I’ve been watching the morning news since 4 AM. It comes on earlier and earlier these days. I can’t imagine there would be much breaking news to report between 11:35 PM and 4 AM that it can’t wait until 8. Who besides me is up watching it? But then I remember Orlando, and I turn up the volume.
Donald Trump will be in town. They interview a girl in a sleeping bag just outside the gates of the special events center.
“I’ve been waiting here since 9 last night!” she says in a heavy Southern drawl. She wants to make sure she gets in and gets a good seat. All this for a man whose only policies I can remember involve banning a billion people and building a wall to ban a million more.
Hell, I’ll be up, I might as well go. Maybe he’s not as bad as he seems. Maybe he actually has good ideas. Maybe there’s a logical reason why people like him so much, and it’s not the reason I fear. But then I remember where I live. The last time I stepped out because I couldn’t sleep, I found myself on the outskirts of town, driving behind a black pickup with a Confederate flag in the rear window. Going to see Trump is the closest I’ll get to attending a Klan rally. They’ll take one look at my afro and know I don’t belong.
Sean walks in buttoning his uniform and sighs when he sees me on the couch. For once, I wish he’d be happy that I’m up before him. I could’ve cooked him breakfast or fixed him a fresh pot of coffee. But who am I kidding? He’s known since our first date sophomore year in college that I don’t cook. I’m one of the few people who are actually skilled at burning coffee.
“Please tell me you haven’t been here all night,” he says.
“Just all morning.” I smile, but he doesn’t laugh.
“Sweetie.” He sits on the arm of the couch, and my eyes drift down to the gun holstered on his hip. I wonder, will he have to shoot anyone today? Someone who doesn’t listen or cooperate, like me. Will he pull the trigger to silence my defiant mouth?
“We sent Matthew to your sister’s so you could finally get some sleep. Please tell me you don’t still hear the man downstairs.”
I don’t understand why he can’t just go downstairs and check that apartment. He’s a cop for God’s sake. The man downstairs is beating his wife. Her screams should be probable cause enough. I hear her struggle with him every night—the lamp crashing to the floor, the shaking of our bed when he slams her against the wall. I hear him curse her. He is always drunk. He comes home from the bar and demands she get on her knee. Some nights I think she wakes to his unprovoked blows, as there is silence and then suddenly her screams.
Their bedroom is directly below ours.Continue reading “Lost in the Twilight Zone Marathon | S2 Ep 9 | Sleepless”