Sleep Is Death

Ethan

Five years had passed since I left Columbia.

When I took the trip, I was more excited than nervous. It's funny how quickly my happiness turned to dread when I was a few miles past the Julian, California sign.

I saw John Deer tractors obstructing traffic, and jalopies behind the bus. There were so many trees that I was convinced the town was founded and built somewhere deep in the woods.

I even made up a backstory.

'An old man, his wife, and two kids traveled to California from Illinois in 1758. She was a seamstress, he was a shoemaker, and their daughter and son helped them respectively.

The town was named after the son posthumously shortly after they moved there.'

My imagination kept me from dwelling on what I left behind. Whenever I thought of Anna, I closed my eyes and imagined myself as a pioneer.

I pictured my blonde and blue hair tightly curled and coiffed, and my body hidden under layers upon layers of different colors and textures.

I smelled the lemon perfume and heard my music box. In my mind, I was sitting in front of a vanity and felt the chalk against my fingers when I smoothed the flyaways.

I had a family: three girls, two boys, and a husband who worked as a coal miner.

It all reminded me of Kristin and her Sims collection.

The bus stopped at a Greyhound station close to a neighborhood that hadn't been renovated since the Victorian Era. Each house was at least two stories high and had clay-red siding and white roof trim.

When we stopped for the restroom, I saw an ad in the newspaper about a vacant room.

The place was a bit old from the outside. The steps creaked under my shoes as I approached the door but the wicker swing seat seemed to be the newest addition to the porch.

I knocked until a stout woman answered. Her thinning, dark brown hair was in a tight bun behind her head. I looked at her nose—the size of the bottom of a king carrot—and her thin lips.

Her brown face was more droopy than wrinkled and she had moles here and there. They weren't the kind kids would stare at but I had to stop myself from counting each one.

"May I help you?" Her voice was gravelly, sounding like a long-time tobacco user who'd talk with an electrolarynx.

"I'm here for the upstairs room. My name's Helen." She crossed her meaty arms and stared me up and down. I remember her wearing a dingy black t-shirt and a denim maxi skirt that hid her feet.

"How old are 'ya," she asked, and I furrowed my eyebrows so briefly that it'd be missed in a blink.

"I'm twenty-one," I told her and she raised an eyebrow.

"Twenty-one?" When I said yes, she took a deep breath as she relaxed her face. "Okay, well, it's still available, but I've been getting offers all day. It's five hundred a month, you'll have access to the guest kitchen and the room comes with a bathroom." As she spoke, I stared over her shoulder at the foyer. I could only see the chandelier and vintage wallpaper. "Would you like a tour?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said, and she stepped aside before I could finish. "But, I can't afford five hundred."

"Well, what're you doing at my door?" She stood in front of me again, ready to slam the door in my face.

"Wait!" I threw my palm against it before it could swing halfway. "Please," I spoke softly, and she slowly reopened it. Her face was tightly scrunched and it didn't relax for a moment. "I just moved here and I need a place to stay until I can start my job."

She tilted up her chin and asked, "What job?"

"At the hospital," I lied without a moment to think. "I was hired last week, so that's why I'm here. I promise you I can pay, but not until I start working."

She looked at my luggage, then at me and said, "You only have suitcases," but it sounded like a question.

I followed her eyes and as I stared at the handle of my suitcase, that's when my brain began to slow. I said, "I – wanted to travel light."

"What's the name of the hospital?" I blanked out. I didn't know much about California and Julian was as foreign as it got. I didn't bother to research anything other than the room and that was only one newspaper ad of information. "Get away from my door before I call the police."

"Please, I have no place to go." My voice cracked, my throat began to ache with pins and needles, and my eyes burned. "I'm sorry for lying, but I didn't know what else to say,"

"Maybe lead with the truth and stick to that." I let my shoulders slump over and my face hang. I felt like a child being told off by their grandparent. "This isn't a soup kitchen nor is it a shelter."

"Ms. Hanes, don't be so heartless." We looked behind myself and my expression shifted when I saw a lanky man around my age walking up the steps.

"Ethan, where were you?" She crossed her arms again, and he stood on the step right behind me.

"I had to stay overnight to finish a column. I told Nancy to tell you," he dragged his words as if he wasn't sure he did. She didn't say anything, just looked at me and he did too. "So, about her."

"What about her?" She scanned me like I was a filthy rag. "She's not staying here."

"Ms. Hanes," he mumbled, tilting his head and looking at her over his thin glasses.

"Ms. Hanes, nothing." She dropped her arms and set her hands on her wide hips. "I'd already made up my mind. You need to get in this house before you no longer have a room."

"I understand you're upset, but she says she needs a place to stay," he argued without once raising his voice, and neither did she. "I can pay you for her until she can take over."

"No," she calmly said. He pinched his nose bridge and took a deep breath.

"Please," he begged, and that was my breaking point. I watched them bicker over me and it angered me. I felt like an object—like a parking meter between an officer and the civilian receiving a ticket.

"Enough!" She flinched, but they listened to me. "I don't need charity from anyone and I can speak for myself!"

It was so quiet I could hear chatter from down the street, wind whistling, and a plane flying in the distance. I should've stayed in Columbia, that's what I thought at that moment.

I turned and walked my luggage down the steps past Ethan. He set his hands in his jeans pockets.

"Where will you go," he asked and I took a deep breath before facing him.

"I'll figure it out." I shrugged. When they didn't say anything, I took a few steps down the sidewalk.

"Young lady, stop," her voice carried down the street and I stopped moving. I turned to her. "Listen, I'll give you a month free."

"I don't want any handouts," I mumbled.

"Good because I'm not looking to give any." Ethan leaned against the column and listened to us. "What skills do you have?"

"I worked as a janitor, so I know how to clean." Ethan glanced at her, and her gaze didn't soften. "I've lived by myself for years, so I know how to cook."

She took me in with one condition: I would take the room in the attic.