some sleeplessness

Spaces in between


Keith stood watching the rain running down his bedroom window distorting the neon light that shone through. A million and one tears traced their way to the sill below, but also, deeper, further, he saw himself, an eye, dark, the curve of his nose and a cheek-bone. He took another drag on his cigarette, flicking ash onto the carpet. It was 3 am and he hadn’t slept for almost two nights. His body ached.

Finished, he crushed the cigarette out on the window – ash clung to the moist glass. Adding the butt to the pile on his bedside table he lay down and watched two new muddy black tears, distinct as they worked their way down the pane.

He blinked: his eyes stung – the smoke didn’t help and so he closed them.

Tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable he thought of masturbation. He shut his eyes and created scenes he liked – with him and women, all naked or about to be so – but found he couldn’t keep focused. His mind kept slipping off and onto irrelevant fancies. Eventually he found himself staring up at the ceiling, limp penis in hand.

After something like time, he dozed but didn’t dream.

The alarm woke him with a start, blank walls greeted him. He jumped up and walked through to the bathroom. Scratching his armpit, he noticed a rash forming on his chest and arm. He thought about doctors and creams and then about a nurse he once dated. He had a shower and brushed his teeth but didn’t bother to shave.

At work Clive had already arrived, he was reading a PC mag whilst eating a doughnut and drinking coffee.
‘Morning. You look rough,’ he said, without looking up.

Keith went into the back, put the kettle on, heaping two teaspoons of coffee and sugar into his mug. Waiting for the water to boil, he checked the rota – more weekend shifts that he didn’t want.

Coffee in hand he returned to the shop-floor and walked past Clive, who smelled mildly of sweat and de-odorant. He stood by the window watching people hurrying to work, the rain from the night before had continued into the morning. A middle aged man in a suit stopped by the window crouching beneath his umbrella and started eyeing up the washing machines. After a while he noticed Keith looking at him, frowned angrily and hurried off. This silent outburst disturbed Keith he hadn’t really even seen the man, just looked at him because that was where his eyes had rested. Actions and their consequences seemed somehow to be disconnecting.

Back at the counter Clive asked ‘Here, have you seen these new routers?’
‘What?’
‘Routers, you know, wireless internet.’
‘No.’
‘Apparently they’re shit.’

In the toilet, Keith washed his hands and peered at himself in the tiny mirror. Dark rings and blood shot eyes stared back at him. He squeezed a couple of black heads, splashed water on his face and tidied his hair.

When he got back Clive was with customers, a young couple, nodding and looking serious as Clive opened and closed fridge doors pointing out relevant details. Keith picked up Clive’s magazine and flicked through. Random words created a strange impression on him.

‘MZ8 hard wiring’
‘Shock wave reduction speakers’
‘New Russian software market expands’
‘Fastest ever USB portals’

He played with them in his head and felt the tension in his shoulders and neck. Clive came back, and smiled sheepishly. ‘They said they’d think it over and come back tomorrow.’
Keith’s lip curled, into a snigger ‘You working tomorrow?’
‘No. Are you?’
‘Yea,’ Keith was too tired to play. ‘Don’t worry, if they come I’ll split it with you.’
Clive smiled, ‘Cheers mate.’
They stood looking out the window for a while.

‘Keith.’
‘Keith.’
‘Keith,’ Clive shouted at last
Startled Keith replied ‘What.’
‘I just said you’re name three times mate.’
‘Sorry,’ he replied, running his fingers through his hair.
‘You not been sleeping again?’
‘No.’
‘How long?’
‘Maybe an hour or so last night, nothing the night before.’
‘Fuck sake,’ Clive chuckled and shook his head. ‘I don’t know how you do it, me I need eight hours a night or I’m a wreck.’ He thought for a while. ‘Although by the looks of things so do you,’ he looked at Keith smiling. ‘Eh, don’t you?’
Keith frowned, ‘I’m fine,’ the words felt unconvincing as he looked at Clive; whose voice, face and smell seemed tangible; but also seemed to hover; threatening at any moment to vanish without a trace.

‘Sure.’ Clive shook his head. ‘You know I saw this thing about insomnia, did you know you can die of it?’
‘Yea,’ Keith had heard that.
‘But most likely you just go mad, start dreaming when you’re awake, seeing things and stuff.’
‘Yea.’
‘You had that?’
‘A little.’
‘Really, what’s it like?’
‘Shit.’
‘Yea, obviously but, have you seen stuff?’
‘No.’
‘Nothing?’
‘I’ve heard things.’
‘What, voices?’
‘No, real things, like the bark of a dog or a tap drip.’
‘So.’
‘But you hear it different.’
‘How?’ Clive loved this sort of stuff. He’d read up on all sorts of phobias and psychological problems, it made him feel normal.
‘It’s like you’re kind of empty: there’s the sound, but that’s all there is. And then…’ He trailed off.
‘And then what?’ Clive asked.
‘And then… And then there’s another sound’
‘And?’
‘And it makes you jump’s all.’
‘Sounds mental, I heard its like twilight zone or something, eh?’

Time passed slowly, but it did pass and when Keith left the day had brightened to a lovely autumn evening. The rain had cleared and the smell of the wet pavement mixed with the coming winter chill gave the air a freshness that hit him like a drug. He felt like he was emerging from a day of suspended animation.

He decided to walk home. Mingling with the crowds rushing through their evening pilgrimage he deliberately slowed his stride. The movement began to wash and to sooth.

On the bridge he was shocked by the sky, its sheer size made his legs almost buckle. Half way across, he stopped. Looking out over the river he gasped as his lungs tightened around the crisp air. He watched the water: a mass of blue and gray marble and he thought about swimming and about holidays in Corsica.

Smiling he turned his back on the river and watched people and traffic charge by. Faces, expressionless, forged on without so much as a glance in Keith’s direction.

He tried to capture each in his minds eye. Blinking as they passed he made a clicking sound, taking mental pictures of them all. A couple clenched together caught his eye: flushed and smiling; she wearing a long, deep red scarf that fluttered. ‘Click,’ he said out loud and watched as they disappeared.

Turning back to face the river again, he felt the wind on his face. His eyes stung more than ever. A little light headed he shut them, letting the sounds of the city wrap him up like a great blanket. Lost in this endless noise he remained for some time.

He felt fine.

The hoot of a car and the screech of wheels shocked him back into place. His heart beat a little faster and as he opened his eyes a beautiful purple sky greeted him. ‘A joy,’ he said, and wondered at where all the rain had got to. He remembered the man and his anger and wondered where he had got to.

He wiped away a bead of sweat working its way down his temple and clenched hard onto the wall. The coldness of the stone passed all the way up his arm and he felt nauseous. He wanted to let go but couldn’t. His arm had become as cold and immovable as the wall it gripped. Eventually new thoughts swept him up and his arm relaxed quite naturally.

He blinked: more time passed.

Again he turned back to the street and was shocked that the stream had not abated. Thousands it seemed were ploughing on: an endless flow of bodies.

‘They’re all going home’, he said to himself.

Looking down at his legs and feet, he decided it was important they looked at him, just for a moment as they walked on by. He clambered onto the wall behind him and stood facing the crowds. The sudden change of perspective felt strange. He could see the tops of heads and the spaces between people.

A woman screamed.

He was surprised by the chorus of scared faces that suddenly greeted him. For a moment he thought he was back at work. He was seeing them all through that great shop window. He smiled and put his hands out wanting them to be calm. Someone shouted to get down and an arm grabbed him by the leg. He didn’t try to fight it off, but just continued smiling.

More shouting and screaming ensued and Keith felt more hands grab at him. Confused and becoming a little scared he struggled to free himself.

He twisted and tried to pull his right leg back but couldn’t.

More arms were coming for him.

Again he tried to pull away from the hands and the faces, animated now as they swarmed towards him.

He shouted, ‘stop,’ but no one seemed to hear.

He pulled back again, this time more violently, sending his weight out towards the river. He waved his arms, trying to regain his balance. Clutching at the hands reaching towards him he felt his stomach turn. He missed the arms: they just slipped through his fingers and he felt his weight shift as he moved out and down towards the river.

From nowhere a man’s arm, powerful, reached out and grabbed him. He was yanked down off the wall falling through the mass of bodies. Keith crashed down hard onto the pavement.

It was solid beneath him as the crowd closed in. ‘What were you doing?’ A woman half shouted.

Keith looked up at her. He saw the emotion in her eyes as a tear traced down her cheek. He smiled but didn’t reply.

He noticed an ache in his wrist and prodded at three bright red finger prints: marks from the saving grasp. The smile spread still further and he began to laugh. He felt a flood of joy.

As the laugh continued his body began to shake. Things were coming loose; inside and out.

He felt tears on his own cheek. He let them be. They traced down, right down, off his face and mingled with the dirt of the pavement.

And the crowd? It just dispersed and the flow resumed.