The Last Time I Sleepwalked
On a warm summer night when I was eleven
I woke up
standing in the middle of the street
in nothing but my Spider-Man underwear
at three in the morning, with no idea
where I was.
Dark, silent houses lined the street;
overhead the moon was bright,
the sky was clear and full of stars.
There was a streetlight on the corner ahead.
I was terrified and began to tremble.
I had sleepwalked before, but never very far:
downstairs, across the hall, into the backyard.
Never like this.
I wrapped my arms around my body and went toward
the streetlight. When I got there I read the signpost.
Arvid Avenue and Liberty Bell Lane.
My friend Sam lived on Arvid, I knew that, but I had
never heard of Liberty Bell Lane. I stood on the corner,
looking left then right then left then right
trying to decide which way to go, and finally
turned left, because I am left-handed and
in the moment it seemed important.
I walked on the sidewalk, fast with my head down,
the hard concrete striking my bare heels and
sending shocks up my shins to my knees.
Sometimes I would glance up hoping to recognize
a house or other landmark.
Once, a car drove past me, headlights lighting my
tan body pale: I froze, my arm shielding my eyes,
but the car drove on without slowing.
Even today I wonder who was in that car, who
drove past a scared boy walking down the street
in his underwear in the middle of the night.
Maybe they didn't see me, maybe I imagined it.
I walked for twenty minutes before I saw Sam's house.
From there I ran home, my heart pounding in my ears,
my legs burning in pain, not enough air to fill my lungs.
I stood before my dark house, staring, my body heaving.
The front door was closed; I went around and through
the open back door.
My father was asleep on the couch in front of the television.
My mother was at work at the hospital.
My brother was upstairs, asleep in our room.
I slid the door shut behind me, and it woke my father,
who stirred from the couch with a grunt and said,
What's that
and peered into the dark at me, and said
What's wrong, come here, what's happened,
and I went to him and he stood and said
oh my god
you're bleeding
and I looked down and saw my shins covered in bloody scratches
and my feet sliced open. I had walked on broken glass,
walked through sticker bushes. I had scratches
on my arms and chest and stomach.
He enfolded me in a warm embrace, shaking, and
said let's get cleaned up, and as he led me to the bathroom
I told him, I was walking. And he said, Where,
but instead I told him the wonderful dream I had had,
where I was an astronaut on a far-off planet
that was just like home, and so I searched the sky above
for something familiar, to tell them all
the good news, that we are not alone.