Dear Sleep

by Kim Dickerson

  After fumbling through pens, make up, and other odds and ends (how do chopsticks even end up in a purse?) she finally came across the small piece of paper from the theater.

  She ran her finger over the crease of the folded receipt and a sick feeling bubbled up in her chest. It was as though the words leaked through the paper and seeped into her soul. She didn’t even recall what was written on the paper, she barely remembered the trip to the theater at all, but she could suddenly see the words. They were manifesting themselves on the walls, but they weren’t words, not in the sense of this world.

  Although she made out the symbols, she couldn’t decipher the message. It wasn’t anything she had ever seen before, not even on the crime dramas she was so fond of watching. It wasn’t quite hieroglyphics, but it wasn’t the Roman alphabet.

  Realizing that she wasn’t going to be able to decode the message, she placed the paper in the zipper pocket of the inside of her purse for safe keeping. She knew she was going to need it, but she didn’t know for what or when.

  She put on her fuzzy pajamas and went back down to the family room in hopes that the droning of the television would bore her enough to fall asleep, at least for an hour or two. It was getting more difficult to cover the dark circles under her eyes.

  She lay on the couch under the afghan her grandmother had crocheted for her when she was a girl. It was a comfort blanket and always made her feel safe. It was almost like a super hero cape that was impenetrable by evil. She snuggled in and watched “I Love Lucy” for a while. Finally, her eyelids became so heavy she couldn’t keep them open and she drifted off.

  The sun was glaring down on her in an unfamiliar place. The buildings were all smooth and windowless. She squinted at the shine, trying to ascertain where she was. It was a city like no other she had ever seen. There were spires on one of the buildings that seemed to poke at the sun, daring it to shine brighter, but other than that, the structures were rounded. The streets were empty, with the exception of a soft whirring sound that seemed to be everywhere. She couldn’t pin point where the sound was coming from, or what was making it.

  She turned around to see what was behind her and was taken aback by what she found.

  An endless desert. A vast nothingness.

  There weren’t even cacti dotting the landscape. Nothing to use as a gauge for distance. As far as Ally could tell, it went on to the end of the planet.

  It’s funny how your mind automatically associates your surroundings with things that you already know. There was no place on Earth that looked like this, yet that’s automatically where her mind took her.

  The sun cast a bloody light to the horizon and radiated to the color of the flesh of a blood orange. There was no yellow light from this sun. It was eerie to say the least.

  Lost in thought while trying to survey her surroundings, she didn’t notice the vehicle that had appeared in the streets in the city. She was exposed in an unfamiliar place, and had no idea.

  Suddenly, something whizzed past her left ear, singeing it as it went by.

  She whirled around on her heels to see the vehicle approaching at a rate of speed that seemed to rival the speed of light. There was nowhere for her to go, so she ran toward nothing, but her instinct was survival. She had to think on the move.

  Luckily, she had runner’s legs and lungs. If she had been less fit, she would have been done for right then and there.

  She sprinted like a cheetah down the road, trying to zig in between buildings and create some distance between her and the vehicle. There was nowhere to take cover, she had to keep on the move.

  Another whiz flew past her right ear. This time as it past her, she got a glimpse of what it was. Not that it helped her at all. She had never seen anything like it. It looked like a Frisbee, but it was spherical in the center and it had something protruding from what would normally be the smooth edge.

  She kept running, she knew she didn’t want a closer look at it.

  She looked as she dashed, looking for something that would allow her entry to the buildings, but was unable to see anything. There was no way in or out of any of the structures that she could see.

  The vehicle sounded further away now, she slowed her pace a little bit, but soon came to a halt when she noticed something on one of the buildings. It was etched on the surface, but that’s not what stopped her.

  It was the message she had on her Starbuck’s receipt in her purse. She almost vomited. Her stomach cramping from the running and the realization that she was no longer part of the world she had known.

  She awoke on the floor being practically strangled by her blanket. She was sweating and breathing like she had just run a half marathon. She looked around and realized she was in her own family room. She panted as she loosed herself from the blanket noose she had created. Her mouth was dry, her skin was warm, and her pajamas saturated with sweat.

  On her way to the kitchen for some water she looked at the time.

  “Damn it,” she muttered.

  It was only two o’clock in the morning. She had gotten about an hour of sleep. She was still groggy, but desperately trying to remember the details of the dream she had.

  The panic had subsided as she opened a bottle of water. She drink it down so quickly it hurt her throat when she swallowed.

  The message. The receipt. She saw that in her dream. She couldn’t recall where she saw it, but she did. Did that mean the visions were seeping into her dreams?

  If it did, that meant she wouldn’t be sleeping much anymore. Waking up like she had just isn’t worth the hour of sleep and if she couldn’t remember the dream, it was even more worthless.

  She drank another bottle of water and went back into the family room. This time of night there wasn’t anything on but infomercials and religious programs. Everyone knows that insomniacs will buy anything and need religion.

  She snickered a bit then settled back on the couch. She flipped channels for a few minutes then gave up and picked up her book. She stared blankly at the pages, trying to make her mind focus, but it seemed impossible. She tossed the book to the side and went upstairs.

  She put on a pair of running shorts and a tank. By the time she had her running shoes on, she figured out she wasn’t actually going running. She grabbed her purse and started to the front door.

  She paused long enough to feel like she was saying good-bye, then walked out the door.

  The streetlights were shining brightly, unlike earlier when they were all flickering as though they were fighting off the darkness.

  She turned onto the sidewalk and casually walked down the street. As she walked, each streetlight she passed flickered and then brightened, as if they were saluting her presence, or challenging her to turn back.

  She kept walking past all the houses of people who were peacefully sleeping in their beds. People who were dreaming of the wondrous things only their imaginations could create. She came to a stretch of road where the lights had gone completely dark.

  She shivered.

  Slowly, she put one foot in front of the other. The mild evening air suddenly felt electric. The hairs on her arms were standing at attention like an army awaiting orders. She could feel the air thicken as she stepped into the darkness.

  She cautiously walked down the sidewalk, she had no idea where she was going and couldn’t imagine what she was going to do when she got there. The confusion was almost blissful. It made her giddy.

  One of the streetlights snapped to attention, but its light wasn’t white, it was the color of the flesh of a blood orange. Ally felt very uneasy, but the light also felt familiar, as if she’d seen it before.

  She drew closer to the light. You couldn’t see through the light, it was opaque. As she closed in, she could see a desert, a vast endless wasteland that looked like it was bathed in a bloody light. She walked into the light, with the intention to cross through into the darkness on the other side.

  The light snapped off. The street was empty and Ally was nowhere t
o be found.

  Part Five

  Homeward

  It is a typical summer day in Arizona. Everyone always talks about moving here because of the lack of winter, but after a while, you begin to miss the seasons. You miss them even more when you live outdoors. I never thought that I would be here, yet here I am. Homeless, jobless, and identity-less.

  You might wonder how I got this way, but, to tell you the truth, I couldn’t even tell you. There’s a big hole where my memory used to be. Yet, here I am, in a state of perpetual movement, trying to stay ahead of the police. They’re not out to arrest me per say. They’re not even looking for me. I just don’t want to be ticketed for vagrancy.

  I do day labor for cash with the immigrants around here. We all wait in a parking lot to be picked up and hope for a day’s work. Some days I get picked and some days I don’t. The days I don’t get picked up, I go to the Red Cross and sit in their cooling room. You have to be extremely careful when you’re out in the crazy temperatures that Arizona can throw at you. I can only sit in there for an hour at a time. The gal behind the desk is really nice, as long as you follow the rules.

  That’s one thing I’m good at, following the rules. Well, of course with the exception of sleeping on benches, in bus stops, and under trees in the park. You might be asking why I don’t rent a room since I work. Well, as I said before, the work I do is not at all steady, and, on occasion, I’ve been stiffed. The money I get from the day work I use to buy food and water and some decent stuff to wear from the local Goodwill or thrift shop.

  Some of the other guys, who are only similar to me in the fact that they are homeless, don’t give a rat’s ass about how they look. They’re walking around in dirty, smelly, torn clothes. It’s not that I’m any better than them, I’m just different. It’s as though I’m not supposed to be homeless. People who have the same type of work ethic and hygiene habits are generally gainfully employed. They also have the privilege of knowing who they are.

  Today, I’m going to try to get some work. I’m running low on funds and since I don’t get paid for doing nothing, it’s time to whore myself out to anyone who will hire me. I pray it’s not a roof today, it’s so hot.

  As I’m crossing to the Home Depot to wait in the parking lot with the other day laborers, I see the gal from the Red Cross. I raise my hand to wave to her, then stop myself. In any other situation, that would be okay to do, but not in mine. A homeless guy waving at a good looking brunette screams stalker. She looks at me with a spark of recognition and she smiles. I return the smile, then look away and continue on my way. She’s a damn good looking woman. The kind that construction workers cat-call at when she’s walking by, swaying her curvy hips to and fro as she sashays down the sidewalk.

  The sun is still asleep this time of morning. They get an early start here because once the sun peeks over the horizon, the cool desert night is replaced with the scorching heat of daylight. It’s almost like living in two different worlds. It’s also the height of monsoon season, which gives way to daily trepidation of weather, you never know what’s going to happen. You could get on the job and suddenly the sky loses its hold and rain pours down as if someone turned on the fire hose. It sends you scrambling to get to shelter and all of the tools put away because of the possibility of flash flooding. I’ve been caught in the middle of these more than once and let me tell you, it’s no picnic.

  There are only a few of the day laborers hanging around in the lot. I wonder if the others know something I don’t or it I missed the early pick. Either one could be detrimental to the outcome of my day. Those worries are quickly put aside when a veritable fleet of construction trucks pull up. The workers, most male although there are a few women amongst the ranks, begin jockeying for position. I hang back a bit, while I don’t have the luxury of picking and choosing what kind of work I do, I like to make it look like I’m not desperate.

  I’m chosen with the first round of workers. It’s landscaping today. I’m happy with that, it means no hot roof work. Not that any work outside here is not considered hot, but being on a roof is much hotter than on the ground. I grab my gunnysack and hop into the back of the truck. There’s six other guys in here with me, must be a big job for them to take so many.

  I settle back for the ride, listening to the rise and fall of the Spanish chattering. I don’t speak but a few words of Spanish, although I share the skin color thanks to the Arizona sun. The stop and go of traffic is just enough to keep me from dozing. You never sleep well when you’re constantly worried about someone finding you somewhere you’re not supposed to be sleeping.

  I read somewhere, a few months ago, that dolphins basically sleep with one eye open. Only half of their brain sleeps at a time, but they are still rested. There are a lot of days I wish I was a dolphin. I know it sounds odd, but my whole situation is odd.

  What I mean is, well, that’s exactly what I mean. One day I woke up and had no recollection of anything that had happened before the very moment my eyes fluttered open. I had no visible injuries, I didn’t wake up feeling hurt or even with a sniffle, yet I could remember nothing. Everything before that moment in time was gone.

  I don’t think I’m from here. There is nothing that sparks even a flicker of recollection. I had no identification. I tried to find myself. I went to the Maricopa County Sheriff’s department and tried to explain what had happened. They tried very hard to take me seriously, but a grown man with no memory and no visible injuries was very difficult to believe. They took my finger prints and ran them through their data bases. They plastered my face all over the local television newscasts.

  After several weeks of nothing, they pretty much sent me on my way. Who could blame them? Not me. I wasn’t a child separated from his mother, I was a grown, capable man. I should know who I am and where I’m from, but I don’t.

  I just don’t.

  I’ve accepted that as now it’s been at least two years since that day. You can’t get a house, a job, or a car without identification, so I’m relinquished to living my life like a vagabond. I never left here because it is the closest thing I have to home. It’s where I was born…again.

  I’m pretty sure I’m in my thirties, but even that is just a guess. I suppose I could go to a doctor and they might be able to tell me something more, but I don’t have the money to spend on one and, of course, I don’t have insurance. I’m not sure if there are others like me out here. I truly hope not, being a man of nothing is disheartening.

  We pull up in front of one of the biggest homes I have ever seen. We’re in Scottsdale now, where the upper crust tend to make their homes around here. Another clue that the residents have money is that their lawn is almost completely grassy with only a few areas that are gravel. There are lots of plants in the yard close to the house. The yard looks like a golf course, not a single blade of grass out of place and green as a leprechaun’s britches. It is an oasis in the desert.

  We get our instructions and go to work. I am chosen to ride one of the commercial mowers, probably because I speak English and we could understand each other. Not that that is fair, but it’s what happens. I am not about to argue because that is the easiest part of working in landscaping. While the sun starts to peek over the horizon, I point my mower to the back and go to work, carefully mowing in straight lines, alternating directions like I was told. Keeping my head down and working is my specialty.

  The soothing hum of the mower tends to put me in auto-pilot mode and I day dream. Sometimes it’s what my life was like before this. Other times it’s what my life will be like in the future. Today, it was neither of these. Today, I notice everything. The birds flying overhead, the puffy white clouds, the other homes in sight, even the gentle, hot breeze that is sweeping across my brow. Then, something catches my attention. A car that looks out of place in this area. It is old, but not classic car old. The paint is sun-bleached and it is missing 2 hub caps on the side I can see. The windows are tinted, but not so much that I can’t see the four passenge
rs inside.

  From what I can make out, there are three adults and a small child. What catches my eye is the child. The child is plastered up against the window. It looks like he or she is distressed. Suddenly, the child is yanked out of view.

  The car is stopped at the intersection waiting for the light to turn green. I shut off my mower, dismounted in one oddly graceful motion, and suddenly, without even realizing it, I am in a full run towards the vehicle. Something feels weird about the whole situation. I hit the sidewalk and I am running faster than I even knew was possible.

  The car is still idling at the light. They haven’t seen me coming. I catch my breath and knock on the window.

  “Hey man, do you need directions? You look like you may be lost.”

  He turns and looks at me, when he shifts, I see two terrified eyes peering at me from behind the center console. Just as he is about to tell me to bug off, the little being in the back seat screeches.

  He doesn’t stop looking from me, but the other occupants of the vehicle become very agitated and I know there is going to be trouble. That’s when the adrenaline takes over. You always hear stories about mothers lifting cars off of their children or fathers exhibiting super powers when their child is in danger. You never quite believe them, but you never discount them either. Parents are truly miraculous when it comes to protecting their children. What happens next is a blur.

  “Everyone okay in there?” I inquire, then I open the driver’s door and, in a single motion, pull him out of the vehicle.

  The woman in the passenger seat starts to scream and the man in the back struggles to keep the child quiet. She bites him and screams for help. That is all it takes. She wasn’t my child, but she was someone’s child. She was screaming from the back seat when the woman exited the car and ran to my side to stop me from pummeling the driver. I push her to the ground without even turning my head. It is like I can feel everything happening around me. I knock the driver unconscious with a right hook to the temple. I lay him in the grass next to the woman, who is just sitting there completely stunned. The passenger from the back seat has climbed into the front and when I get there, he’s fumbling to get the car in gear. The little girl in the back is trying to get out of the car, but the doors are locked and in her panic she can’t figure out how to unlock them.