Unquiet

I lie in the stillness of night, listening to the tiny sounds I miss when I am asleep. 

A dog licking a paw, the beeping of my crappy internet going up and down, the fan flicking the edge of the magazine on the dresser too far away to move.  

Wind through the leaves, the creak of the trunk as the raccoon comes out for his nightly feast of lemons. Tomorrow there will be a splattering of evidence, shredded rinds and pith, but he will be long asleep in his high hole for the day. 

The fan spins constantly, the low whir and wide blades attempting to lull me to sleep. 

Not tonight, my brain laughs. Not tonight. 

Then, from the sidewalk outside my window, I hear a low whistle. It begins as a single tone then evolves into a lovely tune, one I can’t place no matter how hard I try.  

It grows louder and louder until it sounds as if it is on the other side of the wall, two feet from where I am attempting to rest my head. 

Whispers…does he have a friend? Or is he sharing a conversation with himself? 

A guttural chuckle followed by a cough and the scent of nicotine fills my nose. If I close my eyes I can see the smoke flowing from the tip of his cigarette into the window and floating above my bed. 

I wonder if he knows I am lying here, listening to him, creating a sketch of him on the inside of my skull. 

I imagine he’s lying on the front lawn, looking up at the moon and thinking of someone he knew long ago. Maybe his head is pointed toward mine and we form a long line of human parts separated only by some drywall and plaster. 

Maybe. 

The dog snores in the corner. I hear a rat run across the roof, his teeny tiny feet carrying him quickly as he moves from one dark nook to another. 

I feel the float begin at my toes, traveling up my legs and taking the stress of the day with it. I smile, close my eyes, and prepare myself for long awaited sleep. Dreams of beaches and sunshine on my skin and uncontrollable laughter with friends. 

I take a deep breath, counting backwards and inviting slumber to take me. 

Then, just as my eyelids slide shut, I hear boots on the deck outside. Footsteps. The whistle is louder, the smell of smoke more pungent. 

I open my eyes and his face is near mine, peeking at me through the screen door. 

He places a finger to his lips as if to say, “shhhhh.” 

I wonder why the dogs aren’t barking. I try to move my body and I can’t. I open my mouth to scream and nothing but soft and silent air flows out. 

A wink. A smile. A final drag from the tiny glowing light near his concealed face. 

My eyes give in, and darkness finally takes me.