restless

The lightening cracked and for one moment the entire town was illuminated. The bright light consumed the living room and shadows jumped around frantically. The white light vanished, and before my eyes could adjust I was shaken by booming thunder. I tugged harder on the blanket I had wrapped around me. I pulled my knees closer to my chest and shrank down in between the couch and coffee table. This was the third night in a row I couldn’t sleep. Luckily for me the other two didn’t involved earth-shaking thunderstorms. Usually when I was up all night I could curl up at dawn for a couple of hours, but this close to a show, when the sun was up, I was up. I snuck across the cold hardwood floor and into Mark’s narrow bed. He didn’t even stir. I lied awake trying to match my own breath with his sporadic snoring. In the morning Mark handed me a hot cup of tea.
He pouted his lower lip as he asked, “Next time, can I be the little spoon?”
“Grow up!” I said, laughing, as I pushed him back.

A tiny bell rang on the top of the door as I pushed past the “Yes, We are Open” sign.
“Good morning, Karen,” I called over a pile of wrapping paper rolls and card-filled boxes. She appeared from beneath them with a pair of scissors between her teeth. Karen reached up and removed them, revealing her everlasting smile.
“Oh, indeed it is, Artie! Just look at all this new inventory! Business is really picking up. I was nervous at first, but now it seems that people do really enjoy the finer things.” Karen bubbled as she tore through boxes restocking mugs, ribbons, and cards. I found myself reaching for a bright red “#1 Grandpa” mug when Karen turned around.
“Can I ring that up for you?” She smiled eagerly and excitedly.
“It is awfully tempting, but I’m actually just here for some medicine.”

I walked through the aisles of the pharmacy until I found the sleep aids. Pouring through the fine print, I sat down in the aisle to soak it all in. Operating heavy machinery. Drowsiness. Seven to eight hours. Risk of dependency. Decreased mental alertness. Yeesh. I began to think it would be more relaxing to stay up all night. I certainly enjoyed being mentally alert. I grabbed a bottle of Painerol and a box of chamomile lavender tea. Hopefully that would do the trick. I dug around in my bag for my wallet as Karen bagged my purchase. She handed me the pink paper parcel with a well rehearsed “Have a nice day!”

distraction

It had been nearly half an hour. The stiff gesture sat lifelessly on my page. I rolled the piece of charcoal between my index finger and thumb, and deep black powder dusted off as its coarse grain curled around. Red sat across from me, appeased by a ham sandwich. His grizzled jaw twisted over his meal, but the rest of his body was still and calm. Frozen in ham-sandwich heaven, and I was frozen too.

I turned the page again and laid out his spine, his shoulders, his hips. Nothing. This time too loose. I wiped the lines away with the palm of my hand. It came up black. And down again with a growing urgency.

Spine. Shoulders. Hips. Wipe. Again and again.

My paper became saturated. I turned to the next page and the pad cracked under the tremendous weight of my anxiety. I peered at Red and saw nothing. I searched him: his posture, his form, the shadows he cast. I squeezed my eyelids closed and searched myself, but all I found were two red dots, then one green one. I touched the charcoal to the paper and it failed me.

I rolled the sketches back under the cover of the pad. I flicked the diminished piece of charcoal onto the concrete path and rubbed my strained hands against my thighs. I decided to go home, seeking solace in a nap. Or was it so close to dusk that I could sleep until tomorrow? Either way, I gathered my things. And before I could get them into my bag they flew out of my hands. The blackened cigarette case, a few pencils, and my exhausted drawing pad scattered onto the ground. Reaching for my things, I looked up to see what had struck me. Miranda. Her messy bun bounced in time with her frantic stride. The distracted girl didn’t stop to apologize, she just kept running. I wondered if she even knew she had hit me. If she knew how many hours I had spent on those drawings that now sank into a muddy flower bed. But then again, I didn’t even know.

Two wooden pencils dropped again from my hand. I rose from my knees and started running. My chest pulled me while my untrained legs followed. My feet shuffled around in my loose shoes. I kicked them off. I kept running. My stride lengthened. And as I pushed forward I wondered where I was going.