said.
“Okay. Long day.”
When I got out of the shower, she was already asleep. I wondered how many pills she’d taken. Knowing her, it was at least double dose. Her theory had been that prescribed dosages were never enough. They did it on purpose, though I’d yet to gather what she considered their motive (or even, for that matter, who “they” were. Doctors? Pharmacists?). I walked barefoot with a towel wrapped around my waist to the kitchen and poured a generous glass of scotch. Grabbing a magazine, I went back to our bedroom. Though tired, I knew I’d need time and a dose of alcohol to get sleepy.
It took a while and a refill. I sat in the bed, trying to let my mind focus on the content of the magazine. It was a battle, as my thoughts tried to stray down the various paths that pulled like cognitive magnets. Kyle. Chester. Red SUV. Even Peter. Beside me, Suze began to snore lightly. Rare for her. But a good sign that she was down for the night. Slowly, I felt my eyes begin to burn as fog rolled in, covering up the stray troubling thoughts. As I switched out the light, I felt the weight of the scotch and felt reasonably certain I’d make it straight through to the alarm.
I did. And could have gone longer.
The night had flashed by in an instant. I’ve heard that if your first thought upon waking was looking forward to returning to bed that night, you’re sleep - deprived . Not a huge leap of logic, but it was something I rarely felt. Typically upon waking, the void in my mind was filled with a checklist of things I expected to tackle in the day ahead.
Not today. Maybe the extra scotch floating around in my system. Maybe how late I finally fell asleep. More likely the course of action ahead of me today was not one I felt eager to undertake. It was all ugly, hateful, and counterproductive. As I came around, I rubbed my forehead and thought back. It seemed much longer, but only a few weeks ago life was moving through the grooves with little turbulence. Now the pinball machine was stuck at tilt, and I saw no clear timetable for stability. It seemed unfair, and while I’m hesitant to play victim — not my nature; in fact a huge character weakness I saw too often in others — I did wonder how I had suddenly become the center of the universe of random shitstorms.
I felt Suze stir beside me, so I carefully got out of bed and went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. As I walked, my head began to clear and I started my list. First thing: call Viniteri. On the way to work? No. Why not now? Dive in.
After filling the coffee machine and switching it on, I walked over to my cell phone. I swiped over to Viniteri’s number and hit Call. No surprise, it went to his voice mail. I put the phone down and went back to the kitchen to grab a couple of mugs.
I saw the beer can just an instant after hearing Suze scream from the bedroom.
I dropped the mugs on the counter, setting one too close to the edge and I heard it topple over and smash on the floor as I ran into our bedroom. On the way, I looked for something to grab in case I needed a weapon. Short on swords, baseball bats, or golf clubs, I grabbed a vase. To my relief, I didn’t see anyone in the room, just Suze on the bed pointing to the floor. She had turned on the light just moments ago, and what she was pointing at was something I’d have not seen in the dark. But now it was clear, and it tightened my stomach so quickly I barely held back a spray of vomit. I swallowed hard, and had the acidic taste burning in the back of my throat.
Muddy footprints. Still somewhat wet, so obviously only a few hours old. They were clearly showing that someone had been in our room that night, as we’d both been heavily asleep (aided a bit by alcohol and medicine). He’d been standing at the foot of our bed. Doing what? How long? Why? I saw the questions in Suze’s eyes, and while I might have some answers, God help me, I was grasping desperately for some string of logic
“Okay. Long day.”
When I got out of the shower, she was already asleep. I wondered how many pills she’d taken. Knowing her, it was at least double dose. Her theory had been that prescribed dosages were never enough. They did it on purpose, though I’d yet to gather what she considered their motive (or even, for that matter, who “they” were. Doctors? Pharmacists?). I walked barefoot with a towel wrapped around my waist to the kitchen and poured a generous glass of scotch. Grabbing a magazine, I went back to our bedroom. Though tired, I knew I’d need time and a dose of alcohol to get sleepy.
It took a while and a refill. I sat in the bed, trying to let my mind focus on the content of the magazine. It was a battle, as my thoughts tried to stray down the various paths that pulled like cognitive magnets. Kyle. Chester. Red SUV. Even Peter. Beside me, Suze began to snore lightly. Rare for her. But a good sign that she was down for the night. Slowly, I felt my eyes begin to burn as fog rolled in, covering up the stray troubling thoughts. As I switched out the light, I felt the weight of the scotch and felt reasonably certain I’d make it straight through to the alarm.
I did. And could have gone longer.
The night had flashed by in an instant. I’ve heard that if your first thought upon waking was looking forward to returning to bed that night, you’re sleep - deprived . Not a huge leap of logic, but it was something I rarely felt. Typically upon waking, the void in my mind was filled with a checklist of things I expected to tackle in the day ahead.
Not today. Maybe the extra scotch floating around in my system. Maybe how late I finally fell asleep. More likely the course of action ahead of me today was not one I felt eager to undertake. It was all ugly, hateful, and counterproductive. As I came around, I rubbed my forehead and thought back. It seemed much longer, but only a few weeks ago life was moving through the grooves with little turbulence. Now the pinball machine was stuck at tilt, and I saw no clear timetable for stability. It seemed unfair, and while I’m hesitant to play victim — not my nature; in fact a huge character weakness I saw too often in others — I did wonder how I had suddenly become the center of the universe of random shitstorms.
I felt Suze stir beside me, so I carefully got out of bed and went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. As I walked, my head began to clear and I started my list. First thing: call Viniteri. On the way to work? No. Why not now? Dive in.
After filling the coffee machine and switching it on, I walked over to my cell phone. I swiped over to Viniteri’s number and hit Call. No surprise, it went to his voice mail. I put the phone down and went back to the kitchen to grab a couple of mugs.
I saw the beer can just an instant after hearing Suze scream from the bedroom.
I dropped the mugs on the counter, setting one too close to the edge and I heard it topple over and smash on the floor as I ran into our bedroom. On the way, I looked for something to grab in case I needed a weapon. Short on swords, baseball bats, or golf clubs, I grabbed a vase. To my relief, I didn’t see anyone in the room, just Suze on the bed pointing to the floor. She had turned on the light just moments ago, and what she was pointing at was something I’d have not seen in the dark. But now it was clear, and it tightened my stomach so quickly I barely held back a spray of vomit. I swallowed hard, and had the acidic taste burning in the back of my throat.
Muddy footprints. Still somewhat wet, so obviously only a few hours old. They were clearly showing that someone had been in our room that night, as we’d both been heavily asleep (aided a bit by alcohol and medicine). He’d been standing at the foot of our bed. Doing what? How long? Why? I saw the questions in Suze’s eyes, and while I might have some answers, God help me, I was grasping desperately for some string of logic
Similar Books
