Dreams of the Sleepless

Dreamless Sleep

I hadn't worked this hard in a long time. My back was sore, and my hands burned with blisters. The sun was now high in the sky, and it was a blast furnace outside. My only salvation was working under the shade of the long front porch with a slight breeze blowing through. The combination of the work and the heat had the same effect as body blows to a prizefighter. After a while, they just beat you down.

I took a break around noon when Eli brought out a plate of sandwiches and more cold beer. We sat on the front porch eating and drinking. The sandwich was simple - bread, mayonnaise, country-cured ham sliced thin, cheddar cheese, lettuce and fresh tomato. I hadn't had much to eat in the past two days. The saltiness of the ham played well against the sweetness of the juicy, ripe tomato. It tasted like the best sandwich ever. 

As we ate, Eli gave me a brief history of Bethany Crossing. It seems that, during colonial times, a wealthy farmer owned most of the land in the area. On this spot, a well-traveled trail headed west intersected with another dirt road that carried travelers north and south. Over time, the farmer built a small inn where the roads intersected and named the inn after his daughter, Bethany. As the years passed, it became known as Bethany Crossing. Once a prosperous little town, it was now just one of several struggling communities in Jefferson County. This was not the most interesting lecture, but I listened carefully, relieved to be off the topic of me.

After lunch, I carried down the last shutter. I was sore and tired from the work on the ladder, so I decided to change things up and began scraping off loose paint. This was just as exhausting as I had envisioned, but at least I was working on the ground level. Tomorrow I would tackle the higher spots. My plan was to complete one side of the house at a time. This was monotonous work and at least it would allow a little variety if I scraped, primed and then painted one side before moving to the next. It would also keep the front of the house from looking splotchy for days on end.

After six hours of climbing, hefting, and scraping, I was whipped, nothing left. I knocked on the screen door and waited for Eli. He shuffled out and down from the porch to inspect my work. He just stood for a moment slowly nodding his head in approval as he scanned the front of the house.

"Well, John Smith, you're doing a fine job. A mighty fine job." He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a worn, wrinkled leather wallet, shuffled through a few bills and papers, and pulled out a twenty and two fives. "Normally, I'd wait until the end of the week, but I know that you could use the cash so here's today's pay." I held out my hand, but he came just short of laying the bills in it. With the money hovering just above my palm, he commented soberly, "Now, don't leave me with a job that's half done." He flashed that wry smile again and then placed the money in my hand.

I wasn't sure that I would even be able to move tomorrow, but I said, "Don't worry. I'll be back to finish the job."

He smiled. "Can you be here at seven tomorrow?"

Without comment I held up my wristwatchless arm.

He looked puzzled at first, but then a smile of realization came across his face, and he nodded. "Let me rephrase that. Can you be here early tomorrow?"

I said I could and then turned to leave.

The old man held up his hand to stop me. "Hold on." He disappeared into the house. He returned a few moments later with a sandwich in a zip lock bag and a bottle of beer. He offered them to me saying that he figured I would need supper. I thanked him and headed toward my little dirt lane with my supper in hand. I didn't quite understand what was going on with the old man, but where earlier I had nothing, I now had money in my pocket and food in hand. I would take it.

Exhausted and hot once I reached the cabin, I took a cold shower. The water pressure was little more than a trickle, but, to me, it was a luxurious spa. After a long, slow, cold shower, I put on a clean shirt and pair of shorts. I lay down on the bed trying to make sense of the day. For months, I had wandered from place to place like a man sleepwalking, numb, no emotions. Suddenly, today I felt anger and rage. In the past, other people were just things to be avoided, sometimes annoyances, but mostly flat shadows. Today, I actually found the old man to be interesting. He was prying and aggravating, but also interesting. I wondered what his story was. Why did he latch onto me? It seemed that he found me as intriguing as I found him. Although our circumstances were very different, I suspected that we had something unseen in common.

After my sandwich and beer supper, I pulled one of the chairs from the cabin outside and watched as the sun slid slowly behind the trees. The fragrance of wild honeysuckle hung heavy in the air. It was just as intoxicating as when I was a boy enticed to taste its sweetness as I pulled apart the delicate flowers, touching my tongue to the drop of nectar inside. As the darkness crawled through the woods and engulfed the cabin, an ever-louder chorus of frogs and insects rose. I sat with my eyes closed as one listening to a familiar hymn. There was something calming and comforting in this loud cacophony. The concert was short lived as the mosquitoes soon found me, and I hurried into the shelter of the cabin.

The air conditioner had done its job, and the little place was comfortably cool. I turned it off and the clattering stopped. I lay on the bed, listening to the muffled sounds of the night. Slowly, the lullaby worked its magic. I was sure that toiling in the heat all day would lead me into a deep and dreamless sleep that would last the night.

I was wrong.

----- Author's Note -----

What could the narrator and Eli have in common?

Several times in the story, the narrator goes back to his childhood.  Why do you think that is a counterpoint to his current life?

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