I slept for a hundred years beneath a tangled blanket of moss before he woke me. When I imagine that sleep now, I picture myself wading into a lake at night. The waves lull me into a tantalizing forgetfulness, lapping against my thighs, ballooning my little-girl nightgown. It's so easy to ignore the chilly water and the sift of the sand under my feet. And then, the shore slips away! And then, you fall into a space where stars flit silver-finned like fish and where there is a dark deeper than the womb. I drowned in that sleep for a hundred years.
It's been ten months since Dr. Princeton woke me and for the longest time, I felt afraid to close my eyes. I'd think up excuses to stay awake. I'd brush my hair for hours or read best-selling suspense novels or do headstands against the wall. Of course, I couldn't avoid snoozing every once in a while but I'd always set an alarm clock and nestle it close against my ear. The good doctor won't let me take any chances.
Dr. Princeton is a very patient man. He spends most of his time waiting for me to do something peculiar. Until I comply, he is very accommodating to my needs but expectant, too attentive. His owl eyes scan my face, half-hidden beneath the sheen of square glasses. When I've behaved in a suitably outlandish or infantile fashion, he rushes off to write the full account. This is his contribution to science. The doctor also intends publish his manuscript on my unique mental disorder. He said he'll title it The Sleeping Beauty Syndrome, indulging me in a tight smile. The name appeals to my vanity and of course, his agent adores it.
Dr. Princeton and I take trips upon occasion. Sometimes I go meet the press so they can ask me pre-approved questions and snap a picture. Sponsors give us free tickets to the theatre, the museum or the circus and when we arrive, they snap a picture. The doctor takes photographs of me too, every morning to document our progress. I tell him that having my picture taken makes me tired. He says that is the voice of my disorder.
The first time we went to the supermarket I started to cry in the frozen foods section. Dr. Princeton asked me what was wrong.
"I never felt so cold."
He handed me his wool jacket.
I dropped it on the floor.
He bent over and plucked it off the ground, belly spilling over his golden belt buckle. "Why did you do that?"
"I don't know."
"You do know."
What I did know was that when we got back to the apartment, he'd rush off and record everything.
Tomorrow I'm going take a stroll in the ravine near his apartment. The leaves are rusty and wrinkled now, just sad rubbish from the trees. I want to collect them up in a pile. In an hour, you could gather enough leaves to stuff a mattress. I'll lie down and crush the leaves against my back. A daddy-long-leg will dally upon my cheek and stilt-walk away. A hushed breeze will pour over me in waves. Yes, this time I am certain I will drown for a thousand years.
Back to prose - main
Discuss this work in our Forum