Saturday, January 31, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Insomnia
Short, but crazy-confusing story that I wrote in a sudden burst of angsty inspiration.
Insomnia
He calls out names while he sleeps. Some repeat, but most don't. Jackie and Cecile and Gemma and Zacharias and Stace and Leo Leo Leo Please Don’t Go. In the morning he asks me Didn’t I sleep? and I say No, not much, and we both understand. We’re past the point of constantly digging for perfection. We aren’t settling for this, we’re merely settling down. And it’s okay.
At first I thought that it was kept quiet by not talking about it, but in truth it’s kept quiet by saying it loud and clear, names whispered while he reads, or panted as we have sex. I don’t say make love anymore, ever since hearing that woman snorting how Not even girls say “make love,” and me not wanting to be evidence to the contrary. I don’t break into new territory, but even more so I don’t bring back territory already passed and discarded. I’m not a necromancer, just a nighttime zombie, raised by what I’ve learned to call Insomnia. He learned it too, and soon it became a cherished addition to our carefully skimming vocabulary. I had a bad case of Insomnia last night, I say, and he nods and knows what not to think about before he goes to sleep. This is easier; I get to pull it onto myself and request an end result when I am uncertain of the mechanisms that rule our lives. He understands and we stay silent together. Maybe that’s why we’ve lasted so long--we both know how to keep quiet. Him with his yearnings that used to punch the roof of his mouth until he didn’t know what to do with them, though now that he is allowed to state them, he still isn't always certain. Me with my mind that was made up of potential drowned in noise that never gave me a chance to speak, slowly learning how not to wish I could.
When I worry he can always tell, and you should always stay with the person who can tell when you worry. He takes my face on his hands and whispers Jamie because no one can help but be calmed by their own name, except that when I hear him whisper Jamie Jamie baby, all I can think of is how I have one of those names with nothing behind it, and I have to wonder if my having that name puts something behind it, or if it’s still empty. I used to worry because Leo was Leo Leo Leo Please Don’t Go and I was just Jamie Jamie baby, but I stopped with that and started worrying about other things that are easier to handle.
I can see him breathe. He can see me think and see me feel, but he can’t see me breathe, so we’re even. His breathing is more important than my thinking and feeling, because his breathing keeps him with me while my thinking and feeling takes me far far away and if I spent a little more time just breathing maybe I wouldn’t stray the way I do. When I’m being governed by thoughts and feelings I have worse Insomnia. Every time he shouts Christina! it feels louder than it does when I’m just breathing. When he cries out for Leo Leo Leo Please Don’t Go and for Judy and for Jude and Judah and Jade and Jaden, I can ignore if I just let myself breath, but I have never really mastered the trick.
There was one time he called out for Jamie. Just once, which is how it normally goes. The names come in and out and are released as soon as he pushes them past his lips. That one time, he didn’t start to laugh or to sob into the pillows the way he sometimes does, but just called it out once, softly, but not so softly that I thought I had been mistaken. After, I watched him sleep and breathe and tried not to wonder if I was the same Jamie he had called to, or if maybe I’m not even the original Jamie after all, just the Jamie Jamie baby.
That one day, I woke up early and scrolled down the list of airplane flights until I found a nice one headed someplace sunny and far away, and I called up the airport and bought one ticket so he could go. When he came home his ticket was on the counter, and he thought it was mine. He shook his head and wandered into the living room and told me that maybe I was right, maybe I needed to leave after all. And I almost took it, wanting to be warm and far away, but I knew how it was to be silent except for when you weren’t awake to know it, and I knew how it was to not have your Leo in a land of strange things, so I told him, No, it’s for you, for you so you can go find your Leo, your Leo who you still need. And he just stared at me, and wondered and knew, and the next day the ticket was gone and he was still here, and I felt the victory bubbling under my cheeks. Leo Leo Leo Please Don’t Go was far away and warm and happy, but I got to be the one who snuggled up to the man, cold and near and tangible and inexplicably there.
Once, a man came to the door and said Hello, he was Leo Carney and was my man in, he would like to see him and wouldn't he be surprised. I said that No, he wasn't, but Leo Carney won't you please come in and take my man away, because he is giving me terrible Insomnia and he still cries out for you and sometimes laughs and sometimes cries, but your name is the only one he repeats every single night. And Leo Carney looked at me confused and said No, I must have been mistaken because they were old college buddies, barely in touch but no reason to cry out in the night, and he left the door and left me and didn't even speak to my man, and all I could do was wonder whether there were any originals left in the world, or if we were all substitute Jamies and substitute Leos and where did we even come from, anyway.
A new trick; I will close my eyes and pretend that time has frozen and that he'll never open his mouth again. It works for a moment, until he drowns me in a stream of Lauries and Codies and there's Stace again, my old friend, I like your name, and once he calls for Leo again I get out of bed and run hot water over my hands to remind me all about blood cells and warmth and being held and wanted.
He was never really mine.
Insomnia
He calls out names while he sleeps. Some repeat, but most don't. Jackie and Cecile and Gemma and Zacharias and Stace and Leo Leo Leo Please Don’t Go. In the morning he asks me Didn’t I sleep? and I say No, not much, and we both understand. We’re past the point of constantly digging for perfection. We aren’t settling for this, we’re merely settling down. And it’s okay.
At first I thought that it was kept quiet by not talking about it, but in truth it’s kept quiet by saying it loud and clear, names whispered while he reads, or panted as we have sex. I don’t say make love anymore, ever since hearing that woman snorting how Not even girls say “make love,” and me not wanting to be evidence to the contrary. I don’t break into new territory, but even more so I don’t bring back territory already passed and discarded. I’m not a necromancer, just a nighttime zombie, raised by what I’ve learned to call Insomnia. He learned it too, and soon it became a cherished addition to our carefully skimming vocabulary. I had a bad case of Insomnia last night, I say, and he nods and knows what not to think about before he goes to sleep. This is easier; I get to pull it onto myself and request an end result when I am uncertain of the mechanisms that rule our lives. He understands and we stay silent together. Maybe that’s why we’ve lasted so long--we both know how to keep quiet. Him with his yearnings that used to punch the roof of his mouth until he didn’t know what to do with them, though now that he is allowed to state them, he still isn't always certain. Me with my mind that was made up of potential drowned in noise that never gave me a chance to speak, slowly learning how not to wish I could.
When I worry he can always tell, and you should always stay with the person who can tell when you worry. He takes my face on his hands and whispers Jamie because no one can help but be calmed by their own name, except that when I hear him whisper Jamie Jamie baby, all I can think of is how I have one of those names with nothing behind it, and I have to wonder if my having that name puts something behind it, or if it’s still empty. I used to worry because Leo was Leo Leo Leo Please Don’t Go and I was just Jamie Jamie baby, but I stopped with that and started worrying about other things that are easier to handle.
I can see him breathe. He can see me think and see me feel, but he can’t see me breathe, so we’re even. His breathing is more important than my thinking and feeling, because his breathing keeps him with me while my thinking and feeling takes me far far away and if I spent a little more time just breathing maybe I wouldn’t stray the way I do. When I’m being governed by thoughts and feelings I have worse Insomnia. Every time he shouts Christina! it feels louder than it does when I’m just breathing. When he cries out for Leo Leo Leo Please Don’t Go and for Judy and for Jude and Judah and Jade and Jaden, I can ignore if I just let myself breath, but I have never really mastered the trick.
There was one time he called out for Jamie. Just once, which is how it normally goes. The names come in and out and are released as soon as he pushes them past his lips. That one time, he didn’t start to laugh or to sob into the pillows the way he sometimes does, but just called it out once, softly, but not so softly that I thought I had been mistaken. After, I watched him sleep and breathe and tried not to wonder if I was the same Jamie he had called to, or if maybe I’m not even the original Jamie after all, just the Jamie Jamie baby.
That one day, I woke up early and scrolled down the list of airplane flights until I found a nice one headed someplace sunny and far away, and I called up the airport and bought one ticket so he could go. When he came home his ticket was on the counter, and he thought it was mine. He shook his head and wandered into the living room and told me that maybe I was right, maybe I needed to leave after all. And I almost took it, wanting to be warm and far away, but I knew how it was to be silent except for when you weren’t awake to know it, and I knew how it was to not have your Leo in a land of strange things, so I told him, No, it’s for you, for you so you can go find your Leo, your Leo who you still need. And he just stared at me, and wondered and knew, and the next day the ticket was gone and he was still here, and I felt the victory bubbling under my cheeks. Leo Leo Leo Please Don’t Go was far away and warm and happy, but I got to be the one who snuggled up to the man, cold and near and tangible and inexplicably there.
Once, a man came to the door and said Hello, he was Leo Carney and was my man in, he would like to see him and wouldn't he be surprised. I said that No, he wasn't, but Leo Carney won't you please come in and take my man away, because he is giving me terrible Insomnia and he still cries out for you and sometimes laughs and sometimes cries, but your name is the only one he repeats every single night. And Leo Carney looked at me confused and said No, I must have been mistaken because they were old college buddies, barely in touch but no reason to cry out in the night, and he left the door and left me and didn't even speak to my man, and all I could do was wonder whether there were any originals left in the world, or if we were all substitute Jamies and substitute Leos and where did we even come from, anyway.
A new trick; I will close my eyes and pretend that time has frozen and that he'll never open his mouth again. It works for a moment, until he drowns me in a stream of Lauries and Codies and there's Stace again, my old friend, I like your name, and once he calls for Leo again I get out of bed and run hot water over my hands to remind me all about blood cells and warmth and being held and wanted.
He was never really mine.
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