Sleep Paralysis
Dark house, lights out,
Long night, alone now,
Shadows move, rooms black,
Strange noise, moving about,
Heavy air, frozen feet,
Something lurks, between the sheets,
Eyes wide, skin cold,
Deep breath, long hold,
Not alone, emerging face,
Helpless, stuck in place,
Another night, darkness,
Sleeping paralysis
Snooze
My alarm goes off, my eyes open, and I feel instant dread. Another morning, I wake up not dead. An eternal sleep sounds like the ultimate peace.
Sleeping has been my escape for so long. Once I get the noises and chatter to turn off in my mind, I drift away to the safest place. A period of time I am granted permission to be unconscious. I spend too many hours of my day overly conscious. Waiting and longing to turn it all off again. Sleepless nights are like torture, eliminating the one thing I fall back on when everything is overwhelming. Nightmares jeopardize the solitude I seek, and occasionally leave me feeling worse than before. Reminding me that there is no true escape from the things that haunt us. Maybe I should take a pill that guarantees restless sleep? Maybe something stronger that will let me forever be.
When my eyes are heavy, but my mind refuses to shut down, I eventually allow the thoughts building in my head to pour out through my exhausted relief valve. One I don't have control over anymore. I let the words dance from my mind to the blank canvas of a screen, creating something tragic, beautiful, worthless and all that in between. Rhyming, crying, random or heartfelt, it all comes out when I allow myself the time to write it down. When I try to put my thoughts into words, sometimes a wall rises up, blocking anything from connecting brain to page. I suddenly feel inept and speechless, unable to form a basic sentence. Leaving me hopeless and discouraged, I give up. Back to bed until the alarm goes off again.
Twister
"Ya'll better hurry up, the storms blowing in."
The drawl whirled off her tongue as fast as the wind picked up in the sky.
Where did that come from? A dialect so distinct you would have thought we were deep in the boot of Missouri. But we weren't. We lived in Bozeman, Montana and she had never been out of the state.
Claire was 5 years old when she started to have break through speech impediments that consistently sounded like a midwestern woman in her 70's. It wasn't all the time but enough to make me worry.
"We need to see a specialist, Dan." I pleaded with my husband to make an appointment. He never got as worked up as I did about these things. I was the textbook helicopter parent. "People are going to think she is illiterate!" I screeched. He put his arm around me and laughed it off.
Ever since we adopted Claire, she was my world. As two dads who once thought having a family was just a dream, I wanted to protect the life we had built with everything I had in me. She came into our lives when she was only fourteen months old. Her biological mother was in her twenties at the time and had been trying to make it as a single mother in the slums of Billings, Montana. She eventually succumbed to her life of drugs and overdosed in the one-bedroom apartment she was being evicted from, leaving Claire to cry out into the night alone and scared. Eventually, one of the questionable neighbors who could no longer stand to hear the cries of a baby in the early hours of the morning came to beat down the door. When he found the lifeless young mother lying cold on a mattress in the middle of the room with Claire sitting next to her crying, he called 911. Officers arrived shortly and took Claire out of that scene she had been in so many times before and started the chapter to her new life.
We had been on the waiting list for 6 months before we got that phone call, and I was elated to finally start earning my new title of dad. Horrified of her back story, I swore to protect her at all costs and give her the best life I could.
"She is fine, Chris. It is her age. She is experimenting and finding new ways to communicate." He seemed annoyed that I was even bringing it up. "Remember when she came home from daycare after the first week and had a lisp?" We both smiled. "It was just a new discovery she had to try out for herself, but it went away just as fast as it came on. This will pass."
Maybe he was right. I was overreacting again. We packed up our bags at the park and headed to the car. After all, she was right a storm was moving into the area.
Once we returned home, I asked Claire what she would like for dinner. "Nothin beats fried chicken and mashed taters. I haven't had a good home cooked meal like that in years." Appalled I stopped and stared as she continued coloring at the kitchen table.
"Oh yeah? And who made you that meal?" I asked skeptically.
"Memaw used to make Sunday dinner after church each week. She taught me er'thing I know about good cookin. I s'pose that would be the last time I had a meal that good. Memaw's house." She had stopped coloring and was staring off as if lost in a deep memory of time that she vividly could see. She smiled and then returned to coloring.
I looked over at Dan who had walked in on the back end of the conversation, and he shrugged his shoulders and moved on.
"How about we order a pizza?" He said smiling and changing the conversation. He thought it was all just some sort of a game.
Dan and I stood next to each other in the kitchen, and I gave him the look that meant it was time to do something. He sighed and quietly said "It is just pretend, make-believe childhood fun." I wasn't having it. "It is getting worse." I urged.
"What are you two fairies yabbering on about in there?" Claire was now standing with her hands on her hips staring at us both.
We were stunned, frozen in time unsure of what just happened. She had never spoke like that before, and she had never been around anyone who would have taught her such phrasing.
"Claire?" I said soft and firmly.
"What daddy?" Her voice sweet and innocent as before. "Do you know what you just said?" Dan asked her, still taken back with what had just happened.
"I said what daddy." She smiled and shook her head as if he was the crazy one, and then skipped away to her room like normal.
"See! There is clearly something wrong. When are we going to do something? Are you waiting for us to walk in and find her smoking a pack of Marlboro reds while doing the daily crossword?"
Dan shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "It just doesn't make sense."
I walked over to the table where she was coloring before and looked down at the papers. My eyes widened and my heart stopped. Dan saw the shock on my face and quickly rushed to my side. "What is it?" He demanded.
Once he was next to me, we both stared down at her artwork mortified that any of this was actually happening.
A perfectly drawn Confederate flag filled the page she had been coloring.
"YEE HAW!" Claire exclaimed loudly down the hall from her bedroom.
"Okay, it is time." Dan agreed.
Fade Away
Eyes green, hair blonde, skintight and makeup on,
Wild, free, still naive, never going to happen to me,
Drunken nights, unsure, endless fights, insecure,
Dark days, hidden face, out of place and in a haze,
Endless nights, numbing pain, there's nothing left to say,
Eyes gray, fade away, hair thin, thin skin,
Despondent and caged, life blurs, quickly aged,
Puncture.
Morning
The first cup of coffee is the strongest.
Hot, smooth but slightly bitter with a hint of sweet to trick my tongue. I have waited all night for this moment to come. I savor it all from the bold smell to the heat, ready for the caffeine to bring me to my feet. A moment of time that I don't want to end. Waiting and longing for the next cup again. I gulp down my last sip and I feel the smile leave my face. I pour another hoping for the same taste. Warm and familiar it starts to perk me up, but nothing can beat that first cup.
Marinated in Bean Water
Based on my calculations
I can say without hesitations,
due to my consumption and caffeination,
that my taste would reflect the libations,
of a coffee sensation,
black, bitter or sweet,
just depends on the situation.
And just like coffee I smell better than I taste so no need to investigate.
Poker Face
His eyes shifted quickly, trying not to draw attention to his underlying intentions. A hand full of spades with more on the table. He was staring at a flush and he felt confident he wasn't going to dig himself into a hole this time. He took a sip of his watered-down whiskey and hoped he hadn't given himself away. He was a man that had been taught composure in the heat of a moment. His roots stretched back to the farm of the strong handed men before him. Hardy and tough. Home-grown. An apple that didn't fall far from the tree of fruit.
It all came down to this moment. Sweat ran across his forehead as the stakes increased. Should he pick up his winnings and call it a night? Or does the seed of the fire inside him burn too deep for quitting? After all he has been burned before.
The other men at the table appear calm and all too comfortable with their hoes sitting close by. Side pieces that accompanied them each Thursday night in the basement of the alley bar. He knew better than engaging in the infidelity game, poker was already challenging his marriage enough. 'Till death do us part.' He reminded himself regularly.
As he threw his last chunk of savings onto the table, he knew he was risking it all. But all he could see was what could be, a moment flowering with attainment. "All in." He said without a quiver in his voice. The river card was next. The fate of his future all in one card of the 52 in a deck.
His eyes widened and he didn't even realize he was holding his breath.
A heart hit the table. And his heart hit the floor.