Slumberland
Page 8
A little rest is all I need.
A few hours of sleep.
“I can come back in the morning.”
“Seriously,” she says, “I want you to take time to heal.”
Randi almost sounds like my mother. Doctor Lane said not to rush back into things, but if I don’t get back to normal, I might go crazy.
go home
11
This morning, this early, I’m groggy. Once the sun set last night and I went to bed, my thoughts refused to turn off. By the time I remembered to call Dad, he would have already turned in for the night. The guilt of yesterday afternoon didn’t help my spiraling brain either.
In between tosses and turns, behind closed eyelids, were burning images of those strange numbers. The one that flashed to me at the hospital.
My alarm clock worked perfectly after unplugging it and then plugging it back in. Reset.
But after what seemed to be a split second of thought given to the mysterious man from the hospital, the clock would show an hour had passed since I last checked.
At 1:44 in the morning, I would find a comfortable position to lay in. My limbs would become restless and I’d roll to another position only to discover the clock had advanced to 2:33 A.M.
I would tug at my pillow, adjusting it under my head, and then see only a minute remained before my alarm was set to go off. As the numbers switched, they would blink again and change to 3:77 A.M.
It must be time to buy a new clock.
The worst part of all, a newfound feeling that something is off. With what? I don’t know. It’s unsettling, this feeling things are not adding up. It would make more sense if it were relative to something specific. But for the life of me, I can’t put my finger on it.
Despite my hopes and failed attempts at a pleasant night’s sleep, I gave my word I would be at work this morning.
Birds chirping before the crack of dawn.
No traffic on the interstate.
The morning air feeling cool.
As much as I want to, it’s hard not call Randi and tell her I can’t make it.
Halfway to work and I realize I forgot my makeup bag.
Once I park at the station, things seem more normal. Reliving habits, it helps.
Passing by me in the hallway is the clover-leaf intern. She doesn’t know me well enough to say anything but smiles as she swipes a strand of hair behind her ear. As her sweet perfumed breeze settles behind me, I open the door to my dressing room to find Doug seated by the vanity mirror.
“There’s the weather girl,” he says, standing with his hands out.
My bags squeeze between us as he wraps his arms tight around me.
“The last time I saw you,” he adds, “you were sound asleep.”
Doug lets me set my things down and asks how things are going. Have I been getting enough rest? Might I want to add a little more makeup because I look tired?
“I left this morning without my makeup.”
He stands behind me, adjusting the necktie of his reflection and tells me he’s been having some sleepless nights as well.
“You don’t need make-up,” he says.
“That’s sweet of you to say.”
“The best cure for insomnia,” he says, “is sex. The body’s orgasmic hormones are enough to suck the energy right out of you. It’s better than anything over the counter.”
The fragrance of the passing intern is the same that lingers from Doug’s suit.
He grins when he sees me looking at the crotch of his pants.
“Your zipper is open.”
He steps back to adjust his trousers with a slightly embarrassed look.
“If wallowing around in bed at night is your solution to stop me from tossing in it, I’m flattered but, no.”
Unlike the request made to my parents, I’m polite to ask Doug for some time alone.
On my first day back, I need time to myself to gather my thoughts. To prepare for the day.
“Suit yourself,” he replies.
As he opens the door to leave, I peek to the hallway to see if Mark happens to be passing by. I’m not sure what I would say to him or expect to hear from him for that matter. Regardless, the conversation I hope to have with him will need to wait until after the morning news.
“Five minutes,” shouts Doug, the door closing behind.
What I need is to rest my forehead against my palms, prop my elbows on the counter, and take one of those minutes to rest. But what’s the point? It’s too late now. My head pounds. I tell myself to press through this; it’s only a few hours.
The studio lights are at their full brightness and I take my seat at the desk when Mark shows his face.
Part of me wonders if he’s late to get behind the camera so he wouldn’t have to speak to me in passing.
My red ink pen flips between my fingers as the opening music plays. Randi’s voice in my earpiece tells everyone to get ready. Both Doug and Olivia’s voices become white noise as my eyes stare sharp at my paperwork. The ache in my head grows stronger. Moments pass before Doug’s elbow nudges me, bringing me back from la-la-land. I wasn’t aware of it, but the whole time my hand had been doodling circles again.
“Go, Sierra,” says Randi’s voice in my earpiece.
Smiling I look up to see the red light shining on top of the camera. Mark repeatedly throwing his index finger at me. It’s the first communication he’s had with me since I saw him last. But the one is still silent.
“Good morning. I’m Sierra Preston.”
My words scroll from the teleprompter and transform to my voice. What I say comes effortlessly from my lips.
"The weather today, like always, it’s going to be perfect. The sunshine will sustain these warm temperatures as we move in to our work week.”
The words on the teleprompter, they scramble and change.
My eyes blink to a bright flash from my peripheral vision; a number:
610
Shapes appear behind them. Math equations and statements, they vanish before I can recognize them. Every half second, when my body twitches, another light. Another number. Another pattern.
987
“Lyapunov exponent. Two starting trajectories, diverging at a calculated rate in the phase space.”
1597
“Topological transitivity. All points except for zero tend to have a positive or negative infinity.”
“What is she doing?” asks Randi, her small voice speaking to the others.
2584
“Density of periodic orbits.”
4181
"Strange attractors.”
6765
“Sensitivity to initial conditions… Chaos!”
“Cut to commercial!” shouts Randi.
"I’ll have more details of your forecast coming up after the break.”
Mark’s red light goes dark. He and the other camera guy are squinting at me, confused.
There is no need to see the others seated beside me; I can feel them staring.
Volume of the studio monitors is mute while the end of an advertisement for makeup transitions to a commercial for skin care products.
I’m afraid to move.
I’m afraid to speak.
Who knows what words would come out?
Randi, in my earpiece, tells me to meet in her office immediately. She tells someone in the control room to take over.
Moments later, the news broadcast continues but I’m in Randi’s office behind closed doors.
“This was a mistake,” she says. “You’re not ready.”
“I can’t explain what happened,” I tell her, “except I reacted to what was prompted for me to say. The studio lights were flashing and I couldn’t see straight. I can have my doctor tell you, there’s nothing wrong.”
Randi sighs.
She tells me to stop kidding myself.
The words, prompted for me to read, were my own.
There were no flashing lights.
No numbers.
To me, everything may feel normal, but Randi says it doesn’t mean it is.
She wants me to take more time.
She admits she was just as foolish to let me come back as I was to suggest it.
“Go home,” she says. “Get some rest.”
The answer seems so simple; rest is all I need.
But the day is young, my headache is gone, and I’m not sleepy anymore.
SLEEP MACHINE
12
Before the sky struck me down, everything in my life seemed to be moving in the right direction. These strange thoughts would go away if things could get back to normal. Coming home, spending hours in front of the television watching soap operas lead into trashy talk shows, it’s a step backward. What happened this morning can’t be explained. There have been nights I’ve stayed awake before. Sleepovers in high school. Parties in college. Pulling an all-nighter studying for an exam. Not one of them resulting in what I’ve experienced today.
My second wind comes with nothing to do. Each minute that passes feels like a waste. I’ve tried to rest. Tried to nap. But my mind won’t turn off. Because last night wasn’t the best I’ve had, falling asleep tonight should be no problem. That’s the goal now, to stay awake the rest of the day. Become so exhausted and tonight, drift away before my head hits the pillow.
Any other day at this time, Annie would be meeting me for a yoga session. Maybe that’s what I need. Yoga is great for healing mind and body. You could say it’s therapeutic.
Annie seems excited to see me. Reaching my arms to give her a hug, my chin rests against her shoulder. I squeeze tight but her elbows stay to her sides and she pats my back as if it’s a chore. This isn’t the reaction I’d expected from someone who almost lost a friend.
She tells me her brother was a paramedic on the ambulance who rushed me to the hospital. She gives more details that were kept from me before.
How the medics found my shoes, my Chuck Taylor sneakers, yards away from me like they’d been kicked off. You would expect them to be burned, but they still appeared brand-new.
She tells me how any time medics respond to a trauma, it’s routine for them to cut the clothes off of the victim to expose any potential injuries. But my clothes were already shredded from the blast and the medics were baffled to find I had escaped without any major deficits.
She tells me how, in most lightning cases, the victim’s heart may stop and requires a defibrillator to get it to beat again. But the medics were astonished to find mine working so well.
Other than being unconscious, there wasn’t much for them to treat. They gathered my shoes and rushed me to the hospital.
She mentions her brother hasn’t been doing well; things seem to be eating at him. She’s not sure, something he’s not telling her. Something from his personal life.
This must be why she’s upset. She knows I’m okay but worries for him.
“I’m sorry you missed your birthday,” she says.
From her gym bag, she pulls a small box, gift wrapped with pastel blue and white stripes. A shiny yellow bow sticks to the top. It’s small enough to hold in one hand.
“I’ve been waiting to give you this,” she says.
"Thanks, Annie. This is the first thing that’s made me smile today.”
The tearing shreds of paper reveal a box which contains something potentially helpful for my current situation— A sleep machine.
I’ve seen these advertised. Electronic noise makers programmed with sounds like falling rain, trickling water, and other ambient sounds to coast your restless thoughts away at night. This one even projects colorful cascades of gentle light to add to the effect. Low frequency lighting. Not the kind to trick your brain and disturb your sleep cycle. It even comes with a built-in alarm clock. How perfect?
“I hope you like it,” says Annie. “I can’t go a night without mine. Five minutes and I’m out.”
“I love it!”
The room is set to a hundred and one degrees. My skin glistens with sweat from simply being there.
It’s time to try again for the Eka Hasta Vrksasana (One Handed Tree).
She wants me to visualize myself performing this move. She tells me to imagine watching myself do it from her point of view. Seeing others perform this position, it reminds her of Leonardo da Vinci’s ‘Vitruvian Man,’ the famous sketch of the human body. Only for the One Handed Tree, the human figure would be inverted.
Visualizing the famous drawing, my head feels a slight pain but nothing to distract me. This famous drawing is mathematically proportioned with a 1.618 ratio.
The number represented by the Greek letter—Phi, also known as The Golden Ratio.
It’s found in architecture, paintings, computer algorithms, and nature. The human brain perceives this ratio, this rectangle, as elegant and the most pleasing to the eye. A balance both visually and mathematically that represents, for lack of a better word, perfection.
Before, I’ve never been able to wrap my brain around such things. Annie has always been the math expert. She’s always tried to help me understand it. Somehow, right now, it all makes sense.
Practice doesn’t make it perfect. The math does.
With plenty of space on the mat, both my arms extend down with my palms pressed flat on the floor. Kicking both my feet into the air, I spread them apart and twist my legs to achieve just the right physical balance. My weight shifts as I pull one of my arms away to leave me standing on the other. My left hand frees from the weight and starts to lift while my right arm sustains the support.
Phi equals one plus the square root of five, over two…
This is the moment I’ve been working so hard to achieve. It’s a moment I visualize my own self, upside down, moving my limbs apart like the Da Vinci painting.
…The Golden Ration is A plus B over A, which equals: A over B, which equals: 1.618034, rounded.
Just as my free hand reaches my waist, just as I’m about to hold the pose, there comes a bright flash of light and more numbers:
10946
CRACK!
A sharp pain at first, through my arm into my shoulder.
The next bit of pain comes through my body as it comes crashing down.
Annie kneels to my side.
My wrist hurts.
My fingers tingle.
It’s hard to move my hand.
Annie’s brother, he’s a paramedic. What little she knows of first-aid, she learned from him. She knows swelling joints and bones indicates damage. A torn ligament or a fractured bone. She says only an X-ray can tell for sure.
We wrap my wrist in a towel for support and a bag of ice to keep the swelling down. Annie helps me to her car. My wrist, it hasn’t fallen off. It’s not gushing blood, but it hurts. It hurts too bad to move.
She drives and tells me to call Doctor Lane’s office. If he’s available or already at the hospital, he may be able examine me fast and I won’t have to wait long while in so much pain.
My wrist isn’t all that concerns me though. Annie seems off. It might be her worried about her brother, it may not be. She seems upset like Mark. Annie’s not the type to linger on her problems.
As her car pulls to the emergency room entrance, she wants to know if I need help with anything. She says she has to get back to her next class.
“What happened with Mark last year at my birthday party?”
Annie snickers.
“You honestly don’t remember…” she asks.
You can’t answer a question with another question.
With my wrist pain worsening, I shake my head.
“Then what does it matter?” she says.
My arms swells. There’s no time for conversation.
Whatever I did or didn’t do, I’ll have to figure it out on my own.
Annie was right; Doctor Lane was already at the hospital making rounds for admitted patients when he received my message. A smirk on his face, he shakes his head, examin
ing my arm. He says it’s not good. Swelling indicates a fracture.
“But I left my X-ray goggles at home,” he says.
He orders an X-ray and soon a nurse escorts me radiology.
My feet dangle from the edge of the X-ray table, like the kind made for Ping-Pong but only in size.
An intimidating machine towers over me.
Nothing but the sound of the air conditioner running and the clicking of teeth, as if someone’s tossing around a rock in their mouth.
From behind a window, a man, almost my age but you couldn’t tell with his baby face and curly sandy hair. The stick of a sucker bounces between his lips in sync with the sound of cracking teeth. From back there, he comes rolling across the floor on a stool. A playful guy, he asks me where it hurts the most. I expect the first thing he will ask is if I’m the weather girl from the Channel Six news. But he doesn’t recognize me. Instead, he asks what happened to my wrist. For me to tell him is only to satisfy his curiosity.
His name is Sam and he’s a technician. But Sam, he seems harmless. Without giving too many details, I tell him I fell and landed on my wrist.
“Gravity,” he says, bouncing his head. “It sucks.”
My shoes kick off as I lay on the table.
Sam positions a special black board under my injured wrist.
A green laser shines a crosshair on my forearm. If I keep still, it doesn’t hurt as much.
Cotton candy breath matches Sam’s blue stained lips.
He tells me not to move.
He rolls away, bouncing candy in his mouth and reaches behind the wall.
He says to take a deep breath and hold it.
“I’ll count to three, then you can move again,” he says. “Ready?”
It’s only an X-ray. It’s not going to hurt. Deep breath and hold it.
“I’m ready.”
“Four… Five… Six,” he says.
It’s hard to hold still with the urge to laugh.
The machine clicks and everything my vision flashes bright white.
My giggle turns to a gasp.
Random numbers and the light quickly erases their shadows.
17711
Rolling back to me, Sam realigns my arm, careful not to inflict pain. It’s difficult to keep from shaking. Only two more, he tells me, then we’re done.