One Hundred Sleepless Nights

I stumble into my apartment and kick off my shoes as I close out the world. I had decided to go out to a bar with a friend and possibly had drunken a bit more than I intended. I look at the time as I take off my leather jacket. Three a.m. I had wanted to leave the bar as soon as we arrived but my friend, Yulia, was really excited that I even showed up and it made me feel obliged to stay.

I wiggle out of the skirt that was a little too tight and too short for my liking. I feel much more comfortable in jeans. I dive head first into my sheet-less bed and I’m asleep before I even hit the pillow.

As my eyes close in my dark, small apartment, my eyes open in a dream world a little too familiar. It starts like so many of the many vivid dreams of a childhood I don’t remember having. It’s nice, though. Having a childhood, I mean. Even if it is in the confines of my dreams.

I’m in an elementary school when I hear bells ring. We –students – all run out of the school like if it was the first time setting foot outside those walls. I head straight past the cafeteria and out the door towards the playground. I wear a stupid white dress with red and orange floral print, orange Mary Janes and a big orange bow in my hair.

I stand by the monkey bars, as I usually did, and smile to myself. Kids swarm the outside of the school. In every which way kids run into the arms of their guardians, walk towards school buses and cars or walk away with groups of friends.

Out of a crowd of kids coming out of the cafeteria, a boy with short, chestnut hair starts to walk towards me. He was taller than most kids in our grade so he was easier to spot from afar.

“Hey, ‘Lana,” he smiles a wide smile when he meets me.

We head out of the playground and walk home together. He lived in my neighborhood so it just made sense to walk together. Having someone to talk to on your way home was never a bad thing. There was barely a cloud in the sky so the sun was really beaming on us. This only made me stare into the boy’s eyes more. Depending on how the light hit them, they would alternate between light brown and radiant green colors. Most of the time, they were a very pretty hazel surrounded by an olive green color.

Once we reached the community park that separated our houses, we stalled around a bit.

“Want to go see the ducks?” The boy sounded really excited by this idea.

I didn’t want to leave him just yet, so I followed him to the pond in the park. We threw crackers I had in my lunch box and laughed when all the ducks waddled towards the pile of crumbs. I sat down to watch them eat and moments after the boy joined me.

“’Lana, we’re always going to be friends, right?” His eyes seemed to be quizzing me.

“Of course! And when I grow up, I’m going to marry you!” I said laughing.

“BLEH,” The boy said in mock-disgust. “Girls are gross. I’m never getting married!” His disgusted words said with a thick accent only made me laugh more.

I woke up to the sound of my cellphone ringing. I ignore it since I really just wanted to sleep. Just like every other time, as soon as I woke up, I forgot the boy’s name and the majority of his facial features. It was always a sweet, uneventful dream. I just wish I had a name to go with the dreams.

After a few minutes of tossing and turning, I hop out of bed and pour a shot of vodka for myself. Some people wake up with coffee. Others, with tea. Give me a shot of just about anything, and I’m ready to take on the day! I tie my long hair in a ponytail and start motivating myself.

After brushing my teeth and a bit of unconvincing motivation, I stand in the middle of my studio apartment and stare at the boxes scattered about. My, my, how I hate unpacking. I was so excited to move back to my hometown that I overlooked this small detail: unpacking was a huge pain.

I start unpacking the box labeled “KITCHEN” in terrible handwriting. As I begin unwrapping my grandma’s plates, I feel a bit crumby. At one point, I thought I would never move out of Pennsylvania. I loved it. It was the place that I had lived since fifth grade, and pretty much all I knew. But, when my baba – grandma- Katya died, I didn’t think twice. I impulsively decided to move back to my hometown, Mayville, New Jersey.

While my cousins Vladimir and Sasha weren’t too happy with this, I explained that it was something I needed to do. I don’t know. Maybe it was for self-discovery or just because I wanted to run from my problems, but I felt it was the right choice. Honestly, I think it was a little of both. When baba died, I was haunted by everything around me. It hurt to breathe the air that would no longer fill my grandmother’s lungs. She, along with my uncle Marko, raised me so I took her death very hard.

On the other hand, I don’t remember anything about Mayville or my life here. I have been told my mind just blocked it out, pretended nothing happened before the sixth grade. Yeah, that’s right. I blocked out my life in Jersey and my first year in Pennsylvania. I know the story of why but not of how it came to be. But that, I guess, is a story for another time.

I shake my head of silly psychobabble as I put away the last dish. Progress, finally!