Monday, November 22, 2010

The Guy in My Bed

For more than two weeks, there’s been a guy coming into my bed. I can’t see him, but I know he doesn’t sleep. He waits until I’ve slipped into a somewhat peaceful place, then he violently throws evil into my head, waking me suddenly, causing throbbing beats of my heart and pain therein. As I gasp for air and abruptly raise my head to see who’s there, he moves into the next room.

I sense him there.

After lying horrified for three hours, I apprehensively tiptoe to the bathroom, then back to my chamber and stumble into a half-awake doze until streams of light creep into the place he should leave. But he knows when to return and that scares me.

I trick him by doing the right things during the day in the hope of allaying his repeated presence. I hike and run, inform potential employers of my existence, repair the crumbling ranch, care for all those living in my midst, and learn something new each day—not always by choice.

After dark I warily crawl into my bed wearing socks to keep me warm, and in case I need to run, and read one of several partially read books till my eyelids signal their lack of muscular strength. But three hours into dreams, precognitions, and telepathic communications, he sends a clairaudient scream and terrifies me. My heart tries to escape my body. I cough a high cough to rid myself of my breathlessness and beckon my heart back. He reminds me of incomplete commitments, that I can’t eat, that I’m nakedly alone, and he can kill with his mind.

My light taps on, but I don’t feel safe, because now physical beings find me more easily. There is nothing alive and corporeal around me but a dog, two cats in the garage, and my plants, except for that one morning that I cannot write or talk about, whose thought pervades me like an impaled child.

I get up and make coffee. It’s only 3. Three hours till daylight.

When it’s light, his ominous presence will still be behind me, sometimes ahead. He will travel through my veins, follow me into my hot tub, cause strips of pain in my left chest making me sit firmly to throw him out. I hate him.

I wish he would let me go.

Let me go.

Let me drift away.

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