Insomniambulism

Originally written Saturday, January 7, 2006

I was supposed to get together with Patrick and Dennis this morning for our usual weekend lessons, but Patrick called before I left the house to tell me to meet him at Trudy’s. I arrived to find him, Trudy, and a very beaten-down-looking Moshe playing cards at a heavily duct-taped folding table. The mismatched chairs they occupied were evidence of a long night of dumpster-diving. Trudy motioned to me to take the one empty seat. Moshe practically rolled his eyes when he saw me.

“So,” I said. “Someone’s got a tale to tell.”

I hadn’t directed the comment to anyone in particular, but Moshe immediately drew up his defenses. “Not me.”

“Not unless you want to hear him bitch about his headache again,” clarified Trudy. “But if you do, couldja take ‘im somewhere else? I’m sick of hearing about it.”

“God, isn’t there a version of Tylenol for the underground market?” Moshe whined into the hands he held over his face. “These don’t do shit.” He knocked a little plastic bottle off of the table. It rolled into a corner, one remaining tablet rattling around inside.

“I told you they wouldn’t. I told him,” Trudy assured me.

“How long have you been back? Have you tried to get some sleep?”

He glared at me through pained and narrow eyes. He plainly didn’t care to waste his time with me and my pointless questions; the card game appeared to be distracting him from his suffering. “What’s it been? Two? Three nights?” he asked the others.

“We picked him up Wednesday night,” Patrick said. It seemed like quite a while for no one to have contacted me.

“I couldn’t sleep right now if I tried. I mean, I have been trying. I just feel like I’ve been asleep for two weeks.”

“Huh. Maybe you have been,” I speculated.

“He was up and walking around when we found him,” said Trudy, not catching that I’d been hypothesizing about the effect of being under the spell.

“Where?”

“Applewood, of course. Near the diner,” said Patrick. I looked at him directly for the first time since I’d come in and noticed he was wearing the charm around his neck. I didn’t know whether to laugh or lecture him. He caught me looking, though. “I have to keep it on. When I take it off, he goes all zombie-like again. Or if I go too far away.” The air mattress in the corner that I’d thought looked like one I’d seen at Patrick’s house must have been his after all.

“It’s been working, then?”

“I guess. I haven’t even been giving instructions with it or anything. It just keeps me from getting sucked in when he’s under.”

“What about him?”

“Uh, we found him, um… drinking. A stoned girl. Her friends were in the diner, I guess. And she seemed, um… she seemed cool with it. Once I started talking to him, he snapped out of it. And so did she. Just tied her scarf around her neck and went back inside.”

The events of this day to be continued...