April 6, 2012
I had the crappiest night's sleep yet. I woke up on the lounge chair, feet up, and reclined back with both boys cuddled beside me. It was almost midnight; I wish I'd turned into a pumpkin. I got both boys in their beds and felt relief that I had a moment to think, breathe, stretch, or whatever. I didn't know what to do. So I decided I'd take a shower. It had been a few days. After the shower, I lay on the bigger of the 2 couches because that couch could accommodate my 6' 2" body. I decided to finish watching what was left of the movie Gladiator playing on HBO.
As I turned my attention back and forth from the TV to my iPhone, I heard my youngest son, "Baby," cry, proceeding with his bedroom door slamming and a loud noise coming down the hallway. His silhouette appeared from the darkness, and the bright light of the television illuminated his body behind him as he ran towards me. I saw in his hands the source of the loud clanking noise. It was the fire truck I bought him at Wal-Mart the other day. "Baby" had yet to let it go, as if it was a wobble or his teddy bear. He jumped into my arms, and in doing so, he kicked the missing remote lying next to me on the floor, which I could not see due to the overall darkness. "Good deal," I thought. "I can't be watching Gladiator now."
I noticed that Judd Apatow was appearing on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon via Twitter, so I decided to watch that. My mind wandered, and I thought of Jimmy Kimmel (sorry, Fallon) because Mimie and I would watch him and laugh at his damn skits. Missing her and feeling the anxiety of her loss, I decided to text her sister, Kim. She texted me back.
Mimie's family has been mad at me and disappointed since all this happened 3 weeks ago. Still, Kim has kept the line of communication open to me and listened to me moan over her sister's loss.
The feeling of loss has tripled because I mourn for my boys, too. The boys don't know how to mourn the loss of their mother. So, between the texting, "Baby," Twitter, and television, I heard Nico waking up with tiny cries. I looked at the time, and it was 1:16am. He, too, came running over to me, jumping on my right side and quickly falling asleep. I had to stretch out. I needed just a little space. I missed the rest of Late Night because I was devising a plan to escape.
Finally, I scooted out from underneath them and ended up on the small couch, where I had to drape my legs from my knees over the arm of the sofa. Nice. I turned off the television and decided to sleep. But Baby had other ideas. Realizing I was gone, he sat up. The light in the kitchen dimly lit the room, so I could see his pale face. He crawled over Nico and made his way to me. I didn't budge. I let him curl next to me and allowed him to fall asleep. I looked at the cable box clock, the green light so glaring, and I saw it was 2:36am.
I slid out from him, and the uncomfortableness of the small couch, made my way back to the larger couch. My legs were like jello. The blood seemed to stop at the bend in my knees, and my blood-starved muscles below the knee weren't quite ready for my 220lbs of weight. So I crawled back to the oversized couch and curled next to Nico. Ironically, I tossed and turned, and before I knew it, I woke up at 7:50am. Both boys were lying on top of me. Time to devise a new plan for sleeping at night.
655 words
© Copyright 2012- 2024 Captain Imperfecto, LLC. All rights reserved. This material may not be republished, rewritten or redistributed without permission. Please contact if you would like to re-publish in film, television or print.
Christopher Fusaro is the author of Captain Imperfecto.
© copyright 2012. All rights reserved.
Comments
Post a Comment