Dear Sleep

by Kim Dickerson

  They had such a late dinner that he got into his nighttime sweats and had planned to go watch a little mindless television with Marlie. He heard the popcorn popping downstairs even though they had just eaten dinner. He knew it was going to be a short night for both of them, and he was thankful. She’d head to bed and he’d head to his office. He had work to catch up on since he skipped out. So he hurried downstairs to his spot on the couch and waited for Marlie to come sit with him.

  Just as he suspected, it was a very short evening. They watched a couple of cheesy game shows, the news, and then he tucked Marlie into bed. After she was tucked in and properly kissed goodnight, he made his way to his office.

  He sat in his chair. His office was still a mess from the previous night’s festivities. He rolled around cleaning it up. He needed to get some work done. The first speed bump he came to was his mangled putter, his favorite putter. He attempted to shove it in his wastebasket but it wouldn’t fit. He started a pile that he’d take to the garbage can in the garage. Everything began to seem insignificant. As he rolled around, he picked up things that had meaning in some form, but after the last couple of weeks they seemed unimportant. His pile grew by the minute. Pictures with famous people, awards, even books weren’t safe from his frenzy. By the time he finished, he made three trips to the garage for trash. After that was done, he settled back into his office chair with the firebox on his lap.

  He opened the drawer with the tooth in it. There was nothing, no feeling sick, no disgusting glow, just nothing. He took it out and laid it on his desk.

  He fumbled with the combination to the firebox for a moment until he heard the click of the lock release. He opened the box to reveal the stud he had picked up in the house of people he didn’t know. He placed it on his desk next to the tooth. He half-expected something cosmically destructive to happen when the two items were placed in close proximity to each other, but there was nothing.

  He turned off the overhead light, turned on the TV, and turned his chair to the window. The air was still, there was no breeze; you could have heard a mouse fart. The air felt electrified like a mother of a storm was moving in, but there were no clouds. There were no clouds, but there were no stars either. There were no streetlights. None. Not even a flicker. There was so much absence of light that it was beyond dark, whatever that was.

  Before he could stop himself, he picked up the tooth and the stud and headed downstairs and out the door. He sat on the porch steps. The light show began. The air was still completely quiet. The shadows were beginning their tango in the pools of shimmering light. The thrumming of the flickering light streams began. The sound was not from the fixtures, but from the actual beams floating down from them. He was drawn to them. Compelled to move to them. So, he did.

  He got off the porch and crossed to the streetlights. He was sweating, but he was not nervous. The hair on his arms and neck were standing on end, but he was not afraid. He was terribly calm. He hesitated for just a moment when he reached the sidewalk opposite the house. He turned around and looked back at his house. The only light on was in his office. He turned around, determined to stop this beast no matter what it took. He had no idea that this would be the night that dictated how he would live the rest of his life.

  He stepped into the shadow dancers, unsure of what would become of him.

  Part Two

  Max’s Folly

  The room she’s in used to be comforting, but now it’s just a reminder of the pain that led her to this place in her life. The air is stale and there is only a sliver of daylight creeping through a tear in the curtain. Her view from the back of the closet reveals the chair in the corner where she used to rock her daughter to sleep. It looks menacing, covered with dust and cobwebs. It reminds her of Rowland.

  She falls into deep thought. She remembers the day that they brought Annabelle home from the hospital. She sat in the rocker for hours holding her sweet baby girl and singing. Rowland would come in and all but beg Maxine to let him cuddle his daughter. He adored them both. They were the perfect family.

  They took turns pushing the stroller, taking walks, and prospecting on what the future would bring their precious child. Would she be the first female President? Would she make innovations in medicine? Maybe she’d be a Supreme Court Justice. Either way, they were sure they would love her, and each other, until the end of time.

  A glint of fading light catches Maxine’s eye and she comes back to reality. Back to a much unhappier time.

  She is prying up a floorboard in the back of the closet using only her hands, but her mind is full of anger and determination so she succeeds. She removes an intricately decorated box. At first glance, it looks like an heirloom jewelry box, something a great-grandma would have had. Upon closer inspection, the design seems to be pulsating, moving.

  She gingerly places the box on the floor next to her, eying it with distaste. She talks to herself. “I swore I would never open this box again. That goddamn Rowland…Son of a bitch…he’ll be sorry he screwed with Maxine Hilary Mason!”

  She starts at hearing her maiden name. She’s been Maxine Charley for fifteen years.

  She leaves the box on the floor of the closet, and slides out of the room. If this is going to work, she’s going to have to change her appearance. This demure housewife look isn’t going to give her the advantage she needs. She goes into the bathroom and grabs a straight razor that was left behind. She starts hacking away at her hair feverishly. The mousy brown locks hit the floor and form silhouettes similar to the decoration of the box. She looks in the cracked mirror and stops her massacre.

  The mirror distorts her face as if she is a Picasso rendition. She barely recognizes the eyes staring back at her. They’re red-rimmed with dark black circles dragging to her cheeks. The scarlet veins dampen the emerald irises. Her hair looks like a beauty school drop out on a bender cut it. It juts out in short uneven chunks as if Medusa lost a fight with a weed-whacker. She shakes off the daze, and goes back to slashing at her hair.

  “He’ll never see me coming and no one will ever see me leave,” she spits. “Once we’re rid of him, Annabel and I will live unburdened.”

  While Maxine is constructing her transformation, Rowland is sitting in his lawyer’s office playing with the wooden buttons on his sports coat sleeve. He’s devising a plan to rid himself of the bitch of a wife and to hit her where it hurts, their daughter. Maxine has made his life miserable for the last seven years. She nagged about everything. How he was never home. How he never made enough money. How he could never do anything right. He has finally had it and he’s getting out before he closes his big contract next month. If he divorces her before the contract comes through, she’ll get nothing but a little alimony. That won’t be enough for her to live on. It gives him some satisfaction, but the key is Annabelle.

  Annabelle is the only thing Maxine truly loves and Rowland knows it. He knows it better than he knows the construction business. When the judge gives him full custody of Annabelle, Maxine will surely go out of her mind. If he’s lucky, she’ll lose it to the point of having to be committed. He managed to keep Maxine from learning any marketable skills in the last five years. Her last job was taking care of her father’s farm until it sold while he was on his deathbed. She never saw anything from her family’s estate. She is completely dependent on Rowland.

  He remembers when they were first married. He loved everything about Maxine. She was independent, but not pushy. She liked chivalry, but in moderation. When they returned home after their wedding, the made love for hours and she made him feel like he could conquer the world. She was gorgeous with her long brown hair and her eyes that sparkled like emeralds in the sunlight. Her pouty lips and curvy hips are what hooked him when they met twenty years ago. Her kind heart is what kept him coming back for more. She loved freely, gave everything she had to their relationship and he took it.

  Was it his fault that their marriage was in shambles? Did he take too much?

  That thought s
naps him back to the task at hand.

  Rowland turns to his lawyer, running a hand through his black hair. “Look, Landon, I want it all. The house. The kid. Everything. I worked my ass off for it while that bitch spent my money and complained that there wasn’t more of it to spend. I’ll throw her a little alimony if I have to, but nothing big. I don’t want her to get anything. Do you get it?”

  Landon looked up from his monitor, nodded at Rowland, and went back to typing. He already had the papers drawn up and was just waiting for Rowland to give the go ahead to serve them to Maxine. Truly, Landon never thought the blue-collar windbag would go through with it. He’s been on retainer for nearly five years. He doesn’t mind, it helps make the payments on his Bentley.

  Rowland clears his throat in an attempt to gain his expensive lawyer’s attention to no avail. He paces around the office tugging at his dated tie. He feels important in Landon’s office, magnanimous almost. He wants that feeling to linger. He needs it to last as long as possible, once he leaves this office and trades it for his own then he’s back to being a salesman. Someone no one wants to see. He becomes invisible or nothing more than an annoyance. He finally gives up and resigns himself to leaving.

  “I’ll be in touch Landon. When do you think those papers will be served?”

  “Most likely tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Good, I won’t be home. Thanks.”

  Rowland walks out. He’s trying to ignore the fact that he’s become someone else. Despite this fact, he feels good about things. He feels like he is winning.

  Maxine is back in the closet with the box. She’s grinning. She lets out a whoop of maniacal laughter and then bursts into tears. Her sobs rattle her whole body and even cause the floorboards to squeak. Not realizing that her actions caused the noise, she holds her breath expecting Rowland to come through the door with his wild blue eyes and shined-up work shoes.

  The image of his eyes reminds her of their wedding night. She fell in love with him because he cherished her innate ability to be strong and soft at the same time. His eyes used to be the blue of the sea, kind and welcoming. She could stare into them for hours. On their wedding night, she did as they embraced each other after love making. She ran her hands through his dark black wild hair. She loved that he looked so rugged and untamed. They were the perfect complement to each other. She could see him standing in the doorway looking at her with passion and love.

  She panics.

  Rowland doesn’t appear and she releases the air with a whoosh. She pants heavily, trying to recover from the tears and the impromptu self-induced suffocation. Once her breath starts to regulate, she wipes her eyes and looks around the closet. Her metamorphosis needs to be complete. She needs to become someone else.

  Once again, she lifts herself from the closet floor, leaving the box to ponder itself, and exits the room. Down the hall is their old bedroom, before the trial separation. She slides through the door.

  “I’m sure that bastard left something here. There’s got to be something, he’s too lazy to be sure he got everything.”

  She’s not wrong.

  She’s elated to see that he left damn near his entire wardrobe. Maxine grins wickedly and starts sifting through the dusty clothes. Mostly flannel shirts, oxfords, jeans, and a couple of pairs of khakis. She grabs a pair of the khakis, a green and blue plaid flannel shirt, and one of his baseball caps. She walks back into the bathroom, newly carpeted with her old hairstyle. She slides out of her matronly black dress and stands, again, looking in the cracked mirror. It reminds her of who she used to be.

  She flashes to the after work arguments she and Rowland had almost every night when he returned, constantly late. She is reminded of the paychecks that never reflected the long hours he supposedly worked. She relives clipping coupons to make sure they had enough food in the house, to mending her clothes while Rowland bought whatever he wanted. These memories begin to cement her resolve.

  She turns on the water and readies to wash her face only to find there is no water. Of course there isn’t, the house has been deserted for nearly a year since the separation. She notices the light is beginning to wane through the small glass block window in the bathroom and decides she needs to hurry. She slides on the khakis, they’re only slightly too long. The flannel shirt fits perfectly. Fortunately, she’s not well endowed, so her chest looks strangely like that of a well-muscled man. She tucks her ragged hair under the baseball hat.

  Metamorphosis complete.

  She trudges back to the box. She flops down next to it and fingers the intricate detail. Her demeanor begins to change. She begins to feel empowered, strong, invincible. She places the box in the backpack she brought with her and slings the bag over her shoulder. She makes her way out of the room and down the stairs. She stops only for a moment to look at the notches on the dining room entryway signifying Annabelle’s growth over the last ten years and walks out the door, never to look back again.

  Ever.

  Rowland gets back to his office feeling satisfied with his meeting with Landon. He checks his voice mail to see if the nag has called to ask him for something or to complain about something he did or didn’t do. Not a single message. Not even one from any of his business contacts. He sits behind his meager metal desk and opens one of the file cabinet drawers. He pulls out a file and thumbs through it with no actual interest.

  His mind is elsewhere.

  He’s daydreaming about tomorrow, the day that money-draining vampire will get what’s coming to her, nothing. The thought gives him a knowing smirk. He’ll have their little girl and Maxine won’t even be able to visit. Landon has drawn up papers that make Maxine look like the most unfit mother in the world. She won’t be able to fight it because she doesn’t have any money. She doesn’t have any outside resources or family that would be able to help her, nothing. This thought turns his smirk into a smile befitting the Cheshire Cat.

  Maxine gets into her car. She sits there for a moment and doubt begins to take hold. She suddenly feels like she can’t go through with her plan. She could just go to the salon and have someone fix her hair, burn the clothes, and go back to her efficiency apartment. She plans to pretend that these sinister thoughts hadn’t taken hold of her, pop some popcorn, and watch Jeopardy. She could just go back to her misery, hope that Rowland would grant her joint custody, and live her life.

  The thought of sharing Annabelle with Rowland is what snaps her out of her doubt. She blinks as if she’s waking from a dream and she’s not sure whether it’s real.

  She shakes her head and feels the ball cap sway. That’s all she needs to remind her that she has the box on the seat next to her. The box the stranger gave to her eight years ago. The box she only opened once to confirm what the stranger had told her.

  To this day, she has never understood why she took the box in the first place. The stranger had appeared from nowhere and disappeared in the same fashion. He only spoke once to tell her something mysterious about the pulsating box she had held in her hands. She was examining the box while he spoke. When she looked up to ask him about it, he was gone.

  The night she got the box she went home, in the very closet where she unearthed it today, and opened it. What she saw mesmerized and terrified her at the same time. The box was under the floorboards from that day forward and Rowland never had a clue. Maxine had thought about the box from time to time, recalling the day she met the stranger and wondering if she would ever have the fortitude, or the need, to use it.

  Today she knows.

  She starts the car, puts it in gear, and pulls out onto the quiet street. She heads toward Rowland’s office. By this time, the sun is hanging low in the sky, painting the clouds fuchsia and bruise-purple. She drives past the house of Annabelle’s sitter, hoping to catch a glimpse of Annabelle. She doesn’t. That lights a new fire in her chest. She drives on with renewed determination. There’s no doubt now. As Maxine turns toward Rowland’s office, she doesn’t know that there’s a lawyer across the street
that is setting up the delivery of the papers Rowland had designed to ensure her demise. She feels uneasy, but it fades as soon as she is past the building. She parks her car two blocks from Rowland’s office. She has to walk the rest of the way. Her loafers swing out of the car with purpose. She stands up and slings the backpack over her shoulder. As she begins the walk to deal with the black-headed demon, she begins to whistle. Her nerves amplify the spring in her step. She knows there is no turning back. She arrives in front of Rowland’s building. Hesitating for a moment, she then pushes her way through the revolving door. Rowland is still sitting in front of an open file. He’s contemplating life without his wife. He feels culpable again. He remembers when things started getting bad. The turmoil when he was still climbing the ladder at work and they lived paycheck to paycheck. Pinching pennies for groceries. The guilt when he had to buy work clothes, but Annabelle needed new shoes or Maxine had to go without something. It didn’t seem to bother her at first, but she became bitter. She constantly bit his head off when he had to work late and the pay was no better. Suddenly, he wants to fix his marriage, stop the divorce, and maybe even get counseling. At this thought, he opens his bottom drawer and brings out a bottle. He longs for the liquid that will give him the clarity to carry out what he truly desires.

  Maxine pushes the button on the elevator.

  She remembers when it starting going bad. She hated that he worked so much and never had anything to show for it. It broke her heart to tell Annabelle no to something she wanted, but Rowland came home from work smelling of booze. The booze was the final straw. He never came out and admitted it, but she knew he had a drinking problem. She never approached him because she knew he’d deny it. She started becoming bitter and dreadful. She couldn’t remember the happier times then, they were over shadowed by the anger building inside of her. Her only solace was Annabelle.

  He deftly removes the cap, looks at his coffee cup, and decides to drink straight from the bottle. The whiskey is smooth and the warmth spreads through his chest filling him with pleasure. Before he even realizes it, he’s downed half the bottle.