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Confusional Arousals (short-story/treatment sort of thing) At seven o’clock she would come home from work and pick out a microwaveable dinner from the freezer. She eats in front of the television. She watches until her eyes get heavy. Her bare feet meander over the tufted white carpet to the bathroom where she brushes her teeth, combs her hair, removes her makeup, and swallows two round blue pills. She slips into bed and closes her eyes. Sometimes, even though she feels tired and can feel the medication working, she can’t sleep. She stares at the ceiling and thinks. Sometimes she thinks too much, and she cries, not a lot, just a tear or two dampening the pillow and sheets. —I was asleep on the couch when I heard a knocking at the door. I remember I had this crazy dream. I’m hosting the Hollywood Squares. I got this nice suit on, making jokes, I mean really killing it. And then after the show me and all the other stars go out for drinks, and one thing led to another, and we’re all like really wasted riding a limo to the beach. And I’m standing out the sun roof, cruising down the street, everyone’s looking, and there’s music, and palm trees, and warm air in my face, and the ocean— off down the street, glimmering like a showgirl. And then there’s this knocking at the door, ruined everything, I mean who’d want to wake up from that? — Mr Kowalski? — Yeah? —You think we care about you’re fucked up dreams? We don’t, so stop playing around and just tell us what really happened, after we can send in a therapist and you can tell’em all about your psyche. —All right, all right. —Well? —Okay, so I wake up and I go to the door. I didn’t check my watch, but I knew it was pretty late, some pitch man was juicin’ fruit on the TV, and you know this ain’t the best neighborhood, so I grab the bat outta the closet, and I creep to the door real quiet, and I don’t have a peephole so I open it real fast, and get into a good stance, you know, see if I can catch the mother-fucker sleeping. Somewhere in the expanse of intricately networked grey carpeted cubicles illuminated by diffused and flat fluorescent lighting off into infinity Eleanor sat in front of her computer reading the current pitch from screen to the customer through the headset. —Congratulations, Mr/Mrs’s \\\\\\ you are a finalist in the Express Financial Presidents Day Give Away! You’ve already won a— She stopped reading. Her eyelids felt heavy, her throat a burlap sack. The time that it took to clear her throat with a gulp of coffee gave the client time to think and react, a huge folly on Eleanor’s part. “I didn’t know I entered anything.” “You were automatically entered.” Eleanor continued onward hoping to regain control, and find her way back to the script. “In fact you’ve already won a two day trip at the Montego Bay Resort and Casino!” Soon she found her way back to the script and was nearing the point of sale. “All that is required is a small initial deposit.” “I don’t know, I’m kind of on a tight budget right now.” Logical thinking was always a bad sign. Eleanor had likely lost the sale, she only continued onward for the quality control officer she could almost hear breathing beyond the crackle of the reception and began to explain that the payments were equivalent to the daily purchase of a cup of coffee, but as she tried to form the words her eyelids grew heavy, and began to flutter. Inside the lids veins flared and dimmed, gradually deescalating into a deep and comfortable darkness. “Hello?” The voice ebbed then washed out to sea. The grass retains the impression of her striding`ing feet, and since the lawn has just been watered the prints follow her out onto the sidewalk, fading as the concrete dries her feet. She continues along cloaked in near darkness only becoming visible when entering the spray of a muted yellow street lamp, or the occasional roving headlights of a late night driver. “Eleanor!” Barb, the floor leader, said while shaking Eleanor’s shoulders. Eleanor awoke with a sudden jump, dial-tone humming into her ear. She looked up at Barb confused, the where and the who had yet to catch up. “What? What’s going on?” “You fell asleep again.” “Really?” Eleanor said while rubbing at her puffy eyes. “Yeah, right in the middle of a call too. Clean yourself up.” Barb pointed to the drool slipping from the corner of her lips. “I want you in my office in five.” Barb and her stretchy-slacks stomped off, leaving behind a scent trail of perfume and body odor like unto to rotten candied flowers. —Well what was I supposed to do? I mean this sort of stuff doesn’t happen to me all the time. You know, I’m not the best looking guy, and I sure as hell don’t have any money. I work at a tire store for chrissake, so no I didn’t think about the “whys”: why she was there, why she was interested in me, why she decided to do what she did. I just went with it, you know. Barb compulsively tapped her pen on the desk and looked at Eleanor with a quizzical expression. “I’m really sorry Barb. I don’t know what happened.” “You fell asleep in the middle of a call Eleanor, it’s completely unprofessional.” “I know, I know, look I promise it’ll never happen again,” Eleanor said, her hair still matted on the side of her that she had rested on. Barb cocked her right eyebrow. A vein on the side of her neck thumped to the beat of her tapping pen. “What’s really going on here Eleanor?” “What do you mean?” “What are you on? Meth, coke, pills? “No, of course not. Come on Barb you know me, I don’t do that kind of stuff.” “Something’s up.” “It was an accident Barb, really, it’ll never happen again.” “Regardless...” Barb flipped the pen upright, scratched something out on a piece of paper, and slid it across the table. “You’ll be seeing the Doctor, tomorrow.” “I’m fine really.” “Maybe, but either way I’ll be needing your urine sample, company policy,” she said and smiled, her right brow left suspended. The station seems an isle of light in the riveted asphalt cosmos. The image is caught and received. The bare striding feet alter their direction, following like a moth to the frenzied twitch of an exposed patio light bulb... On the station bench she waits. She doesn’t seem to mind. Minutes if not hours pass. Her hair sways, her oversized pajama T-shirt flaps gently in a slight wind... The walls and the floor quake as the train moves into a turn. An overhead lamp dims then flickers to full strength. She sits in the back, two rows down from a man who whistles through his nose as he sleeps. The P.A. crackles. The driver clears his throat... —The first time it felt like I was out of my mind. I mean she’s got some weight on her, but the way she looked in the doorway with the wind in her hair, and the moonlight making her, like, glow... —Did you talk? —I tried. I said ‘Hi, I’m Albert’ or something stupid like that. —And what did she say? —That’s the thing, she didn’t say anything. Here I am standing in my skivvies with a bat in my hand trying to make small talk to this, you know, gorgeous woman, and she just steps right in, doesn’t say a word, puts a finger over my mouth and with her other hand starts caressing my face. Then she put her face really close to mine and starts to blow. —Blow? —Yeah, like really close to my face, it felt like a really nice warm breeze. Inside the stall she unscrewed the lid, held the plastic cup in the bowl, and pushed but the cup remained dry. She tried to relax and think of waterfalls, sprinklers, rainstorms. “Is everything alright?” said the nurse whose tennis shoed foot tapped against the tile in the gap of space between the door and the floor. “I just need a moment.” Eleanor took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and pushed. She wanders freely; crossing roads diagonally, traversing lawns, around pirouetting sprinkler heads, through flower beds, and bushes, yet her feet have resolve and confidence, navigating the obstacles with near grace. Her eyes find a house with light from a television strobing mixtures of primary colors onto the window blinds. She turns, opens the chain-link fence gate and strides to the front porch. —It was nothing like that. We weren’t just getting each others rocks off. This was different, it was personal, you know. There was a connection, like there was this electricity between us. “Ahhhhhh.” “Ahhhhhhhhh.” Depressing the tongue the doctor looked through the otoscope at the soft fleshy membranes of the uvula, soft palate, and hard palate perched on the edge of the quick drop off into the larynx. He looked for swelling, discoloration, and signs of infection. He rolled his chair to the left and peered inside the ear canal: healthy pink porous skin sprouting delicate and waxed whirling hairs off into the dark depths. He scooted to the other side: ditto. Then, working from the top down to the major organs, he brought the stethoscope to his ears and listened to the heart thump. He placed the cold flat metal to her abdomen and listened to functioning of the intestines. Moving the audio probe up to the chest he listened to the lungs. “Breath in... and out, good.” Intensity, symmetry, length, inspiration and expiration seemed normal. He scooted his stool backwards, and thoughtfully scratched his chin as he worked together a summation. “Well you seem to be fine, we’ll run some tests on your blood, but I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. Now the fatigue and the nausea do worry me. How have you been sleeping?” “Fine, I guess.” She said while thinking about a leaf she had pulled from her hair that morning, and the black water that had blossomed around her feet in the shower. “Do you have any troubles getting to, or staying asleep?” he said at the same moment Eleanor thought about a particular spot of ceiling that hung over her bed, and how at times, if she squinted just right, the random bumps of paint would come together into a shape resembling an oblong impressionistic face. “Any sleep terrors”, the doctor continued on, “momentary paralysis upon awaking, sleep walking or confusional arousals during sleep?” “Confusional arousals?” Eleanor said, and grinned as if there might be a punch line. She finally falls asleep. Her eyes click beneath the lids. Her breathing finds a steady rhythm. An hour goes by then movement. At first it’s just an arm, it rises slowly until perpendicular. Moments later her body rises, her legs slide out from the covers and her feet touch the carpet. She sits perched on the edge of the mattress, her eyes half open, her head sways to what seems to be a breeze. Ding, the downward arrow lit a cherry red. The other passengers were already flowing around her and into the elevator claiming plots of foot space, and avoiding eye contact, before she thought to move. The doors slid shut. She felt tired, hungry, nauseous, and many other ailments that she listed as the floor pulled downwards like translucent layers of wet sand. She felt her stomach wanting to reject what little it had left: diet cola, two Oreos, and twelve saltine crackers. Outside the hospital doors and out on the street she felt she could almost breath again. She was feeling nearly euphoric walking in the open air until she turned a corner and bumped into a man causing her to drop her purse. He quickly picked up the purse and handed it back to her. Eleanor noticed a queer expression on his face, and the funny way his eyes looked back at hers. He softly snores from the bedroom. The door creaks closed. She moves silently through the house, her feet lightly touching the floor. When she opens the door and steps outside it’s dark and silent minus a hint of blue blotching the east horizon, and birds chirping calls and responses from the privacy of leaf enshrouded branches. The walking is effortless, one foot after another, smoothly advancing over the sidewalks, pavements, and lawns. She thought she had lost him, but when she got to her complex he showed up in the parking lot. He emerged from a white early-model Corolla that had rusted in spots around the wheel and back bumper. She hurried her pace, then broke into a sprint the last twenty or thirty feet. She had just locked the door when she heard the footsteps thumping down the hall to her front door. He knocked and slapped at the obstruction. “Why are you running from me darling? What did I do? Is it your work, your family...your husband? What is it? Just tell me what’s wrong, and I promise I’ll make it better.” He sobbed deep and pathetically. “Why do you always gotta disappear?” Eleanor dialed the number for the police, as the phone rang she wondered who this man was why he was crying, and more importantly, why the hell was she crying? —Just tell us how you did it Al. And don’t lie, because I know everything already. I’ve got all the evidence I need right here. So just do your self a favor and start telling me the truth. —Look, it was my house, she came to me not the other way around. I wouldn’t force myself on anyone. I’m not that kind of guy. —Trust me, we know all about what kind of guy you are. —Hey watch your mouth. I’m no perve, no monster! I’m just a normal guy, you hear me! —Alright, why don’t you just calm down. —Man I haven’t even talked to a lawyer yet. I still got rights don’t I? —What did you need a lawyer for bub? —You saying you need a lawyer Al? Her feet know the way: up the sidewalk to her building’s entrance, up two flights of stairs, down the hallway to her front door. She locks the door behind her, walks down the short hallway to her bedroom, slips into bed pulling the covers over her shoulders, burrows deep into the pillows and sheets, and comfortably drifts off.