Honeymoon From Hell - Part 1

(This story will appear in my book of short stories, Seasons of the Heart: Family Stories, to be printed later this summer on Smashwords. Watch for stories on this blog three times per week, M, W and F.)

 

The Acapulco cliff divers propelled themselves one by one off the edge of the cliff and down into the chasm toward a small, deep pool rimmed by jagged rocks. After each diver popped back up to the surface to wave, I let out my breath. After all five had completed their dives, the absence of oxygen had made my head spin.

Still, I stood on tiptoe with the others, leaning over the railing to see the black water far below. Something shoved against the back of my knees and my legs buckled. I fell forward over the safety rail, gasping.

Was I going to die on my honeymoon?                   

Yesterday, I had gazed down from the plane window at the sheet of blue ocean far below. The early morning sun shimmered on the water like the new diamond wedding set on my left ring finger. I was on my way to Acapulco, on my honeymoon. Crazy to admit that four months ago, I hadn’t yet met the man I just married.

I’ve always loved the adrenaline rush of doing something new or unplanned, and when Matt Sawyer walked into my life with his ready smile and twinkling eyes, I was itching for excitement and romance. He’d come in with a travel agency customer to pick up some trip materials. Our eyes had locked across the open computer workroom; seconds later he was at my desk asking me to lunch.

When Matt asked me to marry him on the third month anniversary of the day we met, I shouted “yes!” We’d been inseparable since that first date. Believe me when I say, I had fallen head over heels in love. Seconds later, we were pulling out a calendar to look at dates. All my married friends had talked about how a bride needed at least six months to plan a big wedding, but six months seemed an eternity.

Did I want a big wedding? Eloping sounded daring and exciting, so Matt and I set a date just three weeks away, followed by a week-long trip to Acapulco!

I closed my eyes and remembered the short ceremony in the judges’ chambers at the city hall in Ponca City, Oklahoma. Then, after several hours of weather delays, we made the hour-long commuter flight from Ponca City to Dallas. The taxi dropped us at the airport hotel close to midnight, where we planned to spend the remaining few hours before leaving at 6 am on our charter flight. Inside the hotel, exhausted but exhilarated, we buzzed for the desk clerk.

“Sawyer, Matt and Jennifer,” Matt said to the clerk then winked at me. The desk clerk rifled through a file box on the lower counter, his brow furrowed.

“Nothing for that name.” He looked at Matt without blinking.

“You’re kidding, right? Honeymoon joke? We have a six a.m. flight to Acapulco and it’s our wedding night.” Still smiling, Matt stepped closer to the counter.

“Nothing for Sawyer. And we are all full. Sorry.”

“You’ve lost our reservations?” Matt asked. His steely voice was low.

The clerk shrugged. Tears sprang up into my eyes and my body quivered. The excitement of the day had done me in. I needed a hot bath, a soft bed and some easy loving from my new husband, not this!

At one a.m., Matt and I were sitting in the nearly empty all night cafe next door to the hotel. I fell asleep, my head resting on Matt’s shoulder.

At five a.m., he shook me awake. “Let’s go on over to the airport and check in for the flight.” We rode the few miles to the main terminal in a taxi, and then rolled our suitcases down deserted concourses toward the gate for our charter flight.

As we passed a kiosk selling travel insurance, Matt stopped. “What do you think? It sure is cheap, and if anything happened . . . We can put each other as primary beneficiaries, and our parents as secondary. It’s so cheap. What do you think?” We read over the materials, filled out the application and then wrote out a quick check. It was such a small amount, and Matt seemed to think it was a wise idea since we were flying out of country.

We hurried on to the gate, where we found another couple already waited there. They were wearing twin Hawaiian print shirts and khaki shorts.

“Sarah!” Matt said with a wide smile. He greeted the woman with a kiss on the cheek. “You didn’t tell me at the reunion that you were honeymooning in Acapulco this year!”

“I didn’t know – and I guess you didn’t either,” the woman replied, her cheeks dimpling with a coy smile. Her husband, Ryan, shook hands with both of us and then stood quietly, staring at his wife. She was drop dead gorgeous, with long thick hair, a Barbie nose and big eyes.

I felt a quick flash of jealousy when I noticed Matt staring at her, too, then shook it off. We were on our honeymoon and I wasn’t going to let my frequent battles with the green-eyed monster spoil the excitement of this new adventure. Jealousy had destroyed many of my previous relationships; I didn’t want it to destroy my marriage.

Our plane seats were several rows in front of Sarah and Ryan and I made myself forget about her, but then, when the airport shuttle dropped us off at the hotel, they were right behind us as we checked in at registration. When we walked across the open air lobby to the elevator, they followed close behind. We all got on the elevator on the same floor, and minutes later, they were using their key card to enter the hotel room right next door to ours.

“Hey! Let’s go exploring,” Sarah suggested. “I can’t wait to check this place out.”

The four of us decided to spend the next few hours together. First, a walk through the hotel compound, a stroll on the beach, then a quick dinner in the hotel’s restaurant before a meeting with our tour leaders and the other couples on our charter trip. Sarah didn’t want to attend the meeting; she wanted to hit the numerous bars in the hotel compound instead.

I insisted that Matt attend the meeting with me. I knew from experience that at the meeting, our trip leaders would offer tips about venturing outside the resort compound, like how to deal with vendors on the community beaches as well as street beggars. We would probably be reminded not to drink or eat anything that had been in contact with the local water, or risk intestinal upsets.

Unfortunately, the meeting was held after we had already eaten dinner, and something Ryan ate or drank had already begun to make him ill. Even before the meeting, he was doubled over with cramps and Sarah was pouting.

“Join us for a nightcap after the meeting,” Matt suggested to Sarah as Ryan hurried upstairs to their room. She took Matt’s arm as we went into the meeting.

As I listened intently to the information being presented, Sarah whispered in Matt’s ear. Her giggling was distracting, and not only to me. The couple in front of them turned to glare more than once.

When we left the meeting, Sarah steered Matt to the nearest hotel bar, and I followed closely. My green-eyed monster was beginning to raise its ugly head. This was some way to start my honeymoon.

“So, Matt,” Sarah said as soon as we had settled into a booth, “you and Jennifer haven’t known each other very long. Any surprises yet?”

Matt looked at me and grinned. “Absolutely not. She’s perfect for me in every way.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek. Sarah rolled her eyes. What was she up to? Ryan was upstairs feeling sick and she was flirting with my husband.

“What do you two like to do together?” She leaned across the table, showing inches of cleavage.

“You name it, we like to do it. Right, Babe?” He winked and grinned at me. Was she referring to hobbies, recreational activities or the bedroom?

“Come on, Matt. I mean, do you two like to do it outside, like we did? Remember that night out in the middle of the football field?” She gave a girlish giggle and wiggled her eyebrows up and down.

I pulled away from my husband, my blood beginning to boil.

He looked uncomfortable as he shook his head. “Come on, Sarah. That’s ancient history. You and I were just high school kids.” He hugged me to him. “Jennifer and I are the best ever, whatever we’re doing.”

“Well,” Sarah said. “I still remember, except when Ryan makes me forget. And now he’s upstairs puking his guts out. Some honeymoon.” She took a long drink of her tropical concoction and let her gaze roam the bar.

Low lighting and candles made the open-air tropical setting mysterious. Slow ballads, sung in Spanish by a roving trio, would have made it romantic if Matt and I had been alone.

Sarah’s look settled on a couple of guys drinking beer at the bar. “You kids go on up to your room. I’ll hang out here a little longer, then come up and nurse my hubby. See you.” She slid out of the booth and sashayed over to the bar, swinging her hips and sipping her tall drink.

Matt’s eyes followed her for a few seconds, and then he turned to me. “Sounds good to me. We haven’t had our honeymoon night yet.” He leaned over and nuzzled my neck.

“No, we haven’t.” I felt my heart pound and heat moved downward from my stomach as he nuzzled my collar bone. “Let’s go.”

We left the bar and were soon alone on the elevator, going six flights up to our room. He pulled me close then slid his hands over my breasts. My breath quickened and I reached out to grab the front of his pants. He was already hard and big, pressing against the zipper of his shorts.

“Oh, baby,” he moaned, as he pushed me against the wall of the elevator. Then, the bell dinged, and the doors opened on our floor. We stumbled out and hurried down the hall, but just as we passed the door of Ryan and Sarah’s room, we heard a loud moan. “God, Help me!”

 Matt looked at me and then stopped and knocked on the door. “Ryan, you okay, buddy?” There was another groan. “You want me to go down and get Sarah? Have her bring you up some 7-up or something?”

“Yeah, would you? Thanks. God, this is awful,” Ryan moaned.

Matt hurried to our door and unlocked it for me. “I’ll run down and get Sarah. Be right back.” He hurried down the hall.

I turned down the bedspread and left a few low lights on, then put on my sexy white negligee and slipped into bed. Heart pounding, and thinking about glorious honeymoon love-making, I waited to hear the key in the door.

After about twenty minutes, I began to worry. Where was Matt? Was Ryan sicker than we thought? Fifteen minutes later when Matt finally got back he rushed into the bathroom to shower, then slipped into bed, naked.

(Look for Part 2 of Honeymoon for Hell on Monday, June 17, 2013)

Years Without Sleep - Part 3

A few days later, I waited in my family doctor’s waiting room for fifteen minutes, and then another fifteen in the exam room before the doctor finally came in. Dr. Mayes stepped into the room, and then stood near where I sat on the end of the exam table. She made a few notes on her clipboard.

            “So, Marjorie. What’s up? Can’t sleep?” The doctor set down the clipboard and then began the examination, pressing the stethoscope to my chest and back, looking into my ears, my mouth and my eyes. “Weight’s okay, could lose ten pounds and feel better, but compared to most people I see in here, you’re doing great! In general, how do you feel?”

            As I went through my litany of complaints, tears began to well up in my eyes. She reached over and patted my hand. “Got a short test you need to take. I’ll have Nancy give it to you. Sounds like depression to me, maybe some anxiety. Your age, plus everything you got going on. Let’s see if some new meds help.”

            I nodded and sniffed, reaching for a tissue on the table. When I left her office, fifteen minutes later, the primary diagnosis was depression. I had a couple of sample cards of pills to try and two prescriptions to fill. When I got home that evening, I found a note from Dan on the kitchen counter.

            “Unexpected business trip. I’ll be in Boston at the Embassy Suites. Be back Friday.”

            That night, I had the best night of sleep I had had in years. I woke, feeling like a different person. A different groggy person. The doctor had said to give my system two weeks to get used to the medication, and that effects like grogginess would even out. Several days passed. I continued to sleep well at night. Trouble was I also slept well at my desk during the afternoon, on the dinner table during meals and on the sofa watching television. I hoped that the meds would straighten out by Friday, when Dan returned.

            Then, Thursday afternoon, in an attempt to make up with Jan, I offered to pick up her daughter Lyndsey from a rehearsal, while Jan worked late. One minute I was driving down the street, trying to keep my eyelids open, feeling like I needed a good nap. The next second I was off the road, rammed into a tree, with my radiator spewing antifreeze and my airbag deployed. My ribs, head, back and neck all hurt. Thank God that no one had been in the path of the car, and that I had gone off the road instead of into another vehicle or even the sidewalk. And thank God that I had not yet picked up Lyndsey.

            I sat in my car, stunned. I could have been killed. I could have killed any number of people, including Lyndsey. The citation from the police officer wasn’t punishment enough. I called Jan, then watched the wrecker drive off with my car, and waited for her to come and pick me up.

            She didn’t speak as I got into the car. She was no doubt thinking the same thing I’d just been thinking. Thank goodness Lyndsey hadn’t been in the car. A few blocks down the road she finally looked over at me. “So, you need to go to the body shop now, or home?”

            “I told the shop that I’d check with them tomorrow. The insurance guy has set up the estimate. I guess I go home, and figure out how I’m going to get to work tomorrow.”

“I think you’ve got to figure out more than that. We’ve been friends a long time, Margie. I hope you get this worked out. Meanwhile, I won’t ask you to pick up my daughter or drive me anywhere. I don’t even think we should see each other. It’s all just a little too un-nerving.”

I nodded. I didn’t blame her. I chewed on one fingernail.

“And I hate to be the bearer of more bad news.” Jan continued. “Dan called. He couldn’t get you at the office or on your cell phone. He’s decided to stay in Boston for the weekend, do some sightseeing. Said something about needing a break.”

A break?! We’d been sleeping in separate bedrooms and rarely eating together. If we exchanged twenty words with each other at one time it seemed like a long conversation.

My hands began to shake, and so did my body. Then a sob burst from my throat and I was suddenly crying really hard. I couldn’t make myself stop. What had happened to my life?

The next morning, my entire body ached. Although I’d taken a long hot shower the night before, my muscles were knotted and tense from the jolt of the accident. Nothing short of a visit to my massage therapist would make it any better. I stared at my haggard face in the mirror. Puffy circles under my eyes, baggy lids, deepened wrinkles. I looked as bad as I felt.

I called the office to let them know I would be late. Mr. Perkins secretary, Natalie, put Mr. Perkins on the line when I told her I would be late.

“Marjorie? What’s the problem?”

“I’m going to try to get into my massage therapist first thing today,” I explained. “I wrecked my car last night and my back is all messed up. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Don’t hurry, Marjorie. In fact, don’t bother to come in at all. Take the day off, your sick leave will cover it. And when you get back on Monday, we need to have a talk. I’m not sure we can continue as your employer, Marjorie. But we’ll talk about that Monday. At 8 a.m., please.”

“But Mr. Perkins. . .” I sputtered. He hung up. I sank down into the chair at the kitchen table and put my head in my hands.

How had things gotten so messed up? I went to the refrigerator and poured myself a cola, and then grabbed my morning chocolate bar. I picked up the two bottles of pills, and read the labels again. “Take one tablet by mouth every day.” One for nerves, one for depression. When did I get so nervous? We had plenty of money. The kids were all out of the house and in school. This was supposed to be a great time in our lives, with time to ourselves again. Instead, my friends were mad at me and my husband was spending the weekend in Boston without me. And I was on medication for depression? I didn’t feel hopeless. I hadn’t lost my enthusiasm for the things I loved to do. I was simply having trouble sleeping. It all had to do with sleeping.

I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate. What was I going to do? The pills were making it worse, not better. And I couldn’t help but think that I really didn’t need them, there was something else going on.

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was the cookbooks, diet and health books that I kept on the corner shelf. One book in particular caught my eye. It was a book about using different types of foods as a remedy for a health problem. What would it say about sleeplessness? I wondered, as I reached for the book.

Fifteen minutes later, I got up from the table, poured out my cola and threw away the chocolate bar. In that small bit of time I already had a good idea what my problem was. Too much caffeine. I had been filling up my body with cola and chocolate, both full of caffeine. If my body had sensitivity to caffeine, even a small amount of it any time during the day might prevent me from being able to fall asleep, or from sleeping through the night. I read about how natural ingredients in milk and other dairy foods, and potassium-rich foods like bananas can help your body slow down and prepare for sleep. These foods affected the levels of serotonin and melatonin in the body, both of which are essential for restful sleep.

It seemed unbelievable. I had spent hundreds of dollars on medical tests and prescription medicines, yet things weren’t getting any better. Could it really be as simple as cutting out colas and chocolate and other caffeine-filled foods from my diet?

            I made a list of the foods that were suggested to help sleep problems, and noted that I should eat something small just before bed, something dairy or something starchy. Permission to have a bedtime snack!

I learned that caffeine can stay in your system for 6 to 8 hours! That meant that having either chocolate or coke after 2 p.m. could make it hard to go to sleep at 10 p.m.!

I went to the pantry. I looked at the 12 packs of cola and the stacks of chocolate candy. Was it possible that I was doing this to myself? That I had been doing it to myself for years?

I was willing to try anything now. My marriage and my job were at stake, as was a friendship that I cherished. I put all the chocolate bars in a plastic bag and set them on top of the refrigerator. Then I moved the 12 pack of cokes out to the garage. Out of sight, out of mind might not work when my cravings hit, but this was a beginning. I would take the candy and cola to work Monday and let the other employees devoir them while I tried to save my job.

But first on my heart and mind was saving my marriage. Was it really in trouble? Was it really possible that Dan was fed up with me, and ready to call it quits? He had accused me of having an affair. But he knew me better than that; I felt sure that he knew I would always be faithful. He’s a history buff, I could imagine him walking Boston’s Freedom Trail on Saturday, and sitting in some Irish pub Saturday night. Without me.

I called directory assistance in Boston for the hotel’s phone number and caught Dan in his hotel room.

“Honey, I’d like to come up for the weekend. I think I’ve got this thing figured out, and I’d like to talk to you about it. It would be a great weekend getaway, and I really want to share it with you. Sound okay?”

Dan insisted on calling his travel agent to get me on the first available flight. Then I called my doctor.

She took the time to listen as I explained what I had not told her during my appointment. She agreed that what I was eating could be a big part of my sleep problem. I had expected her to argue with me about not completing the prescription, and rant about self-diagnosis. But she agreed that I didn’t give her all the facts, and in that visit I hadn’t been willing to discuss what I’d been eating and doing to my body to cope with this night time problem. As we reviewed the situation, and I came clear about my cravings and bad food habits, she agreed that I should try a weekend without the meds, and without caffeine of any kind.

I’m going to give it a try, and see if it helps. I’ll do whatever it takes to get my body healthy again. There’s simply nothing like a good night’s sleep.

Years Without Sleep - Part 2

I crawled onto the new bed about nine and shimmied in between the sheets. The pillow-top mattress felt so good, I thought I might go right to sleep. I was so drowsy, and so comfortable. The pillow was just the right puffiness, and my body was in its favorite position, on my back with one knee bent to one side.

Just as I was dozing off, the door to the bedroom opened. The glow from the hallway nightlight silhouetted Dan’s body in the doorway. Seconds later, he crawled under the new comforter and scooted across the bed to nuzzle my neck.

“Is OUR bed comfortable? Are you sleeping?” Dan whispered.

“It IS comfortable. I was falling asleep,” I said, pulling away from his kisses. My eyes were so heavy, and the bed was so cozy. It was incredible. “Dan, I am falling asleep. Can this wait for another time?”

His hand on my right breast stopped moving. “Another time?”

I opened my eyes and looked up at him. My eyelids were so heavy; I could hardly keep them open for even a few seconds. “Yes. I’m so tired.”

Dan shot out of bed and out of the room. He slammed the door.

My sleepiness vanished. My night time saga began.

Light sleep. Turn over. Turn over. Turn over.

Light sleep. Turn over. Turn over.

Get up. Go to the bathroom.

Go back to bed.

Turn over. Turn over. Turn over.

Light sleep.

It went on all night. I kept remembering how I had rejected my husband just because I thought I was falling asleep. It had all been for nothing. I didn’t get any sleep and I had made him mad.

The next morning, by the time I was up, showered and ready for work, Dan had left the house

            At work, Adele had more suggestions. “Okay, now, hon, if you stay up at night until you just can’t hardly keep those eyes open, and then finally let yourself go to bed just before you’re going to drop off on the sofa, maybe that will help. Watch some of those pitiful late night shows. They’ll put you to sleep.”

            Adele was right. Late night TV left a lot to be desired. Once the Late Night kings were finished, programming was crappy. But it still didn’t make me sleep. And because I was starting the whole night process later, it was even harder to get up in the morning. I pushed snooze on the alarm clock too often and was late to work more days than not.

            “Marjorie, this is the third time this week you’ve been late. That is unacceptable,” Mr. Perkins said, after he called me into his office one Thursday.

            I knew it was the third time. My exhaustion was making me sick. My head hurt constantly and I wasn’t eating right. My daily meals consisted of chocolate bars, granola bars and coffee. I wasn’t losing my twenty extra pounds, I was gaining, and all my clothes felt tight. My metabolism had to be working at top speed with all the caffeine I was pouring into my body; I didn’t understand how I could be putting on weight.

            “You know, I can cut you some slack on the hours you work, as long as you are getting the work done,” Mr. Perkins continued. “But the merger work begins next week and there’s no slack to give you. We need a plan for completion. You can take work home or you can stay late to make up the time and keep the project on schedule. Which would you prefer?”

            “Let me think this over for a minute,” I said. Would Dan care if I wasn’t home when he got home from work? Would he appreciate me more if he had to wait for supper, and if he was the one to come home to a dark house?

            By the end of the day, I told Mr. Perkins I would do whatever it took. That might mean staying late, and it might mean taking work home. I would get it done. I set up a schedule of days to work late, so Dan and I could coordinate cooking dinner or bringing home carryout. And I still made time to go by the gym for exercise. I hated to imagine how I would feel if my energy level dropped. There was no way I would get through this merger project. Cola, chocolate and coffee became the staples of my diet.

            A week later, after turning in the first phase of documents for the merger mailing, my boss called me into his office.

            “Marjorie. Mr. Regal has reviewed the draft. It’s unacceptable. Too quote him, ‘grammatical errors, misuse of commas, wrong verb tenses – who the hell wrote this?’ Who did write this, Marjorie? Certainly not you? You’ve been with our company for five years and I’ve never seen you turn in a project, especially a final draft, with this many mistakes.”

            My head spun. I had reviewed the draft. I couldn’t believe it was in as bad a shape as they were describing. “I’m sorry, Mr. Peters. I don’t know what happened. I’ll take it home tonight and work it over. Please tell Mr. Regal a corrected version will be on his desk tomorrow morning.”

            “I hope it will, Marjorie. I’d hate to have to ask someone else to take on the project.”

            I gulped. I knew what that meant. I would be fired.

            I stayed late at work, doing as much as I could, eating chocolate Chex mix Adele had brought in and consuming an entire carafe of coffee on my own. When I finally left the office at 8 p.m. to drive home, my heart was racing but my head was in a fog.

            Dan was waiting in the living room, every lamp blazing, and the stereo tuned to some oldies radio station. It was playing “Run Around Sue” as I came in the front door. He looked up at me as I set the fat brief case on the coffee table and slumped down onto the sofa.

            “Tough day?” he asked softly.

            “You wouldn’t believe,” I said. I didn’t want to share the details with him. My whole life seemed to be turned upside down. Maybe it wasn’t the lack of sleep, maybe I was losing my mind. Maybe something was wrong somewhere in my body.

            “Try me.”

            I looked at Dan. His face was a blank mask and his eyes seemed empty. It had been weeks since we had slept together, and the late nights at the office had kept us from having dinner together more than once or twice a week. By the time I got home, he had prepared something and eaten, or brought in carry out and eaten his share. He was in Tim’s room, snoring, long before I finally went upstairs and tried to fall asleep.

            “The merger document draft had mistakes in it. I must have run it through spell check and grammar check ten times. I guess I wasn’t concentrating when I read it for myself. Mr. Regan wants a new draft on his desk first thing in the morning.”

            Dan nodded. “So you’ve got an evening of work.” His matter-of-fact tone chilled my blood. I guess I expected him to be sorry, or even upset I would have to work one more evening. Instead, he didn’t seem concerned.

            “Well, between work and this insomnia thing of yours, our marriage has gone to Hell. Get this draft done, Marjorie. We’ve got to talk.”

            He picked up the empty glass from the coaster next to his chair and walked slowly to the kitchen.

            I stared after him, wondering if I had really heard what I thought I heard. Was he thinking about divorce?

            The phone rang.

            “Hi, Jan,” I said after my friend said my name.

            “What are you doing? Her voice sounded funny.

            “Just got home. Have to work on the merger draft some more. Too many mistakes, my boss said."

            “Hmmm.”

            “Something wrong?” I asked.

            “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

            “Well, what?” Jan didn’t usually beat around the bush.

            “I don’t suppose you remembered that we had a meeting at the school at 5, to talk with the principal? You promised you’d help me with Jace’s class fundraiser next month.”

            “Oh, Jan. I forgot. I’ve just got so much going on, and then there are these headaches and I can’t sleep!”

            “Well go see a freakin’ doctor! You need to do something about this, not just complain. Fact is, I don’t even know who you are anymore! You forget or cancel our dates, you don’t return my calls. I just don’t think you have the time or feel well enough to be friends, Marjorie. I’ll get somebody else to help me with the fundraiser. Good-bye.”

            The phone clicked in my ear. I was stunned. Everything she had said was true. How had it gotten this bad? I looked into the kitchen, hoping to see Dan waiting in the doorway to talk to me, but he wasn’t there. I wasn’t ready to talk to that calm, cool, collected Dan who had just insinuated that something was wrong with our marriage. It wasn’t our marriage, it was me. Maybe it was time to see a doctor.

(See Part 3 on Wednesday)

Years Without Sleep - Part I

Thanks for coming back to check out my blog! I've been writing stories for years. Some of them are romance, some are science fiction, a few are horror, but most are mysteries. Soon, an edition of them will appear called Seasons of Love: Family Confessions. I like to call this chapter, Years without Sleep. It's the story of Margie and her husband Dan. Additional segments will follow on Wednesdays each week. (Look for Seasons of Love on smashwords, later this summer. I'll keep you posted!)

For the fifteenth time in a two-minute period, I changed positions in the bed. I couldn’t get comfortable. I couldn’t fall asleep. Just about the time I would start to relax, some muscle in my leg would twitch and I would jerk again. I sat up and then eased out of bed.

My husband, Dan, on his side of the bed, slept peacefully, his soft breaths whooshing evenly in and out. I envied him the ability to sleep. Two years ago, I had thought I would start sleeping again once the youngest of our three kids, Tim, left for college. The house was quiet; I was no longer listening for doors closing at all hours of the night, or awakened by car stereos blaring out on the driveway. I had expected my life to become peaceful and my sleep patterns to normalize. But instead, I was in and out of bed seven or eight times every night, and if I slept, it was only a light doze that left me feeling I hadn’t slept at all.

“Marjorie, I hope you snap out of this before the merger next month,” Mr. Perkins, my supervisor, said one day at the office. I was making more mistakes than usual on the documents for which I was responsible. Often, I had to redo even the simplest letter.

“I’m trying, Mr. Perkins. Just having some trouble sleeping. I’ll get it under control.” Inside, I groaned. The merger. That’s all I’d been hearing for weeks, and the prospect of all those legal documents and the mounds of paperwork to be printed and then mailed to shareholders was what should be keeping me awake. But truthfully, I had no idea what prevented me from being able to relax. I was tired – I was exhausted. Yet night after night insomnia struck.

When Mr. Perkins left my cubicle, I slipped off to the coffee room for another cup and to find someone to commiserate with me. My friend Adele sat at the break table, eating a chocolate bar.

“What’s up, Margie? You look beat,” she said.

“I feel beat, but then, what’s new?” I said as I slid into the folding chair across the table from Adele.

“Still not sleeping, huh?”
I had been telling Adele for weeks how exhausted I felt.

“You need to exercise, girl. Gets that metabolism moving. And have some more coffee to perk you up!”

I reached for the coffee pot and filled my cup, adding sweetener and a packet of creamer. Adele shoved a candy bar across the table at me.

“And have some chocolate. Lots of anti-oxidants in it. Good for you. Energy, too.”

“You know I can’t resist chocolate. I’m already eating more than enough to anti-oxidize my body, whatever that means,” I said. I kept a regular stash of chocolate bars on the top shelf in the kitchen at home, just above the spices. I ate the candy bar and drank two cups of coffee with Adele. The fuzz gradually cleared from my brain. I felt better.

After that day, I developed a routine of de-fuzzing my brain every few hours by having a couple of cups of coffee and a candy bar. Then I’d stop by the gym on the way home to work off the sugar and try to kick up my metabolism. I wished I could kick it up to where it had been in my twenties, but I’d given up hope. I felt less tired at work with the coffee and chocolate routine, but my metabolism didn’t seem to be revving up. Worst of all, I still couldn’t sleep.

Later that week, my husband, Dan, sat down at the dinner table, took one look at my new version of “blackened” meat loaf, and took his plate to the kitchen.

“Can’t eat this, Margie,” he called over his shoulder. “Haven’t been able to eat much you’ve cooked for the past few months. Throw it away and let’s go out.” He stood in the kitchen doorway, scratching his head. “What’s up? You used to be a good cook.”

He was right. I did used to be a good cook, but now I couldn’t complete a meal without burning at least one of the dishes. Usually it was the bread, but other times, one of the veggies steamed itself dry in the saucepan or, like tonight, I’d leave the oven on just a little too hot or just a little too long. While I was cooking I’d pick up something to read, go through the day’s mail, or let my mind wander. Before I knew it, something was burnt. Dan didn’t look mad, but he wasn’t happy.

We went out for pizza.

“So what’s going on with you?” He asked as we finished eating. “This cooking thing, and the not sleeping. What do you think it is?”

Dan leaned over the table at the pizza parlor and put on his best listening face. As a junior high coach he was darn good at listening, but that didn’t mean he had the patience to deal with his own wife’s problems.

“I don’t know. I can’t sleep. I can’t concentrate. I lose track of time. I forget what I’m doing.” He clasped his hands together and let his thumbs fight with one another for a few seconds before he said in his deepest voice. “Classic symptoms of an infatuation. Are you having an affair?”

My fork clattered onto my plate. “What? Of course not! How could you even think . . .?” I pushed away from the table and rushed to the ladies’ room.

I stared at myself in the mirror. Had he really asked if I was having an affair? I stared at my reflection. Skin bagged beneath eyes bright from the half gallon of coffee I’d consumed today. My hair was slightly disheveled and longer than I usually wore it. My t-shirt fit snugly over my rounded breasts, maybe too tight for my age.

An affair? My husband was over the top on this one. And maybe I was overreacting. Had Dan been joking? Was I was so tired that I no longer recognized my own husband’s jokes?

“I won’t even bother to respond to that question, it’s so ridiculous,” I said when I got back to the table. I threw him a smile, but Dan did not return it. If he had been joking before, he wasn’t joking now. We ate the rest of the meal and drove home in silence.

At home, he carried his shaving kit into the extra bathroom, went into Tim’s room and shut the door.

Good, I told myself. Maybe that’s what my problem has been. His snoring. He’s been keeping me from sleeping. But I didn’t sleep any better that night than the previous night. I slept worse. Truthfully, I missed the even in and out whooshing of Dan’s breath, and the warmth of his body beside me.

The next day, Dan was gone to work by the time I came out of the bedroom. I hoped this was only a one night misunderstanding. Surely we’d discuss it the next evening and he’d be back in bed with me that night. But we didn’t discuss it and Dan didn’t come back to our bedroom, not that night or any night the following week. I still couldn’t sleep.

“Maybe you need one of those bedroom makeovers,” my best friend Jan suggested the next day. “You know, get a new color scheme, new sheets and a comforter, some big pillows. Put up some netting and light candles. Get a new mattress. A new mattress can make all the difference, both with sleep and with sex!”

“Really? Did you get a new mattress, Jan?”

She blushed. “Yeah, right after Casey turned three and we decided not to have another kid. It’s been eight years. Maybe we ought to buy another again!”

The bedroom makeover sounded like a good idea, and so I bought a new mattress, new sheets, pillows and a comforter. Then I hired someone to repaint the bedroom. In a week, the room looked entirely different.

When Dan got home that night, I insisted he come back to our bedroom. He peeked in the doorway then promptly went into Tim’s room and closed the door.

“Well, do you like it?” I asked, pounding on the door. “I did it for you. I surely will sleep better with the new mattress, and the light blue and cream color scheme is very restful.”

“If you have redecorated for your lover, I’m assuming you consulted with him first,” he said from the other side of the door. “You sure didn’t consult with me. I liked our bedroom the way it was.”

I pressed my forehead against the door panel and closed my eyes. It didn’t seem possible this was happening. Maybe this whole thing, the whole sleepless two years, was really just a bad dream. I wanted to wake up! But first, I wanted to sleep!
TO BE CONTINUED . . .

Welcome. Can you answer the question above? You're here to try, aren't you? So think about it. It's short - could be anything. It's green - probably has something to do with nature or the out-of-doors if you know anything about me at all. And it's red all over. Oops, typo. That should have been READ all over. You guessed it: The answer is - a short story. Written by me. Watch for intros to short stories on this blog. Then, if you want to read more, check at www.smashwords.com after May 15, that's where you'll find much of my work for the time being. ML Coley