It is a cold, but sweet night. Jaime is sleeping by my side, her hair falls in front of her face, caressing her plump cheeks, making her features undistinguishable. This, sometimes, scares the crap out of me. It makes me feel confused and lonely. To have this thing, breathing and alive, beside me, that I can’t recognize. Like she can wake at any moment, faceless, a creature of the night, and jump right into my aorta. Bite and tear my skin and leave me to bleed to death. But then, she moves, her face reappears, and I remember who she is and why I love her.
I haven’t been able to sleep through the entire night as long as I remember. Even as a little boy, nightmares would wake me up, or the “meow” of a street cat would rip me of my dreams. Or I would stay up reading under the covers so my parents would not find out I was awake. My mom would make a big drama out of my sleeping patterns. She took me to see a lot of doctors. No one could ever find out what was wrong with me. They prescribed me sleeping pills and anti anxiety drugs. Nothing really worked. At one point of my life, the medical bills where pilling up, so, my mom gave up and decided I could live with my sleeping disorder. That is wasn’t a life and death kind of situation. And it wasn’t, I indeed could live with it. I was functional, to a point. But it wasn’t always easy.
This I do a lot. Reflect on my past, present and future. My issues with life and people. Nighttime is the perfect moment to submerge yourself into your own darkness and ponder upon it. Hell, what else am I supposed to do? Sure, I read, watch TV, eat my sixth meal of the day or work out. But there is only too much you can do with that much free time in your hands.
Sometimes I feel like a vampire. And believe me when I say this. If vampires truly do exist, I pity them. An eternity of this? No, thank you. Sometimes, I really feel like I’m losing my mind. But then, the morning arrives and I feel safe and complete again. This is every day. Imagine that. Yes, you can pity me. I pity myself.
Many people say that freedom is a state of mind, well, I have something to add. Be careful, because when you free your mind completely, you can lose yourself in it and never come back.
Jamie stirs beside me, which means it is time for me to get up before I wake her. She hates to lose her “beauty sleep”, what girl doesn’t? I carefully remove myself of our bed and walk to the bathroom to splash my face with water. I look at my reflection closely in the mirror. This lost eyes that stare right back at me, and the blackness that surrounds them, will never go away. I carry them with pride, like a war wound, as if I am a survivor. But the truth is that no one really cares if you have sleeping issues. We live in a time where everyone is an “insomniac”, or whatever, but I really doubt that. I mean most people sleep at least 4 to 5 hours a day, and they dare to call themselves “insomniac”. Dude, try sleeping one hour a day, maybe two if you are lucky. And throw in there a 15 minute nap. Yes, it can be done. You can survive this; I am a clear example of it. I am a survivor.
The sun gently rises and I start to make breakfast for my girl and I, she will be up in about half an hour. I know this because timing things is something I do a lot; obviously, this is another effect of my lack of sleep and free time. Eggs and bacon, and coffee, of course I can’t forget the black liquid that saves my life most days. I guess after all this years of a very close relationship we can call ourselves best friends. Not Jaime and me; coffee and yours truly.
I hear the shower running. Jaime is up; I think it may be a good day for morning shower sex. So I leave the kitchen and join her, making her come before we even manage to speak a word. As she dries herself, she looks up to me and smiles. I love this girl, we don’t even have to talk to make each other happy.
It’s time to work, work, work. Yes, I am one of those millions of fools who hate their jobs, but do not have the gut to quit. First of all, it’s because of the money. It’s very good money. I can afford a beautiful condo downtown because of this stupid ass job. And second of all, I am really good at my job. Really good. I have managed to upscale myself in my career very easily with my charm (yes, I can be very charming) and my way with words. I can convince, almost, anyone about, almost, anything.
My boss calls me into his office and starts talking about the new guy. He wants me to state my opinion about him. Is he good? Will he make it here? Bla, bla, bla. I’m not really paying attention. What really caught my eye is this framed picture of his wife and kids he has on his desk. I have spent so many hours just staring at this picture while my boss talks out of his ass.
He has a very good looking family. All of them are very neat. Clean. Blonde. With fake smiles plastered in their faces. Sometimes this faces sooth me. They make me feel like someday I may achieve something and be able to have that fake family. It makes me feel like a normal guy. I imagine myself 50 years old, with a hot wife (that is secretly cheating on me) and my “perfect” teen children (who secretly do drugs and sleep around with everyone so they can establish themselves as teen royalty). And me, very well dressed, with perfect grey hair, coming home after cheating on my wife and kissing her in the mouth good night without any regret. Isn’t that your normal family? It may be twisted, but it’s something to look forward to. I aspire to that normal, but very dysfunctional, life.
But sometimes, sometimes that stupid frame and stupid picture makes me so angry. Why are they smiling? It’s fake. Like everything in this messed up world. Fake, fake, fake. The anger starts to build up on me; I take several short breaths to contain it. Mostly I can, but today, something inside of me is firing up. Burning.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m standing up. My boss looks at me puzzled and says: "Are you ok?, we are not done yet" And for some bizarre reason that brings me over the edge. I take his stupid frame and I throw it trough the crack in the window. I see it fall down-down-down, 24 floors. I can’t hear when it finally crashes at the bottom. For a moment I hope it fell right into someone’s head and left him bleeding with a terrifying open wound.
I turn and see my boss staring at me, mouth wide open. Shit. What did I just do? I give him my best apologetic smile. "Sorry. It had a bee".
To be continued...