SLEEP

Tom Kelly 

It is three-forty-seven in the morning. Or is it night? I have not slept. ‘What is it like?’ Well, it is dark and shadows seems to be missing. Is it anxiety that has me recalling everything negative? I have been reading articles on sleep deprivation; seen black-eyed people trying and failing to slumber. I have also watched ‘reels’ on my mobile. Everyone has the answer. And for me they are all wrong; like the horse racing tipsters my Granny and Granda revered. What do you do as you lie there not drifting into your usual, however temporary, oblivion?   

I eventually fall into my past which is so clear. I am young and alone on a ferry from Calais to Folkstone. I have been to Paris and to all the regular sites. Did I do all of this in one day? I can only ask myself as I was alone. I am leaving France. The ferries’ crew would not allow me onboard until early morning. It was midnight. Everything was closed around the docks. Could I sneak back on the ferry? The sailor at the top of the gangplank seemed to answer with a stern look which was good enough to have me finding a dark corner, where I hoped to sleep. The rest of the night is a mystery. Morning allowed me to shuffle onto the ferry. I had not spoken to anyone. I was becoming accustomed to the silence and found a chair in a quiet corner and fell asleep. I woke with our alarm tiring itself out as it has been ringing for so long. 

The next night I am in a boarding house somewhere in London. Is it Camberwell? I am almost asleep sitting up in a single bed. I have left the light on; there is no shade around the bulb. Is the light preventing me from sleeping? The bedding is not substantial. When I move the blankets slide to the floor. There is a definite chill in the room. For some reason I am staring at the room’s door. It is damp and the bed smells of a previous occupant. I try not to think of that as the door opens, a hand appears and I shout something incomprehensible which is enough to make the hand disappear quickly. I put a chair against the door and leave on the light. My alarm is ringing that loudly it has next door banging on our door as they are on night-shift and want to try to sleep.

This is heaven. I have had two nights of sleep courtesy of my memories. Tonight, I am hoping some remembrance finds its way to me.  

I am by the sea. It is growing darker and there are few street lights. I feel warmer and my eye lids become heavier. I am in a taxi heading for Casablanca. My shirt is open and I am wearing shorts but still feel so hot. I am shown a room in a hotel of sorts by a taxi driver. 

The toilet in the middle of the bedroom has me paying the taxi driver and searching for another hotel. A toilet cistern without any plumbing attached did not appeal. 

This is my third night of sleep. I wake and pay, as usual, a visit to our toilet and it is morning. I hope I don’t run out of memories which are proving to be an invaluable companion to sleep.