“I’ve been sleeping badly lately. I’ve been having nightmares. Not every night, just, like, sometimes.”
Angela stared at the screen. Keeping a blog had seemed like a great idea, but now that she’d started it, she had no idea what to write.
I have nightmares, she thought. Wow, yeah, that’s great. Nobody cares about my nightmares.
How could express the sense of creeping dread she felt when she woke from her nightmares? There were no words to express the tightness in her chest, the unease in her mind. The feeling that she was being watched when she woke up, gasping for breath.
She sighed, stared at the screen, and continued her blog entry.
“I didn’t used to have nightmares, before the accident.”
That’s enough of that, she told herself. But I didn’t have this until the accident. It’s fair to say that it’s related. I did die. They resuscitated me in the ambulance. Then there was a medically induced coma. It’s related.
But she didn’t want to seem fixated on the accident. She gave her friends this blog address. And her mom.
Another sigh.
“Keeping busy keeps my mind off it. I’ve started working again, at the paper. Back to editing - I don’t have the stamina to be out in the field yet as even a junior correspondent. Raul, my physical therapist, tells me that will come soon enough now that my cast is off. :-)”
Angela published her post. She stared at the bed, shook her head, and decided to stay up as long as she could. She couldn’t face another nightmare like last night’s. Whatever it had been.
“It’s been a while since I’ve written. Work has been really busy - one of the other editors got laid off. The paper is switching to more free-lance editors. You’d think they would have arranged contracts with more of them before laying off the full-timers, but they didn’t. The extra income is nice - I have so much medical debt from the accident. But the long hours are making it hard to get to physical therapy.”
Angela paused to take a sip of coffee, and consider what to say next.
“I haven’t had a nightmare in three weeks. I think maybe it’s okay, maybe they won’t be back. I’m not so nervous about going to sleep, finally.”
Pitifully short, Angela concluded. But she didn’t have much to say right now. She stood stiffly, feeling a deep ache in her left hip and thigh. The benefits of physical therapy were slow, but thankfully noticeable as time progressed.
She walked to the kitchen, poured more coffee, and opened the refrigerator to get the milk. The sight of an ear of corn on the bottom shelf sent a chill down her spine, and her muscles tensed.
Since when am I afraid of corn? she asked herself. Strange.
She added milk to her coffee, and returned to her computer.
“I have strange flashes of fear at unexpected things. I thought at first it was related to the accident, but not all of it is. I’m afraid when I see corn. When I see a split-rail fence. When I see the moon bright in the sky. Why am I afraid of these simple things? The accident was in town. We don’t even have cornfields around here. What is triggering this fear?”
She sighed. She reread the last paragraph twice before deciding the delete it. No one else needed to be bothered with this. Her mom had too much going on with her brother, Lance, to let her be bothered with all this.
She hit the Publish button on her short post, and took her coffee into the bathroom to run a shower.
Angela woke, breathing hard. Her nightshirt clung unpleasantly to her skin. Cloth ripped as she she pulled it off over her head, desperate to be rid of its restrictiveness.
She dumped it in the laundry hamper by the door on the way into the small bathroom, and started the shower, as hot as could tolerate.
She stepped in, letting the water run over her head, down her body, comforting her. Angela was no stranger to nightmares, but since the accident they left her shaken in a way nothing had before.
What’s wrong with me?
She lost track of time, but got out when dawn’s sherbet orange light started showing through the narrow window. An exclamation of pain escaped her lips as she dried her upper right arm.
I must have scratched myself in my sleep.
The scratch was long and thin, and didn’t really look like something she could have done with her own nails. But where else could it have come from?
“I was offered a news lead today. I was even told I could have a by-line. But, to my surprise, I didn’t want it. I actually prefer being an editor for the paper. I would have never expected that to be the case.
“I like the idea of work I can do anywhere, anytime. I don’t have to schedule interviews, and I don’t have to get up in the middle of the night if something interesting happens.
“I ran into my ex, Rob, earlier today near the chemistry lab. His lab meets at the same time mine does, but luckily we’re in different classes. He’s quite persistent, and I feel awkward telling him no so often. But I don’t want to go out with him again.
“He asked if there was someone new, and I told him the truth - there isn’t. Not even the idea of someone new. I’m still trying to get my life back on track after the accident - I don’t have time for dating.”504Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfAsyh0bInX
“I’ve finally finished my first semester back in college. It felt like a waste, since it was spent entirely retaking classes I was in the middle of when the accident happened. But I’m happy to say I’m back on track.”
Angela got up from the table to pour another cup of coffee. The nightmares had been back last night. She couldn’t remember anything at all, but she had scratched herself in her sleep again. This time, it was a deep gouge on her ankle. It felt sore, too, like she’d twisted it.
You can’t twist your ankle in your sleep, she told herself. You just slept with it on a bad angle or something.
She poured her coffee, pausing to look out the kitchen window. The view was nice - the city park across the street kept a small rose garden, and if she stood at the right angle, she could see it from this window. Even at night, it was pretty to see.
She took a step back to the table, wincing as she did. She was definitely going to have to wrap that ankle.
She sat down, staring at the screen. Should she mention the nightmares? She shook her head. She didn’t want to burden anyone else with something trivial like that.
But maybe it was time to keep a journal. If she wrote them down, maybe she could find a pattern to them.
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