Monday, April 2, 2012


Her eyes shut and as she drifts away, she is floating.  She can see light grey around the edges, working it's way to the center, then she hears a mans voice, clear and determined say "Jan".

Her eyes fly open, her breath stops.  She immediately puts her hand on the device in her chest, feels to see if it is moving, buzzing, doing anything.  "Shit, I won't be able to feel it, will I?".  It had been feeling weird tonight, that flipping thing, that pacemaker that she calls her "Maybelline Compact".  It is a big bitch.

So, now she is awake.  Again, and tears slide down her face, getting caught in her hair.  She turns her face toward the little fan on a stand that she keeps on her bed side table, seeking to have moving air on her face, she is sweating and broken, yet again.

Whose voice was that?  Was it her dad?  No, no, did not sound like him.  She strains to hear it, it has not quite faded yet.  She closes her eyes and opens them slowly, staring at the ceiling, like every single night of her life for the past four years.  Her heart is chucking and jiving, just dancing around in her chest.  She hates it.  She wishes it would just stop jumping, boogying.  God damn it.  Stop.

She starts to cry in earnest, when she opens her eyes, the light show begins.  As her eyes open it is like the upper lid is sweeping across the ceiling and walls with little lights in the lashes.  No matter how many times she opens and closes her eyes, the affect is the same.  It is like that every night.

She thinks, "every night, forever, I will be awake.  I will think about heart break, loss and crap.  Sleep will elude me, and I will just die.."  She feels like she is slowly dying, but the curious thing is  she is not that scared.  Dying has become an obsession, She has ridden a roller coaster of fear off and on since He told her about his double life five years ago.

If anyone would ever have told her that you really, truly can lay awake all night long, she would not have believed it.  But, you can.

If she lays on her right side, the "thing" is comfortable but she will inevitably snore herself awake, something is deviated or something up in there.  But, if she lay on her left side, with her man made boobs smashed together, she can feel the irregularity of her heart really well, if it is acting up.  And at bed time it seems to be at it's worst.  Don't know why.  Asshole thing.

So, he awakens, his alarm goes off, and he stirs.  She scooches up to him, they entertwine and offer each other comfort and peace for the few minutes that they have.  But all too soon he goes off to kill the fatted calf for their food, ie: work for the man.  She loves him, has since the minute she saw him, but she is so confused about him.  She is angry over what he did to their life.  Not what he did to her, what he did to them, both of them.  He led a double life, he has been a horrible person.  Confession may be good for the soul, but not for hers.  When he leaves, she can finally go to sleep.  Like every other day.