Sleeping Awake

by Noelle, Gamali

  Somewhere after the fourth song or fifth song, I’d lost count by then, a waiter came by, and Nicolaas got two more glasses of champagne. It was sweet and went down smoothly. I licked my lips, catching the stray drop.

  “Like it?” Nicolaas whispered, pulling me closer.

  “Yes,” I replied. I took another sip and sighed. “Je l’aime beaucoup.”

  Nicolaas smiled down at me.

  “What?” I asked, not being able to help the smile that was forming on my face.

  “Nothing, you’re very beautiful that’s all, Mooi.” He kissed me softly on my eyelids; they fluttered against his touch.

  “Thank you for inviting me,” I murmured, snuggling closer. There really was no place that I’d rather be than right there with him.

  “Thank you for accepting my invitation,” he replied. “It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

  My favourite Cole Porter song began to play then. Quite surprisingly, Nicolaas began to sing in my ear.

  “But that's why birds do it, bees do it; even educated fleas do it. Let's do it, let's fall in love…”

  His voice stirred something deep within me. I closed my eyes. “Yes,” was on the tip of my tongue. I stopped dancing. Yes what? As if I wasn’t going crazy enough, a voice answered Yes to falling in love.

  I stumbled. Nicolaas held me tightly and prevented my fall. My heart began to race as a familiar sense of panic surged through me. I couldn’t breathe.

  “Noira, are you all right?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Do you need a doctor?”

  “Take me home, please,” I whispered.

  “What?”

  “I need to go home,” I said, pulling away. “Please.”

  “Noira…”

  “Just take me home,” I whispered, trying my hardest not to cause a scene.

  Wordlessly, he led me through the crowd and outside. During the ride home, I felt his gaze on me, but I dared not look at him. A million thoughts were racing through my head. I thought about opening the door, jumping out, and having a car run over me and end my pathetic existence. Knowing my luck, I’d only end up scaring Nicolaas and no car would come to save me from my fate.

  “Noira, did I do something wrong?” he finally asked. We were turning onto my driveway.

  “I just need to be alone,” I said, reaching for the car door.

  “But none of this makes sense,” he said.

  I turned then, tears and mascara running down my face and looked at him. “Thank you for inviting me to the party, Nicolaas. Goodnight.”

  He didn’t follow me inside.

  “Back so soon… What happened to you?” Cienna was descending the stairs as I came through the front door.

  “Not now, Cienna,” I begged.

  She nodded and stepped aside to let me pass.

  Once I got to my room, I went to my medicine cabinet and reached for the old bottle of Lonazepam. I took two of them and another two Benadryl tablets. The Lonazepam didn’t do what my doctors had wanted it to do, but it made me completely numb. I needed to be numb. Numb and under my comforter, blocking the light out, waiting for the Benadryl to kick in and hopefully bring on a dreamless slumber.

  *~*

  The next morning was Sunday. We sat together having breakfast before going to Mass.

  “How was the opera last week, Camelea?” Maman asked. “You never told me.”

  Camelea’s smile could have rivalled the rays of the sun. “Marvelous.”

  I spat my pills back into my orange juice as Maman leaned closer and absorbed Camelea’s tale. Across from me, Cienna’s head was bent downwards as if in prayer. I knew that she was reading something in her lap. I took out my phone. There were four text messages and two voice mail notifications. I turned it off.

  “Oh look at the time!” Maman exclaimed.

  Cienna and I looked up.

  “We’ll be late if we don’t leave now,” Maman said.

  I put my phone in my clutch and tossed my napkin onto my uneaten food.

  Once we returned home, I threw the clutch into the back of my closet, undressed and got under the covers. My eyes closed before I could even get the comforter over my head.

  *~*

  On Monday morning, I called Bryn.

  “Noira, my love!” he greeted.

  “Don’t my love me,” I snapped. “You abandoned me at your party for that she-devil, and I’ve seen neither hide nor hair from you since. What kind of best friend are you? I’m in a very fragile state right now!”

  “I’m sorry, babe,” he said.

  “Whatever,” I hissed.

  “Look, how about I make it up to you?”

  “How?” I leaned against the kitchen counter, chewing on my bottom lip.

  “She’s having the house redecorated,” Bryn said, referring to his mother. “I don’t think that you want to be here with all the banging that’s about to start. Want me to come over there?”

  “Yes,” I replied. If there was anyone in the world who I needed at that moment, it was Bryn.

  “Give me an hour then.”

  I stomped my right foot on the ground and pouted. “What am I supposed to do for an hour?”

  “Clean your closet or something,” he replied. “You’re always complaining that you can never find anything in there.”

  I sighed. “Fine.”

  “See you.”

  My closet somehow always looked like it had been to war and back. There were even stilettos hanging haphazardly from a few hangers. It was probably because I had to spent so much time taming my hair that the few minutes that I had to get dressed were literally a world-wind. I decided to tackle the shoes first and started taking them all out. I was bending down to pull the last shoe from behind a garment bag when I spotted the box. I froze.

  I hadn’t seen it in almost a year, but I knew what was in there. I shoved the bag aside and pulled it out. I took off the paisley-covered top and took out the photo album. My hands were shaking as I opened it, because I knew whom the first photo was of. Laying on a hammock with his eyes closed was my father, Philippe. He was using his hands as a pillow, but he looked so casual and content with the tiniest smile on his face. If it hadn’t been for the one streak of premature gray, his curls would have made him look a boy in his sleep. I knew that he wasn’t sleeping, because I had been the one to order him to pose for my camera. We were in Málaga when the picture had been taken. Andalusia seemed to suit Philippe, or at least it looked so in the picture.

  I ran my hands along the photograph. After I had taken the picture, Philippe had jumped up, grabbed me and started spinning me in the air. I tried to remember what it felt like to have the wind whirling around me as I orbited around him. He had stubble on his cheek. I couldn’t remember whether or not he’d kissed me or said anything to me as he spun me, but I remembered the feel of rubbing my face against his. I felt safe.

  The next picture was of my sisters and I, once again in various states of toothlessness as we grinned for the camera. Maman had taken the picture of us. I flipped the page to the next photograph, another one of Philippe. I had his eyes. They were like milk chocolate.

  I turned the page. Maman and Philippe shared the hammock in this one. He always had boyish grin on his face whenever he stared at Maman. I understood why she was all-smiles whenever he was around. They’d share secret glances whenever they thought that we weren’t looking. Cienna was curled into Philippe’s side as she slept with her head on his chest in the next one.

  These were the last photos that were taken of our family while we were still happy. I sometimes wondered how long Philippe had been contemplating his departure. There were no photographs of him anywhere in our house. It was as if he’d never existed, save for these lone pages in an old photo album at the back of my closet.

  “I thought that you were going to clean?”

  The album fell to the floor as I jumped. “Bryn!” I said, hands over my chest. “You scared me.”
>
  “Sorry,” Bryn said, bending to pick it up. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “You said one hour,” I replied. I took the album from him and made sure that none of the photos had been damaged.

  “The herd arrived early, so I skipped deep-conditioning my hair,” Bryn replied. He pulled me into his bear-like embrace and kissed my cheek. It felt good to be in his arms, safe almost.

  “Is that a café in France?” he asked, peering down at the open album.

  I looked down at the photograph and pulled away. “Yes.”

  I contemplated putting away the album, but that would have meant explaining my actions. I didn’t trust myself to be able to do that without crying. Fucking Cymbalta.

  “It was taken about six months before we moved to America,” I added.

  Bryn leaned closer and turned the album towards him. “Is that Camelea sitting on your father’s lap?”

  I nodded.

  “You look a bit like him,” he mused.

  “I don’t think so.” I shook my head. “I don’t look like any of my parents.”

  “Well I can see some of him in you,” Bryn countered. “I’ve seen that smile before, and I’ve never met your father.”

  “Maybe,” I said, giving in. “The picture was taken while we were waiting for Maman to come. We were going to Mikonos that weekend, I think.”

  “So then who took it?” Bryn asked, turning the page.

  “My nounou.”

  “Trust me,” Bryn said, rolling his eyes. “I know all about nannies. I like this picture. You look very happy here.”

  The next picture was of Philippe and me. I was sitting in his lap with a fishing rod in my hand.

  “We must have gone to Wallonia then,” I replied. “We only ever went fishing when we were in Belgium.”

  “Your childhood in France sounds rather quaint,” Bryn said. “The only thing that sticks out in my memory about London was the divorce. It took four years for them to decide on who would get the last pound. It was only afterwards that they realised that they hadn’t yet argued over who got to keep me. They flipped a coin.”

  I reached over and squeezed Bryn’s hand.

  “I’ve gotten over it.” Bryn pulled away and flipped to the last page. It was another photograph of Philippe and me. I was a newborn, and he was laying on a couch with me cradled in his arms.

  “He’s looking at you as if he’s…” Bryn trailed off.

  “Scared shitless?” I replied.

  We burst out laughing. I leaned against Bryn’s shoulder to brace myself. When I could finally breathe again, I wiped the tears that had fallen and set the album aside.

  “I don’t remember the last time that I laughed like that,” I said.

  “You should have seen your face as you went through the album and commented on the photographs,” Bryn replied. “You looked absolutely radiant. Why don’t you ever talk about your father if he obviously makes you so happy?”

  I looked down at my fingers. “Because talking about my father doesn’t make me happy.”

  Bryn’s forehead was a bed of lines. “I’m confused.”

  I sighed. “Finding an old album is one thing, but remembering how he just abandoned us is another. Do you want to know how I felt when he left? Like I was on a rope that was enflamed and suspended in midair. I could do nothing but watch as the inferno came towards me. Have you ever felt like that?”

  Bryn shook his head.

  I continued. “Maman tried to put me together, of course, but she couldn’t pick up all the pieces of shattered crockery. Bits fell too far out of reach or were too small to ever have a chance of becoming part of the whole. Maman patched me up as best as she could and brought us to America to start all over again. It was the pieces left behind that mattered the most, however. Not the shanty version of a little girl that Maman forgot to bubble wrap for her own safe keeping.”

  “Christ, Noira,” Bryn said. “I had no idea…”

  I shrugged, pretending that I was all right with my life’s current state of affairs. “My sisters and I locked ourselves in Cienna’s room and just cried. Maman wouldn’t see us.”

  “Is that why you moved to America?” Bryn asked. “Were you trying to get away from France?”

  “I suppose so,” I said, shrugging. “All that ended up happening was that we each disappeared into ourselves and grew apart. We were a lot closer before we moved to America.”

  “How sad,” Bryn commented.

  “Indeed,” I said, standing up. I didn’t want to continue slipping further down the downward spiral of depression. “I’m dying for a martini, are you?”

  Bryn’s eyes lit up. “Yes, please!”

  “Lychee, I think,” I added. There was nothing like a lychee martini in the afternoon to chase the mean reds away.

  Everyone else was out, so we went downstairs to the parlour and made ourselves comfortable. Bryn took a seat on a chaise lounge chair, kicked off his shoes, and propped up his feet under a pillow.

  “Comfortable enough for you?” I asked from behind the bar.

  Bryn reached for the Vanity Fair magazine that Cienna had left on the coffee table and began to flip through the pages.

  I smiled, shaking my head slightly, and began to assemble the ingredients.

  “Oh look,” Bryn said a few minutes later. “Nicolaas is in the Fairground citings.”

  I stopped shaking the mixture. “Your cousin Nicolaas?”

  “Yes,” Bryn replied, turning the page. “He was cited at Le Bal des Débutantes. Of course he’d be there, the dirty pervert…”

  I resumed shaking. “That must be an older issue…”

  Bryn put down the magazine and turned to face me. “Why do you know my cousin?”

  My face burned, and I hoped that my features didn’t betray me. “He was at your party, no?”

  “Oh yes,” Bryn replied. He took up the magazine.

  “Are you not a fan of your cousin?” I asked. I bent down to get the lychees out of the mini-fridge. I waited until Bryn answered me before standing up again. I didn’t know how long I could keep up my calm demeanour.

  “I’m a fan of him now, but I wasn’t before,” Bryn said. He put down the magazine and turned in my direction. “He didn’t try anything with you, did he?”

  “Nope.” I stood up. If anything, I tried something with him. I didn’t tell Bryn that, however. “How many lychees, darling?”

  “One,” Bryn replied. He relaxed into the cushion and resumed casually flipping through the magazine. “I’m glad that he behaved himself. You’re exactly his type.”

  I allowed myself a smile as I brought the martinis. Bryn obligingly moved over to allow me to sit. “You wouldn’t approve of a tryst between myself and your world-famous cousin? Thanks for telling me that you two were related, by the way.”

  “What is there to tell?” Bryn shrugged and took the martini from me. “We cannot help the family that we are born into. He’s my cousin, but we weren’t close. I didn’t see the point of mentioning it. Name-dropping is so unbecoming.”

  “I see…” I took a sip of the martini. Magnificent.

  “In any case, I don’t care if you two shack up, as long as it’s not within sight of a journalist. I don’t need my aunt calling to yell at me about how I failed to keep him on his best behaviour…” Bryn took a sip of the martini. “…This is divine, darling, absolutely divine.”

  I nodded, placing my glass on the coaster. I folded my feet underneath me and slouched, staring through the glass doors.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  I sighed. “I’m depressed, darling.”

  “Because you’ve stopped taking your ruddy medication!”

  I continued to stare out the window. It had been exactly three days since I had last seen Nicolaas. I wanted to turn my phone on and see what he’d had to say, but I couldn’t. What was I supposed to say in response? I didn’t ask for any of his feelings; I just wanted his cock and maybe a few bottles of
vodka shared between us. I couldn’t handle any more than that.

  “I’m not depressed because of the medication, Bryn,” I replied. “I’m just depressed.”

  Bryn put down his martini. “What on earth have you got to be depressed for? If it’s because your mother is pressuring you to go back to school, I’ve told you already that you can move into my flat at Cambridge. You can spend your days pressing flowers and painting water colours or whatever it is that women do with their leisure time.”

  I chuckled. “I may just take you up on that offer.”

  “Well then it’s settled; stop being depressed.”

  I turned to face him. The smile on his face disappeared once he saw the tears that were threatening to pour from my eyes.

  “Noira, my love,” he said. He pulled me into his lap and kissed my forehead. “What’s wrong?”

  “Do you think that I’m loveable?” I asked.

  “You are absolutely loveable!”

  “No, not that way,” I replied. I sat up and wiped my tears. “I mean do you think that a man can actually love me?”

  “Of course,” he said. “Hell, I almost fell in love with you.”

  “Really? What happened? My dark hole threatened to suck you in?”

  Bryn wiped away the tears that were managing to escape. “No. I just realised that I’d rather be your best friend, and be in your life forever, than to try and be something more and end up losing you forever when I fucked things up.”

  I nodded. What he said made perfect sense; I had thought about crossing the line during our rum fests and cognac binges, but I had decided it against it for the same reason.

  “I’m such a fuck up,” I said. “Why am I so scared to have someone love me?”

  “Do you fancy someone?” Bryn asked. He looked like a devilish pixie, primed and ready for the gossip.

  “I’m not talking about that,” I replied, slapping him. “It’s just the idea that scares me.”

  “Oh,” Bryn said. His curiosity melted into the disappointment of his frown. “Well I’d tell you to get a therapist, but you’ve already seen several.”