Dear Sleep

by Kim Dickerson

  She’s screaming loud enough to break glass and there’s traffic all around, yet no one is stopping. I think to myself for a split second that if day labor ever runs thin, I could be a carjacker in broad daylight because no one cares.

  The guy hits the gas, but the engine just revs. I reach in through the window and grab him by the collar and start to pull him out of the window. He’s swearing at me and still trying to slam the car into gear with the very tip of his toe on the gas pedal. I haul him the rest of the way out of the window and throw him on the grass next to his two cohorts. He starts crying.

  I grab the keys out of the ignition and throw them as far as I can, which is pretty far considering the adrenaline rush I’ve got going on at the moment. I unlock the car doors, keeping my mind’s eye on the three I deposited onto the grass. I help the girl out of the back seat and she immediately latches on to me in tears of relief.

  I just stand here for a moment, letting her try to collect herself.

  “What’s your name, honey?”

  She’s crying so hard that her breath keeps hitching and the words don’t just come out jumbled. They come out completely unrecognizable.

  “Sweetie, you’ve got to calm down for me. Take a deep breath.” I demonstrate for her. It makes me a little dizzy.

  She takes a deep breath into her lungs. We exhale together and do it again. The sobs are still hitching in her chest, she’s terrified. Who wouldn’t be? Being kidnapped, or at least I assume that’s what happened, and then watching a man go Full Metal Jacket on your three captors might be a little scary. We’re both breathing together, and I feel light headed.

  “Keep breathing, I’m going to get us some help, okay?”

  She nods and I start yelling. I am only a few hundred yards from where I was working. I can see my boss for the day standing in front of his truck. I’m waving my hands in the air, jumping up and down yelling for what seems like an eternity before the guy notices me. He gets in his truck and drives over.

  I notice the one I had knocked out with a lucky punch starts to come around. The woman and the other guy are both crying now. I must look crazy because surely the two of them could overtake me without even breaking a sweat, but neither challenge me at all.

  My boss’s truck pulls up. “Sir, do you have a cell phone?”

  He looks me up and down, he looks at the car, he looks at the three in the grass, and his gaze settles on the little girl. She’s now red-faced, but no longer sobbing. “What the hell is going on here? Aren’t you supposed to be mowing for me?”

  “Yes, Sir. I was when I noticed this car driving around behind the house. It just didn’t fit. I saw the little girl. We can rehash this later, can I use your phone to call the police. These three idiots were trying to take this little girl, at least that’s what I think was going on.”

  As if it suddenly registers with him that I had managed to subdue three people all by my lonesome, he looks at me with extreme caution and hands me his phone.

  What feels like hours, but in reality is only ten short minutes, a squad car rolls up. The officer comes out of his vehicle, gun drawn. I instinctively put my hands in the air. He walks over to my boss, after all, he’s the only one who looks to be capable of handling this situation.

  “What’s going on here?” He asks, not taking his gun off of me.

  The boss shakes his head. “You need to ask the man you have your sights on. He just used my phone to call you.”

  The officer lowers his gun just a little bit. “Well, what happened?”

  The little girl is still wrapped around my leg. I tell him the whole story, he moves his gun toward the three still sitting there. The one I knocked out has come to, and looks like a deer in the headlights. I remember that look in my own eyes and my heart sinks a little bit. I hope I didn’t erase his memory. I hope the sonofabitch remembers every moment of this.

  He speaks into his little radio calling for back up, then suddenly his eyes widen. He recognizes the little girl.

  “Sadie Jennings? Is that you?”

  She perks up at her name.

  A few more officers arrive at the scene, they begin questioning the suspects. Sadie is whisked into the back seat of one of the cruisers. There’s a lot of whispering that I can’t quite make out. Then, the sheriff’s car pulls up. A large man gets out, he looks vaguely familiar to me. I chalk it up to the fact that he’s the sheriff and that I’ve seen his picture somewhere. He starts to make his way to me. The three bozos who tried to take his little girl away are cuffed and in the back of cruisers.

  It turns out that little Sadie was the daughter of two very prominent people in the state of Arizona. Her father, Jack Jennings, is the Maricopa County Sheriff and her mother, Maria Jennings, is a Senator.

  I tense up a little bit. I’ve been a professional at keeping my head down, and here I am, the rescuer of a high profile couple’s little girl. I mean, I can’t get much less low-profile than this.

  He holds out one of his ham-sized hands with the intention of shaking mine. “I can’t thank you enough for what you did. You…” he wavers, “you saved my daughter.”

  I put my hand in his and he shakes it so vigorously I feel like I’m being vibrated to death. I put on my best humble smile and say, “I just knew something was wrong, Sir. I felt it in my gut. The rest is kind of a blur already.”

  “Well, the news should be here momentarily, so I suggest you duck out of here. We’ll be in touch with you about court dates and the like for this case.”

  “Sir, I’m not sure how you plan to get in touch with me, I have no phone. No home.”

  “Well, that’s a problem now isn’t it?” He held his hands in a pyramid while trying to decide how he feels about the fact that a homeless man saved his little angel. “Here’s what we’ll do for now. Can you come to the station tomorrow?”

  “It will take away from work time, but I can do that. I’m happy to help put these criminals behind bars.”

  “Then I will see you tomorrow. What’s your name, son?”

  I stop breathing. No one had asked me my name since I had gone in two years ago. My brain stops working, I can’t even come up with a fake name to give him so this awkward moment can be over. He solves that problem for me.

  “I remember you.”

  The light of the afternoon begins to twist in my eyes.

  “You’re the guy who just appeared here with no recollection of anything.”

  The light begins retreating and I feel gravity urging my body to get comfortable with the sidewalk that I stand on.

  “You never figured anything out, did you?”

  My legs give way, I land firmly on my rump directly on the hard concrete.

  Suddenly, I’m surrounded by people. I can’t make out faces, I can barely make any connections whatsoever when my brain calls lights out and I pass out right there.

  My eyes flutter open. This feels all too familiar, except the place. The place is different. The stark lights of the hospital are beaming down on my face. I feel an impending sense of panic. What the hell happened? Where am I?

  I look around the room, but it’s empty. My head hurts like a sonofabitch and my legs are sore. I can feel the tingling in my toes like my feet had fallen asleep. I hear mumbling in the hallway. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I’m sure it’s about me.

  Then, through the door, walks the sheriff. The panic hits its zenith. I try to get out of bed, half expecting to be handcuffed to it. There’s nothing impeding my retreat, but my head starts to swoon.

  “There’s the hero of the day!” he booms.

  It makes my head ache more.

  “Where am I?”

  He chuckles, “You ask that question a lot don’t ya, son? You’re in the hospital. You lost consciousness at the scene. Do you remember what happened?”

  I close my eyes trying to get a grasp on what happened. Scenes flash behind my eyes like I’m watching one of those old flip-book movies kids bought at the dime store when
they couldn’t afford to actually go to the theater. The car, the three assholes, the terrified little girl. She belonged to someone prominent. Who? Oh right, the sheriff.

  I nod.

  “You passed out and thumped your melon pretty hard on the concrete. We called a bus and had them haul you here to get checked out. I can’t even begin to express…” he trailed off. I can see the tears painting the corner of the otherwise hard man’s eyes. “I mean, my wife and I…I have no idea…Thank you.” It is all he could eke out before he has to turn to wipe the tears away.

  I manage a smile, “I’m glad I could do some good for someone. I feel so much like I just take up space every day, but this made me feel like a person for the first time since…well, since I met you the first time. It seems our paths are intertwined somehow.”

  He turns back around. “Well, I hope you’re not camera shy. From what we’ve been able to ascertain from the suspects, you just foiled a plot to exploit my wife and I for millions that would be filtered into a home grown terror group. By pure association, you probably saved a lot of people.”

  My jaw drops. I couldn’t wrap my head around what I had just heard.

  “I had the same reaction. It’s a lot to swallow, but the FBI are on their way down to do their own interviews and their own investigation. Which means they’ll want to talk to you, of course. Is there something that I can do for you? Anything? I owe you big, son. My wife wants to meet you, so you’ll have a trip to D.C. in the future. She’s busy and can’t get away. She’s different from all those pompous asses on The Hill. She doesn’t think she gets paid to fly all over the place when they’re in session. She believes in doing her job and listening to her constituents. I may be a little biased though. Anyhow, you’ll get to meet her,” he trails off, lost in thought. You can see from his demeanor how much he loves his wife. She could have been a waitress instead of a senator and he would have loved her just the same.

  “Well, Sir, there’s nothing in particular I can think of that I want…” he cuts me off...

  “You know, there will be media coverage. We can use that to get your face out there. Maybe someone will recognize you. That would be something wouldn’t it? I should have done more for you, but in a way I’m glad I didn’t. If you were found and left, my little girl might…well you get the idea. Maybe this is what God intended for you. Maybe that’s why you ended up here. I suppose that’s no comfort to you at all is it?” Before I could answer he keeps going, “Who am I to say why we’re here. I mean, I’m just one man who’s trying to get through this world that is in eternal turmoil with itself. I’m trying to protect mine, protect others, and put good into the world. I suppose one person can change the world, and I might as well start with you. It’s time we found out who you are. What do you call yourself?”

  I look at him, stunned at the question at hand. Other than the day I set foot in the sheriff’s office those years ago, no one had ever asked my name. Not even the sexy desk clerk at the Red Cross. I am not sure how to respond, so I tell him the truth, “No one has ever asked my name. So I never thought about it.”

  He doesn’t look satisfied with my answer. “Come on, you must have called yourself something.” He looks pensive, which was comical because the only way he could know if I ever gave someone a name was if he traveled back through time and followed in my footsteps listening to all of my conversations. I can’t even recall all of my conversations.

  “Nope, but if you’d like to call me something, I suppose Joe would do. It’s just as generic as I feel.”

  “Your name is not Joe, but it will have to do for now. You don’t look like a Joe. Somebody has to be missing you.” He is a man of many words and opinions, which is certain. I wonder what he thought a Joe should look like and decided that it didn’t really matter. “Well, I’ve got to get back to the office and work on some paperwork. I’ve got two deputies who will be standing guard at your door until they release you. For your safety, of course. When they do release you, come to the department and we’ll get you a proper place to stay while the FBI do their thing. We’ll take care of everything.” And with that, he walks out the door. I don’t even have time to object.

  They release me from the hospital the next morning. I had a concussion, but no serious injuries. The deputies give me a ride to the sheriff’s department, where I am to meet Jack and let him put me up for a while. I’m not really comfortable with the idea, but I realize I don’t have a choice in the matter.

  Sheriff Jennings emerges through the doorway of his office, having to angle himself slightly so he doesn’t have to squeeze his shoulders through. He’s got a big smile on his face, as if he is seeing a long lost family member.

  “Hey, Joe. Whaddayaknow? I’ve wanted to say that all of my life for some absurd reason. Sorry about that. I’m glad you’re here, I was worried that you might decide to quietly take your leave.”

  “No, Sir. I want to make sure I do my civic duty. It sounds crazy coming from a homeless guy, but I still feel that way.”

  He throws his head back and laughs. “You’ve got to stop referring to yourself as a homeless guy, that’s over with. So, we’ve got you set up at the apartments around the corner. It’s set up with all the comforts of…well…home,” he softens a little bit on that last part. “I’ll run you over myself in a little while. The FBI want to have a word with you before you go anywhere.”

  I nod. I do a lot of that these days. My mind is racing. I am going to have the privacy of my own bed, a shower I don’t have to share, a place to relax. I don’t think I have relaxed since the moment I opened my eyes to this hell.

  I wait in the uncomfortable chairs in the reception area. There are a lot of people here. I feel out of place, I’m neither law enforcement nor criminal. I’m just a guy who did a decent thing. It’s truly unnerving. Everything looks the same as when I was here two years ago. All the paint is chipped in the same spots. The same sterile smell undermined with just a little bit of urine. I am pretty sure their drunk tank is pretty busy.

  Time passes slowly, as it always does when you’re anxious to do something else. People bustle in and out the doors. Agents shuffle by with case files. No one pays any attention to me, which is oddly how I hoped to live out the last two years of my life. I was mostly successful.

  Finally, an agent approaches me and takes me into the back of the office. You never really want to cross behind the front counter, no matter why you come here. Yet, here I am, a man with no roots, no one would miss me, but I allow myself to be led into a small room.

  My heart starts speeding up and my palms exude the tell-tale sign of nerves.

  After an hour of conversation, that was much more like a talk over a beer than a questioning by the FBI, I am free to go. Sheriff Jennings is waiting for me and takes me to the apartment he procured himself.

  “You looked like a bleached bed sheet going in there. You okay now?”

  I nod. “I imagine anyone being questioned by the FBI would feel a little nervous. Unless you’re a sociopath, I suppose.”

  This strikes him as funny and he bellows with laughter. I don’t see the humor in sociopaths, but that’s only one of the things that separates us.

  “Here ya go, Joe,” he tries to stifle a chuckle, unsuccessfully. He passes me his card, “If there’s anything you need, just call me. There should be some groceries in the fridge. I’ll send one of my guys over this evening to take you out so you can get what you want to eat, instead of the crap I secretly eat when my wife is at work.” He smiles, it actually changes his whole demeanor. He looks softer.

  “Thanks. You don’t have to do that, but I’m pretty sure arguing with you is futile,” I grin as I departed the car. I raise my hand in a wave as I walk into the apartment building. He waves back and he is still smiling. It is a knowing smile. I wonder what he knows.

  I put the key in the deadbolt of apartment number forty-two, half expecting it not to turn as if this is a big practical joke, but it does. I walk through the doo
r and joy spreads across my body. I don’t have to sleep with one eye open. Tonight, I will have no worries when I lay my head down. I will sleep in a bed, with clean sheets, after I take a shower. A shower without the looks of others at the Red Cross. A shower, naked without worry. Before that, I will sit down at a table and eat.

  First, I place my modest belongings. I know I won’t be here long, but I want it to feel like home. I just want to know what home feels like. It’s a feeling I’ve often seen described by authors of the books I buy second hand. I have an image of what it should feel like, but I’m quickly coming to the realization that it is completely dependent on the individual. For some it is family, not a building. For others it’s a building not a family. Yet for others, it’s merely a single possession that reminds them of happier times. For me, I cannot yet comment. I hope one day to be able to know what home feels like.

  I slip off my shoes and squeeze my toes into the carpeting. It feels magnificent. Like the first time you step barefoot on the new green spring grass. I can’t remember the last time I was barefoot that wasn’t in a public shower. I scuff my bare feet across the carpet and into the kitchen. I reach for the refrigerator door handle and jump when a blue bolt of electricity shoots from my finger tips to the metal. It makes me laugh. My own laughter flooding my ears makes me laugh even harder. The guffaws turn to a symphony of snorts and chortles until there are tears clouding my vision. It’s been so long since I’ve laughed. I cannot remember laughing. Ever.

  It is the best feeling. It is a feeling of joy and release. I’m laughing like a lunatic in a puddle on the floor. I can feel the tension of the last two years flowing away. It’s a river with its floodgates wide open, nothing can impede its emission. Just when I think I have it under control, the waves wash over me again. My stomach cramps, my face hurts, and I suddenly realize that one silly act has unleashed a nervous breakdown. The tears are coming harder now and in between the chortles come guttural sobs. I’m quaking.