitive flesh.
Oh please oh please oh please. Oh god, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please, oh, please. It was an accident. Just don’t do this. Please!
I withdraw the blade, and relief turns my body to putty. The anger is gone from my eyes. I point the blade at my reflection in the mirror, as though making a final point. I pull my pants back up.
I make sure to wash the blade thoroughly before returning to the block.
I go into the bedroom, and find Lauren still sitting up. She is down to just her nightclothes, smiling at me enticingly. I strip off my own clothes.
I try to derive some pleasure from what happens next, but I’m too far separated from the act. My mind is back in that bathroom with the serrated knife, and my body’s reactions are fully removed from my own will. This is just going through the motions, just like everything else. Every day is like this now. Weeks pass, and months, just like this.
I wake up, change, fill my water bottle, and set off on my morning run. This morning feels a bit different from usual. Jeremy starts kindergarten today. It’s a milestone. There ought to be a celebration in my house, I think. Cake, and party favors. I should have slept in a little later, and skipped this run, and spent a little extra time having breakfast with my family. But no. This day is just like every other, with little more than a mark on the kitchen calendar to differentiate it. I go through the motions. I have to keep up my routine.
Will the routine change in seven months, I wonder, when Lauren gives birth to our second child? Will that change the man that I’ve been forced to become? Or will that just breeze over me just as the doctor’s announcement had done. What if my second child is a daughter? Will I have to evolve with twice the women in my house? Or is this it? Is this the rest of my life, going through the motions?
The run is especially tough this morning. I’m getting a little more winded than usual. Is it a humid outside? No…it’s a brisk September morning. Then why am I sweating? Why is my pulse picking up so alarmingly?
I stop, propping my hands on my knees and breathing heavily. I spit a few times. I pour a little water onto the back of my neck. It doesn’t help much. Then the pavement rushes up to meet my face.
A few hours later, I’m in the hospital emergency room hooked up to all the bells and whistles. Lauren is next to me, crying. Jeremy is on the floor complaining that he’s hungry and bored. He’s too young to understand the implications of what has happened to daddy.
The doctor is telling me that my collapse could be attributed to any number of things. It could simply have been exhaustion, but at this stage we shouldn’t rule out something more serious. He’s recommending that I undergo a few tests, including a CT scan.
“That sounds expensive,” I tell him.
“It’s very important,” the doctor replies, insistently.
“I think we’re going to do it another time.”
Lauren’s face goes red. “What?”
“Lauren, our insurance-
“The hell with insurance! We’ll figure it out. I don’t think you should just-
“Am I good to go home, doctor?”
The doctor looks more than a little perturbed, but he reluctantly nods. “If you’re refusing any further treatment, I suppose you can go, but I really think you ought to-
“Thank you, doctor.”
The ride home is quiet. Lauren’s understandably pissed. I’m a little anxious, since the doctor mentioned a CT scan, but I’m not as anxious as I probably should be.
“I didn’t get to go to kindergarten today,” Jeremy said, sadly.
I reach back and pat him on the knee. “Looks like you’ll start your first day tomorrow, little buddy. I’m sure they’ll give you a warm welcome.”
“What’s the matter with you?” Lauren asks. She turns slightly in her seat to face me.
I smile. “Nothing, doll.”
“There! Right there! How could you be smiling at a time like this? You’re so goddamn happy all the time.”
“Mommy swore.”
Lauren slaps the dashboard. “It’s been freaking me out. It’s freaking me out now more than ever.”
I shrug. “Hon, are you trying to fault me for trying to have a positive attitude about things?”
“Your positive attitude might be getting you killed, right now, do you understand that? What’s gotten into you? You’re ordinarily such a health nut. Why the hell did you just refuse treatment? There could be something seriously wrong with you.”
I shake my head. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“You don’t know that. And you know what? Your health affects more than just you. It affects us. You have a responsibility to us!”
We ride in silence the rest of the way home.
I call work to let them know everything’s okay and I’ll be back tomorrow. It’s evening now, so we settle into our routine again. Lauren makes us supper, though with considerably fewer smiles and kisses offered to me. We eat. We go for our walk. We settle in to watch a movie in the evening. Lauren enjoys her glass of red wine while I gently sip at some earl grey tea.
Soon, it’s time for bed. Lauren walks past me, and without looking at me, she says, “Your turn to tuck Jeremy in.”’
Is it? I could have sworn I did it last night.
“My pleasure. Come on, Jer-Bear.”
Jeremy is looking pretty tired from the long day. He rubs his eyes, and sleepily asks, “Story, daddy?”
“You bet. Let me just use the potty first, okay?”
I duck into the bathroom. I look at myself in the mirror. And I look.
And I look.
And I say, “Well, that’s just too bad. That’s just too, too bad. I really thought you would last longer than that. I really thought we were taking good care of you.”
Yeah. Me too.
I lean in close. I’m so close I can practically smell the breath of my reflection. “You know that I could kill you, right?”
What?
“You know that I could kill you. You remember that night, with the knife? I could do that anytime. That, or any number of things. It’s that easy.”
Yeah. But why?
“Don’t worry about why. I just want you to know that I could do it, if I wanted. I just need you to understand. I could do it anytime.”
I understand.
“More importantly, I could do them too. Got it?”
Yes. Please don’t hurt them.
“I want you to keep that in mind. And I need you to keep this conversation between us.”
What?
I walk out of the bathroom, and into my son’s bedroom. He is already tucked in, but fighting sleep, still waiting to hear his bedtime story.
“What should we read you, little man?” I ask him.
“Wormy Worm!”
“Excellent choice.”
I kneel down beside him. I open up the book and begin reading. He tries to listen attentively, but he’s so tired. I read about Wormy’s home, and the fruit, and the rain, and the high branch at night, and the dangerous sparrow who wants to eat Wormy. Every so often, Jeremy gives a half-hearted giggle, but by now he’s laying on his side. His eyes are shut.
I read on.
So keep your little Wormy safe/ You keep him very close/ But don’t let mommy see him, friend./ (She thinks he’s kind of gross.)
I lean in, so my face is inches from Jeremy. I don’t even have to read the last page. I have it memorized by now.
And don’t let Wormy near your face/ Heed this advice, my dear/ You wouldn’t want this Wormy Worm/ To burrow in your ear!
I tilt my head so that my ear is just above Jeremy’s. Suddenly, my entire nervous system goes berserk. Everything starts twitching and itching, but I cannot scratch myself and it wouldn’t help anyway. My teeth are clenched so tightly that I worry that they’ll break, and an involuntary moan escapes my throat. My vision goes completely dark and my ears start ringing. Then, finally, my ear starts to tickle horribly, starting on the inside and slowly working its way out. My hearing on that side goes out as something begins to emerge from my brain. Every instinct is begging my hand to reach up and grab at the thing that slithers free, but I am totally locked in my convulsions, left only with my own thoughts.
Oh god. Oh god. Not him. PLEASE!
I am helpless until it is far too late, and the thing that has lived within my brain for so long transfers from me to my son, wriggling into his exposed ear. He lets out a shrill squeak that lasts only a moment, and then is silenced. He starts to seize and convulse just as I’ve been doing.
Meanwhile, I collapse down onto the floor. I take in the deepest breath of my life. I blink my eyes. My whole body is still twitching, but I’m in control again. I can move again. I’m me again. I bring a trembling hand to my face. There it is! I’ve done it! Such a simple action makes me want to cry. I dig my finger into my ear canal, scratching and trying to rid myself of the horrible, slithering sensation that lingers still.
I try to sit up, but this proves challenging. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to move my muscles on my own. I feel like a kid riding a bike for the first time without training wheels. I manage to hoist myself up after a moment.
“Jeremy?” He has stopped seizing. His breathing is deep and even. “Jeremy? No, no, no. God. No. Jeremy, no!”
“Daddy?” His sleepy eyes slowly open, and he smiles at me.
“Is it you, Jeremy?” I demand. “Jeremy…is this…are you okay?”
“I’m trying to sleep, daddy,” he says. Then he laughs. “You’re acting silly.”
That smile is undeniably his own. Could it have been a failure? Could it be that Jeremy is just fine? Could it be that my little son has been spared that awful fate after all? He leans forward and kisses my cheek with familiar lips. Calmly, he lays back down and rolls over onto his other side, cuddling with a teddy bear.
For long, long minutes I cannot bring myself to leave his side. Is this long nightmare finally over? Was it just a nightmare? Is this my little Jeremy, sleeping here soundly like he always has? Do I dare hope for happiness at last?
I stand up on wobbly legs. I take a few cautious steps, and thankfully my body falls into the familiar routine that my mind has been absent from for so many months. I put my hand to the doorknob, wondering what I’m going to tell Lauren. Would she understand? Would she believe me?
I turn the doorknob.
“Daddy?” Jeremy whispers from behind me.
“Yeah?” I reply, turning back to him. His face is still turned away.
“Don’t forget.”
My jaw clenches, and I feel tears begin to brim in my eyes. “Forget…forget what?” He doesn’t respond. “Jeremy. Don’t forget what?”
“Don’t forget,” he whispers. “I start kindergarten tomorrow…”
Submitted June 12, 2016 at 06:22PM by Martipus406 http://ift.tt/1VTfFPN nosleep
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