Sleepless

This moment.

It's almost 7AM and I'm staring longingly at my pillow, but she has no interest in me. I'm up again. The daylight bleeds through my windows and the sound of birds chirping fills my hammer and anvil. To the well-rested, the sound ushers a new day. To the sleepless, it's an eight-year-old botching Für Elise over and over again. I hate those goddamned birds. They are a painful reminder that today will be trying; my body will lumber through the mid afternoon begging for reprieve, but there will be no parole for good behavior.

As a kid, I stayed up late watching Nick at Nite during the summer. I loved F-Troop, Petticoat Junction, and The Dick Van Dyke Show. My mom worked swing at a number of different casinos downtown. She'd drop me off at karate on her way to work and I'd make sure to spend most of that time listening to a mix-tape. I was a kid who had little interest bonding with my ridiculous mother. She'd get off around 3AM and I'd hear the garage door open. We didn't see each other much at this point in my life. But when I heard her keys jangle in the front door, I'd pretend I was sleeping. She'd walk in and I'd "wake up." We'd watch an episode or two, not talking too much. Sometimes she'd show me dubbed VHS copies of foreign karate movies. They were awful and I never understood any of it. The middle of the night was our time. It was our only time.

Maybe if I stay up late enough, my Mom will come home again.