The Year I Slept Page 2

  Ever since that day blue has been my favorite color.

  * * *

  The night after the Lin visited me, I remain in my fog for weeks. I am back to the zombie routine of going to work, barely eating and forcing myself to wash.

  Sleep becomes my respite.

  I am sick… seriously sick. I don't know how. I am sicker than I have ever been in my entire life. Fever rages. My lungs fill up with fluid. My throat turns razor-sharp.

  I drink cough medicine like it is water. You would think I have narcolepsy since I start falling asleep in strange places. I'm convinced I'm dying, and I am happy about it. All of this pain will end; I will be reunited with her at last. I thank fate for arriving in time, while I still have hope in the cosmos.

  The bastard death does not come. In its place a phone call drags me back to the land of the living.

  “Hello?” Pain slicing through my throat as I pick up the phone.

  “Em?” a woman's voice. I know it, but can't place it. My head feels foggy.

  “Who is this?” I ask, delirious with fever, falling over onto the sofa.

  “It's Rowan.” Her voice is bright and cheery, the antithesis of everything.

  Rowan Lake?? High school love? I haven't seen or heard from her in years. Even in my fever fog I am intrigued.

  “Rowan!” I exclaim, with more energy than I think I have.

  “Hi, Emerson.” Shyness creeps into her voice.

  “Wow! How are you?” I ask.

  “I'm great actually, how are you?” she asks in return.

  “Oh,” I say. “I'm a little sick at the minute.” I cough in evidence.

  “Jeez Em, you sound horrible. I'm sorry, maybe I should let you go…” her sweet voice lets the end of the sentence linger. Memories flood my brain. The past erupts across my vision. I see Rowan, she is, blonde, voluptuous, funny, smoking a cigarette with me behind the school. Her smile flashes in my head, and I get dizzy reminiscing.

  “It's… okay,” I tell her, sitting down on my bed in an effort to stop the room from spinning.

  “I don't know why I called,” she admits. “You know I live in Delaware now…with my dad again. I saw Henry and he told me you were in Philly, so I… I don't know, I asked for your number. I thought I would call.”

  “Well,” I say. “I'm really sick right now, Ro.” I don't know what I want. It's like light suddenly coming in through the windows where there was none before. It hurts my eyes. She is light.

  “I'd love to get together, let me…let me call you when I feel a little better.” A coughing fit wracked my body.

  “Ok,” she says. I haven't seen her since we hooked up after her mother's funeral.

  “Call me soon, okay?”

  “Ok,” she says, dejected but obviously hopeful.

  “Talk to you soon, Ro.”

  “Bye,” she says, brightly.

  * * *

  Every night, I sit outside on the steps, light a cigarette in hopes that Lin will show up, but she doesn't. The nights get warmer and stickier, and still I am alone. I wait…and wait….and wait.

  I kick whatever sickness I had and return to life as a sleeper. They offer to promote me at work, what a joke – I decline. I can't think about work.

  My dreams turn dark, making my once paralytic sleep turn into chaos. I wake each morning dripping in sweat after a night of riding fiery horses and getting lost in ancient space ships perched at the edge of black holes. I run down long corridors. I lose all my teeth; every classic stress dream, I have.

  Tired and desperate from constantly waking up exhausted I finally can no longer handle the isolation. I call my parents.

  My father answers out of breath.

  “Just finished my jog, son. What's up?”

  “I don't know, dad,” I say softly.

  “What is it, Em?”

  “Just… exhausted.” How do I tell him about all this? How do I tell him anything?

  “Ah, don't let it get to you. We all have our bad weeks; you know? Do you need money?”

  “No, dad.”

  We have never been close. He would never understand. But who else do I have?

  He reaches out.

  “It's been a while since you visited us, Em. I don't suppose I could tempt you into a long weekend in Arizona.”

  “I can't, dad. Work.”

  “Well, you're always welcome here.”

  “Is mom home?” I ask.

  “Sure,” he says, though I think he is sad our conversation is over. “Hold on.”

  “Hi honey,” she says. “Your dad said you were down?”

  I'm more than down, mom. I'm fucking dying.

  “Yeah,” I say. “A friend of mine died.”

  “Oh dear, did I know them?”

  “No.”

  “How old were they?”

  “She was twenty-seven.”

  “My God, that's terrible. How did she die?”

  “She killed herself.”

  “Oh no, you're kidding?”

  “No.”

  “Are you okay?”

  I think about my answer. Do I tell her the truth?

  She speaks next.

  “Well – maybe you should take some time off.”

  “And do what, mom?”

  “I don't know! Visit your parents. Visit your sister in California. Something to take your mind off your friend.”

  I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. I need help, but how?

  Then I get a call waiting beep.

  “Is that your phone, Em?”

  “Yeah, I guess I got to go, mom.”

  “Okay, well I love you.”

  “I love you.”

  I hang up.

  “Hello?” I ask to the other caller.

  It's Rowan.

  “Hi, Em!” she says.

  “Hi,” I say, suddenly ecstatic.

  “I'm up in Philly today,” she says.

  “Thank god,” I murmur.

  “What?” She sounds confused.

  “Can I see you?”

  “Of course, that's why I called!”

  * * *

  I quickly shower and change before rushing out the door to meet Rowan in Rittenhouse Square. I arrive five minutes early. I am surprised at how empty the place is.

  Night has just fallen, it is that wonderful time when the world is aglow with electric light and everything starts to blister. I cast my eyes around and see Rowan on a street corner, smoking a cigarette. I feel it all, angst, desire, fear, longing, hope. The emotions crash over me. She is still goddamn beautiful. I can feel the light of her emanating from a hundred feet away.

  “Yo,” she says, pulling the cigarette out of her mouth and hugging me. I hug her back with a sort of desperation, inhaling her neck, and wrapping my arms around her back like I'm trying to pull myself out of water. Everything squeezes out of me with that hug and I know Ro can feel it.

  “You okay?” she asks, holding tightly to me.

  “I'm fine. Just REALLY glad to see you. Thanks for calling.”

  Rowan kisses me on the cheek, and our arms fall to our sides like loose ends. I find myself smiling and staring at her, her own smile almost a laugh, her eyes like pieces of a blue sky. It's been years since I've seen her; it feels like hardly a minute has passed. She is completely different from Lin. She is blond, and bubbly. She is smart and funny, totally refreshing.

  Rowan is wearing a red summer dress and she looks spectacular. Her hair is up – it's hot out. Her bouncy ponytail dangles from the back of her head. I always thought pony tails were for little girls, or for girls at the gym, but Rowan makes it look sexy. I imagine grabbing hold of it and yanking it backwards as I expose that lily white neck to my lips. She has the slightest hint of makeup on. I can see it on her lips, matching the red of her dress, and a little shimmery stuff on her eyes. Her nails are painted red. On her feet are a pair of high-top black vinyl sneakers. This girl is not what she seems.

  “How are you?” Her lips curl playfully to one side.

  Staring at her mouth I say, “I could use a cigarette.”

  “Ah, nasty habit” Rowan teases. “Me needs it. Me wants it.”

  “That's right,” I agree. Rowan starts to dig in her purse for her pack. I wave her off pulling my own pack out of my pocket.

  “I will take a light though.” I do have my own lighter in my pocket but the idea of having her hands with those little cherry red finger nails that close to my face brings a stirring to my groin. When was the last time I was hard?

  In the flash of the fire I cup her hand holding the lighter, my hand trembles slightly. Rowan watches me, taking a long drag from her cigarette, blowing out a plume of blue smoke.

  “Still haven't quit yet?”

  “I did quit,” I answer. “I just started again recently.”

  “Why?”

  “I don't know,” I lie.

  Her lips press together tightly; she doesn't believe me.

  “So,” she says, “Are you going to tell me about this dead girl?”

  “I'd rather talk about a living girl,” I say, casting my eyes in her direction. I guess I'm trying to be sexy, but I feel feeble.

  She laughs.

  “Oh, are you sure talking is the only thing you want to do?” She bites her lip and stares me down. She moves more expertly. We are quickly falling back into the comforts of our old relationship.

  I blush and shrug. Does she find me attractive still? I am still a twig after all these years, and I didn't bother shaving.

  Awkwardness hangs in the air.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I am fucking starving,” Rowan says, grabbing my hand. “Let's go. “She tosses her cigarette into the gutter and drags me down the street, I have to do a quick step t
o keep up with her and throw my cig after hers.

  Silence crowds me as the nervousness sets in. I'm thinking about the possibilities that face me. Rowan wants to have sex, I'm sure of it. All that lip biting kind of gave her away. I'm nervous thinking about it. I am not sure I am in the right head space to have sex. Will I even be able to get it up? Not to mention Rowan and I have never actually fully consummated our relationship except for oral sex and a lot of petting.

  This feels like it's all inevitable. I get my nerves together. Rowan stops abruptly outside a cute little Italian restaurant.

  “How about in here? They have an accordion player.”

  “Okay,” I tell her. I follow her in and let the chips fall where they may.

  After we sit down, my nerves calm down.

  “Iced tea, please,” Rowan tells the waitress. She was never a drinker in high school. I ask for a beer. The waitress departs and Rowan smiles at me.

  “Are you dating anyone?” she asks.

  “No, no. Not for a while at least.”

  “That's sad.”

  “It's okay,” I mutter. “What about you?”

  “Me?” she asks. “Honey, don't get me started,” she laughs. Then she goes dead serious.

  “I've missed you, Em.”

  “I've missed you too.”

  “I don't have anyone… around here anymore. Everybody's moved away or gotten married and left the planet. I don't have any of my old friends here… and I miss them …and I just feel like they all grew up and I didn't.”

  “I know what you mean,” I say. “My life is a little out of control right now too.”

  “Because of that girl who died?”

  “I told you I didn't want to talk about her. I want to talk about you.”

  “I don't believe you,” Rowan says.

  “Yeah,” I confess.

  “How come you never felt like that about me?” she asks.

  Her question is heavy. I shake my head thoughtfully. “I don't know.”

  “You're crazy, you know?”

  “Yeah…”

  “I like that,” she says, smiling at me and reaching under the table to touch my knee.

  * * *

  Rowan's hand on my knee brings me back to another time. She touched my knee, many years ago, when we were eighteen and high, dressed for prom, drinking whiskey at 'The Train Tracks'. We used to hang out there doing usual teenage stuff, drinking, smoking, getting high.

  While we talked, we began to drunkenly flirt. The moment she touched my knee an electric spark shot up my thigh into my crotch. Soon, when a train came, my friends jumped to one side of the tracks to avoid it. Rowan and I stayed on the other, I kissed her, surprising both of us. I brushed my lips clumsily against hers and laid my hand on her hip, pulling her towards me. I kept my eyes open and watch her as the train rushed past. Finally, I broke the kiss and we stared at each other.

  “What the fuck, Emerson?” she asked, laughing above the roar of the locomotive.

  “I don't know,” I laughed back.

  Rowan and I didn't speak another word of what happened, just sat close together as we continued to drink.

  The night passed, we eventually retired to a friend's house to pass out. Instead of sleeping, she and I hooked up in a room together while our friends slept. We lay on a mattress on the floor, her back to me. I kissed her neck as I reached under her shirt to squeeze her breasts. She made no noise, and did not turn to kiss me. When I found the courage to venture my hand up her thigh. She was wet.

  I was bonkers because of the whiskey of course, not to mention the weed, but I played with her pussy anyway. It was the first time I had ever touched a girl. I did not want to stop. For minutes my fingers dipped into her folds while she pressed her hips back into mine, until finally the world spun too fast and I withdrew my hand, and we passed out.

  It was an experience I'll never forget. Sadly, while that pleasure lingered, our friendship did not; she ran off to college, and I ran off to San Francisco.

  We saw each other again when her mom died while Rowan was in college. I, of course, came back for the funeral with the rest of my friends to help comfort her. I knew I had not talked with her for some time, but I also knew we were connected.

  After the funeral, Rowan approached me and invited me to her mother's house for lunch since they were not having a reception for friends and family. I agreed, not wanting Rowan to be alone on the day she buried her mom. We entered her quiet house with the sad knowledge that it would never again know the sound of her mother.

  Ro made me lunch – tuna salad on rye, with potato chips and pickle. We ate together in silence.

  When we were done, she stood and meandered over to the piano, which I knew she played very well. She sat and played a few mismatched notes and chords.

  “Do you want to play something?” she asked. “I still have that guitar you used to play.”

  “Sure!” I said. It had been a while since I had played music.

  “I'll get it!” she said, running upstairs. It gave me a moment to enjoy the quiet of the house, which although suffocating, felt calming.

  She came back with the guitar and I took it in my hands. I strummed a few chords to check to see if it was in tune, then smiled at her.

  “What do you want to play?” I asked.

  “Mmmmm,” she said. “Pink Floyd. Remember any songs?”

  “I might,” I said.

  We played clumsily finding an intimate sentiment in the music. She clanged at the piano and I strummed chords; we sang together, albeit slightly off key. It would have been ugly if anybody but us was listening to it, but they weren't. It was ours and ours alone.

  We both made it onto the couch and into each other's arms. Knowing it was the right moment, I kissed her. She murmured joyfully though my lips. She broke the kiss and caressed my face with her hand.

  “I don't want to make love,” she said. “I don't think I could handle it. I don't want you to do anything to me, I just want to do something for you, alright?”

  “Alright,” I told her.

  She unzipped and pulled down my pants and took my dick out of my underwear. I was hard as hell, throbbing, it was almost painful.

  “I like your penis,” she said, stroking me. “It makes me happy right now. It's so warm.”

  “It likes you too,” I said.

  “I hope so,” she laughed.

  She moved down and took me into her hot mouth.

  “Wait,” I said. “You don't have to, we don't have to do this.”

  Rowan pulled me out of her mouth and was dreadfully serious.

  “I want to, Em. I really need this right now, okay?”

  “Okay,” I told her.

  She quickly went back to what she had been doing. I had never experienced such good oral sex before. The tactile sensations were incredible. I thrust gently into her hand and lips, helping the process, until I could feel the orgasm coming. Without warning I moaned and ruptured, cumming in her mouth. As the orgasm flared I could see my semen dripping out of the sides of her mouth and back onto her hand as she continued to stroke and lick me.

  “Oh god,” I exclaimed as the pleasure faded.

  My penis dropped from her lips, and she wiped her mouth. “You're welcome, Em!”

  “Thank you,” I gasped. “That was amazing.”

  After a few minutes she made her confession.

  “I'm moving to Chicago,” she said. “For a boy.”

  “Chicago?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” she said. “It doesn't have to be for forever, but it's for right now, that's for sure.”

  * * *

  The waiter brings us our plates of food and we dine. As we eat she asks about my family, and about what gossip I've heard about the rest of our friends. I talk, grateful to finally be out of my own head for a few hours. As I talk she holds her pretty face in her hands as she listens to me, her eyes light up. She is actually listening. I try to remember the last time someone really listened to what I said. It has been a long time.