Insomnia
one of one
There’s nothing quite like insomnia. You’re not awake and yet you aren’t asleep. You hover somewhere in between the two worlds. You try so desperately to fall asleep, yet the more you try, the harder it is.
It wasn’t until my mid-twenties that I suffered from this hellacious condition. Here I was, at a whopping 29 years, and I can’t sleep for more than a few hours at a time. I’m starting to get used to being exhausted all the time, but it’s still frustrating to lie in bed and listen to the analog clock on the wall, ticking away until it was time to get up for work.
Tick, tick, tick
Why do I have an analog clock anyway? This is the digital age.
Tick, tick, tick
Sighing, I threw the covers from my legs and stood from the bed. If I wasn’t going to sleep, I might as well get some work done. I slid on a pair of my favorite jeans, a tank top, and a light jacket to guard against the cool Los Angeles night. I grabbed my purse with the latest manuscript in it, my keys, cell, and of course, the mace to protect me from hoodlums. Stopping only to lock the front door, I was down the stairs and to my car in record time.
I drove to my favorite little coffee shop and parked near the door, under a street lamp. You can never be too careful; even in the best of neighborhoods, LA was a dangerous place. So I hurried to the door and walked in, slightly shivering. It seemed as though the winds had picked up and cooled the California landscape off even more than I anticipated. The girl at the bar smiled at me as I made my way to her. She’s a vivacious brunette by the name of Julie and one of the friendliest people I’ve ever met.
“Hello Kay! Couldn’t sleep?” She asked as I took a seat at one of the bar stools, one away from a man with long golden locks. I shook my head as she nodded understandingly.
“Nope.” I popped the “p” in the word and laid my bag on the dark wood. “I figured if I can’t sleep, I might as well be productive.”
“New manuscript?” She questioned as she started pouring hot water into a mug.
“Yes ma’am. Just helping another young person write the next great American novel, one edit at a time.”
“You sound like a superhero.” I looked over at the accented voice and saw the blond man looking at me. He was slouched over a cup of brown liquid, staring at me with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. His face was rough with hair but still perfect in an utterly masculine sort of way.
“I’m just an editor.” I said smiling.
“And Peter Parker was just a photographer.” He joked. I chuckled as I watched Julie put a bag of my favorite house tea in the mug and slide it my way.
“Here you go,” She said and I thanked her. I looked back at the man who was staring into his cup with a sad smile on his face. Something happened to this man and I wanted to help. He looked so forlorn that I wanted to make him feel better.
“I’m Kay,” I said, holding out my hand, and he looked up. He looked at my hand for the slightest of moments, and then grasped it softly.
“Chris.”
“Where are you from, Chris?” He looked at me strangely. “Your accent,” I elaborated, “it’s Australian, right?” He nodded. “What part are you from?”
“I grew up on a small island called Phillip Island. It’s off the coast of Melbourne.”
“Cool.” A silence stretched between us until I broke. “What are you doing in LA?” I used a spoon to dunk the bag of tea leaves as I asked.
“I’m going through a divorce, actually. My brother lives here and I’m staying with him for a while.” I looked down sheepishly, suddenly embarrassed for asking.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried.” I spoke softly.
“It’s okay.”
“This is why strangers never talk, you know?” He laughed and I suddenly felt better. I looked up and saw that he was staring my way. He hurriedly looked away and took a drink of his cooling coffee. I set the tea bag on the saucer of my cup and sipped the liquid.
“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind talking to you.” I gave him a look that said, yeah, right. “Really, I don’t. Just, not about that.”
“Fair enough,” I shrugged and went on, “So Chris, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m an actor.” He said, smiling softly.
“Oh, really? Are you any good?” His smile turned into a grin as he laughed.
“I’d like to think so. I’ve been in a couple of movies.” There was a buzzing noise and he quickly pulled his phone from his pocket. He unlocked it and sighed, then looked up at me. “I’ve got to go, but let’s do this again sometime.” He said as he grabbed a napkin from across the bar and a pen from his pocket. Before I could say anything, he was writing something and slid the napkin to me. “Goodbye for now, Kay.”
“Bye Chris.” I called as he smiled one last time and walked out of the shop. I looked at the napkin and gasped as I saw his name in an untidy scrawl at the top.
I just scored Thor’s number.
It wasn’t until my mid-twenties that I suffered from this hellacious condition. Here I was, at a whopping 29 years, and I can’t sleep for more than a few hours at a time. I’m starting to get used to being exhausted all the time, but it’s still frustrating to lie in bed and listen to the analog clock on the wall, ticking away until it was time to get up for work.
Tick, tick, tick
Why do I have an analog clock anyway? This is the digital age.
Tick, tick, tick
Sighing, I threw the covers from my legs and stood from the bed. If I wasn’t going to sleep, I might as well get some work done. I slid on a pair of my favorite jeans, a tank top, and a light jacket to guard against the cool Los Angeles night. I grabbed my purse with the latest manuscript in it, my keys, cell, and of course, the mace to protect me from hoodlums. Stopping only to lock the front door, I was down the stairs and to my car in record time.
I drove to my favorite little coffee shop and parked near the door, under a street lamp. You can never be too careful; even in the best of neighborhoods, LA was a dangerous place. So I hurried to the door and walked in, slightly shivering. It seemed as though the winds had picked up and cooled the California landscape off even more than I anticipated. The girl at the bar smiled at me as I made my way to her. She’s a vivacious brunette by the name of Julie and one of the friendliest people I’ve ever met.
“Hello Kay! Couldn’t sleep?” She asked as I took a seat at one of the bar stools, one away from a man with long golden locks. I shook my head as she nodded understandingly.
“Nope.” I popped the “p” in the word and laid my bag on the dark wood. “I figured if I can’t sleep, I might as well be productive.”
“New manuscript?” She questioned as she started pouring hot water into a mug.
“Yes ma’am. Just helping another young person write the next great American novel, one edit at a time.”
“You sound like a superhero.” I looked over at the accented voice and saw the blond man looking at me. He was slouched over a cup of brown liquid, staring at me with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. His face was rough with hair but still perfect in an utterly masculine sort of way.
“I’m just an editor.” I said smiling.
“And Peter Parker was just a photographer.” He joked. I chuckled as I watched Julie put a bag of my favorite house tea in the mug and slide it my way.
“Here you go,” She said and I thanked her. I looked back at the man who was staring into his cup with a sad smile on his face. Something happened to this man and I wanted to help. He looked so forlorn that I wanted to make him feel better.
“I’m Kay,” I said, holding out my hand, and he looked up. He looked at my hand for the slightest of moments, and then grasped it softly.
“Chris.”
“Where are you from, Chris?” He looked at me strangely. “Your accent,” I elaborated, “it’s Australian, right?” He nodded. “What part are you from?”
“I grew up on a small island called Phillip Island. It’s off the coast of Melbourne.”
“Cool.” A silence stretched between us until I broke. “What are you doing in LA?” I used a spoon to dunk the bag of tea leaves as I asked.
“I’m going through a divorce, actually. My brother lives here and I’m staying with him for a while.” I looked down sheepishly, suddenly embarrassed for asking.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried.” I spoke softly.
“It’s okay.”
“This is why strangers never talk, you know?” He laughed and I suddenly felt better. I looked up and saw that he was staring my way. He hurriedly looked away and took a drink of his cooling coffee. I set the tea bag on the saucer of my cup and sipped the liquid.
“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind talking to you.” I gave him a look that said, yeah, right. “Really, I don’t. Just, not about that.”
“Fair enough,” I shrugged and went on, “So Chris, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m an actor.” He said, smiling softly.
“Oh, really? Are you any good?” His smile turned into a grin as he laughed.
“I’d like to think so. I’ve been in a couple of movies.” There was a buzzing noise and he quickly pulled his phone from his pocket. He unlocked it and sighed, then looked up at me. “I’ve got to go, but let’s do this again sometime.” He said as he grabbed a napkin from across the bar and a pen from his pocket. Before I could say anything, he was writing something and slid the napkin to me. “Goodbye for now, Kay.”
“Bye Chris.” I called as he smiled one last time and walked out of the shop. I looked at the napkin and gasped as I saw his name in an untidy scrawl at the top.
I just scored Thor’s number.
♠ ♠ ♠
Reposting this. It was a present for the wonderful Kay.