the series of r/nosleep | volume one: the {smile} series

{O}xazepam

The world is tipping, or topping, or maybe it's tip-topping down on itself. Hell, I don't know. All I can tell is it's spinning like a Ferris wheel and I gotta hold onto the side of this building to keep from falling – oh look, a tiny little flying white bug. Hello, pretty bug –

"What are you doing?"

"I'm pissin'. Can't you see that?" But I'm not pissing. I'm done. Been done for awhile. I just spaced and forgot to zip up, and he's still staring at me. "What are you staring at, op-fficer?" Oops. That came out a little drunk. Lemme try that again, "Staring at me for what now, buddy, are you?"

This isn't going too well. I hiccup, fart, and try not to laugh.

"Is your room around here?" he asks.

I shake my head no. "Yes," I say.

"Can you make it there on your own?"

I shake my head yes, and this time say yes. I give myself a thumbs up, lose my balance, and stagger against the wall. "Did you, did you just push me, man?"

"No."

"Oh." I look up and down the side of the building. "I coulda sworn somebody just – hey, are you really a cop? Cops wear guns. And badges! Like, silver stars. Not copper stars anymore. Copper! You know that's why you're called a cop?" I'm rambling, but my mouth stopped listening to my brain awhile ago. "I saw that on a tv show." I smile at him. His flashlight still shines in my face. When did he get a flashlight -?

"Are you meeting someone?"

I think about the answer and then get confused by the question. I try to shake my head yes and no at the same time and make myself dizzy. I lean my back against the wall and feel warm air on my crotch. "Oops!" I say, but it comes out like a wet belch. I'm fumbling with my zipper, but every time I look down the ground swims away from me. "I – I think I have vertigo." I teeter forwards and almost fall. He catches my shoulder with one hand. "You've got pretty nails," I blurt. "I mean, for a guy cop and all."

"Do you have any family?"

"That's a – that's a weird question to be askin' somebody, dontcha think?" I poke him in his stupid blue chest with my finger.

"No."

"Oh," I say. "Good point." I manage to pull the zipper halfway up. Close enough. "I got a brother. And a mom." I scratch my head. "I got a dad too, but I never met him." I look up at him but that dumb light is in my eyes. "I met him, maybe. But I don't remember. He died." I'm falling forward again. I never realized how hard standing upright really is. "He died eating pie. Isn't that funny?"

"No."

"Well – well maybe you just don't have a sense of hummer. Humor." I'm laughing. "I said hummer, didn't I?"

The inn's neon street sign is fading like it's being pulled out into the horizon on the back of a bus.

"I was on a bus today," I say. I hear a scraping sound at my feet, but don't look. S'no good looking at this point. The earth doesn't want to be seen. Swims away and away and away. I catch myself doing the breaststroke with my arms. "Sammy's the swimmer. When we were little we both fell into a pool. Sammy swam over and pulled me out. He was only 3 or 4 or maybe we were 10. I don't know." I try to scratch my head but my arm is being stubborn. "I have a feeling my body doesn't like me anymore." I laugh but it pinches in my chest. A bright star shoots through the sky and comes to rest in a dark square in front of us. "Did you see that?"

I blink. The star becomes a light bulb. It was always a light bulb. It's a light bulb in a room. It gets bigger and bigger, or – "Am I floating?"

The scraping stops. The light bulb doesn't move.

"That's not the only time Sammy saved me from drownin', you know." My tongue is thick and it takes a lot of effort to talk. "Been sober for fifteen years now. I got the coin and everything." I try to dig it out of my pocket but my arms are still being rude. "Do – do ya mind helpin' me out." I turn my head and see the man holding me up by my armpit. "Thanks." I turn my head to the second man holding my other arm. "Thanks," I say. My chin droops forward and I feel myself droolin'. I look back to the first man. "Your friend doesn't talk much, does he?"

The scraping sound starts again. The light bulb gets closer.

"He sells the stuff but won't touch it. A bartender that doesn't drink, like a cop who's not a cop. Like you," I say. Or think. Probably think. My mouth isn't listening to me anymore. "You're just a guy in a shirt." My eyelids are heavy. I want to say I'm sleepy. I want to tell the men to drop me off at my room, but I'm sitting now. Sitting in a dark room with a big cabinet at my back. A dark room on a concrete floor and it's so dry in here.

My eyelids are heavy.

"I don't drink anymore," I try to say, but it slips through cracking lips as "I don tink tanymor." My eyelids flutter. The light bulb star dangles on a string to heaven. White angels float around the glowing orb. "Do you see the angels?" I ask shocking myself a little with the clarity.

"Every day," the first man says with a laugh.

The other man is crouched down in front of me. He's pulling off my shoes. "You don't have to do that," I think at him. "I've slept in my boots before."

His eyes are wet. He's very old. I recognize him.

A smile tugs at my lips. "Can I have another glass of water?" I ask.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"S'okay," I mumble. He was nice enough to give me the first glass when I met him in the parking lot. Can't go moochin' off of everybody.

The other man pours a cup of nails into my lap.

"I can't," the old man says.

"Can't what?" I try to say, but it's so damn dry in here. Feels like I'm chewin' on chalk. The little angels are dancing closer now.

The first man crouches down and pulls off my shirt. He smells like iron and dust. He puts his face inches from mine. One eye is the color of the pool I fell into as kid. The other eye is the color of the drink I fell into as an adult. Pursed lips separate into a smile that grows, catching waves of skin in thick folds of red splotched dermis. His head tilts like he's studying me as his cheeks stretch up and past his ears. He leans in closer and puts his face next to mine.

"Angels don't have wings," he whispers into my ear; his lips brush the edge of my skin. "But you will."