Crazy is a word. Shadows behind the Sun, on a rainy day. In the distance, I feel them watching me, my heart banging on the inside of my chest as if to say, “Let me out!” It stops, and I am dead, but I am breathing. Is this the way we all die? Are we all dead? No souls, no heart. Just cold.
This is the third sleepless night, and at this time I wonder if there will ever be a point to laying down at 9 p.m. I wonder how much the human body can take without sleep? You won't live two days without water, how long can you live without sleep? I should Google that.
Another yet another Monday morning at the office. Peaking over my cubicle I see Tony.
Tony, the night-school drop out by day and greasy, pussy-hungry club disc jockey by night. DJ “Tone Def” or something like that. I hear he uses the grease from his hair to polish his records and probably his shoes too. He never looks at my face, just my breasts — even if I'm wearing a turtle neck.
Sometimes I wonder how much more powerful I would be if I actually showed a little cleavage? Then I remember that I don't care.
“The patch.” Tony stands in front of my cubicle with his sleeve rolled up.
“What?” I said.
“The patch. I'm trying to quit. New Years resolution, you know?”
He is speaking directly to my breasts.
I cringe and start to button my cardigan sweater, “That sounds promising. Let me know if it works.”
“I didn't know you smoked Eden.” He says with a curious grin.
“I don't. I'm just trying to get rid of you.”
His eyes finally break away from my chest, “Has anyone ever told you not to play hard to get with someone who is hard to get?”
I stare at his face while trying to imagine this baboon on top of me.
Maybe one night I'd find myself after work with the girls at the club, drunk obviously. We make eye contact and sneak off into a distant corner. I pull my panties down and....
“Eden?” Tony says as he snaps his fingers in front of my face.
I jump, “I'm not well. I haven't been sleeping.”
“You're all red, like a tomato. Like a cherry.” His face wanders from my eyes back to my chest.
I think to myself, “He's not all that bad really...” then suddenly like a message from the Holy Spirit, or Buddha, or Madonna, I remembered Shelly Waters in accounting wailing in the bathroom during lunch hour telling everyone how her one night stand with Tony at last years Christmas party had given her a horrible case of crabs. “People don't understand how humiliating it is to sit in a doctors office with that uncontrollable itch. And the shampoo? It burns like acid!” she cried.
That's enough to bring a girl back down to reality.
“I'm trying to work here.” I said while pointing at my computer screen.
He leans in over my cubicle. “You're playing online poker.”
“I'm ignoring you.” I said with an especially annoyed tone.
“If you're having trouble sleeping I've got a friend who could help.” He says.
It's been three days and only 4 hours of sleep, I can't help but take the bait, “Who?”
“I'm spinning Saturday night at The River. You come by, and I'll introduce you..”
I interrupt “Forget it. I'm not going to one of your sleazy night clubs so you can slip something in my drink asshole.”
Inner dialog: “At this point I might settle for date rape in exchange for a few hours of undisturbed sleep.”
Tony scoffs, “I'm insulted. Do I look like the type that would need to drug a girl to get her into bed?”
I tilt my head and squint, “Honest answer?”
“You can be such a bitch Eden, that's why I like you.” He says, and I can't help blushing a little.
“Thanks I guess.” I said.
“If you still can't sleep, you come see me Saturday.” Tony says as he walks back to accounting.
The days pass like re-runs of an old TV show that was canceled after one season. It's on but no one is watching. No one cares.