Sleep

JM Ibanez

Lack of sleep sometimes opens your mind to the irrational nature of your existence. I learned that early on, and strove to reach that state where I would be open and receptive to every twitch and impulse of my soul.

I wonder how it would seem if I read this aloud, mind free and open, half in conscious thought, half moving out of it. It scares me that my mind no longer pays attention. The lack of sleep does this to you, I guess.

The cup of coffee was good. I downed it an hour and a half ago, bittersweet and ennervating.

The world in a coffee cup. Right.

I almost no longer care that I failed. It scares me, but it seems like it were a simple fact of my existence. As though to break the monotony of it all.

I stare at her eyes, my gaze vacant. She looked at me inquisitively, as though she could read the words behind my blank eyes.

"Trey."

Startled back to the present, I responded with raised eyebrows.

"Trey, you've been staring blankly at me for the past 15 minutes. Snap out of it."

We were inside Starbucks, air heavy and pregnant with music and coffee. I took a sip of my brew. "Well."

She sat there exasperated. "Trey, wake up!"

I heard the knocks on my door. "Trey, wake up!" Insistent knocks, sharp and short. Like machine gun bursts. "It's five thirty, you'll be late."

I groaned and stood up, rolling my lead weight of a body out of bed.

"Trey." The knocks.

"Trey?" More insistent. "Trey?!?" Door knob shuffled, shook.

"Yeah!"

"Trey!" Didn't she hear me? "Trey!!!" Knob shook once more, faint jingle of keys.

Was I awake? I couldn't seem to know. The knocks were sharper, even more insistent, hinges creaking with the force. "TREY!"

The voice shook me from my silent reverie. How trite. "TREY WILLIAMS. Pay attention."

My pen waved the rebuke aside.

I wanted to sleep, and it seemed like I had for a moment. Dream and reality meshing into a seamless whole.

Sandra tapped me on the shoulder. "Psst."

I glanced at her direction. "Hmm?"

"Pass me your notebook. I have something to write." There seemed to be a mischievous glint in her eyes.

I bent down to get the black notebook from under my chair. The light flickered.

"Trey, will you get that?"

My desk sat there, notebook on top of it. My existence, I told myself. I opened it to the first page and read. "Lack of sleep sometimes opens your mind to the irrational nature of your existence."

"Trey, what's going on?" Sofa, living room. Glow of fluorescent lights.

"Nice job, Trey." Glare. Disdain. Contempt.

The knife glittered and flashed in my eyes. My body was heavy— or was I growing weak? Shadows fell.

Trey, someone was calling out. Sound echoed silently. Surreal. Fluid, like water, only red. The red turned to black and I felt myself become weightless, and suddenly everything seemed all right. The irrational was now rational, and I was set free.