The Sleep Part I: The Fan & The Things That Hit It

Chapter 5: Invention, Necessity & All That

Mom works in TV. 

 She’s a producer for The News Hour with Bart Cullings.  

She’s always super busy. Whenever something happens (like a war or a political scandal) she’s away from home all the time. To be honest I don’t really see her that much. Like, if she was awake and all this was going on, there’s no way she’d be at home. She’d be pulling an all night shift at the station. But then again, if she was awake, there wouldn’t be a situation in the first place. Whatever.

I’m probably closer to Dad. But Mom’s office (the Channel Three TV studios) are right downtown, whereas Dad works in a suburb not far from here. And if my hours of disaster-movie-watching have taught me anything, downtown is not the place to be. 

Darcy and Jin are asleep upstairs. I write a note for them, just in case I’m not back by the time they wake up.

Darcy, Jin. I’ve gone out for a few hours. I’ll be back soon. I have my phone. Play XBOX if you want. 

DON’T LEAVE THE HOUSE

E.V.

I’m not really sure what to pack on a rescue mission. Unlike in the movies I don’t have a safe in my closet with a gun, satellite phone and a dozen foreign passports/ 

I run to the kitchen and grab the first things I find: a bottle of apple juice and a granola bar. 

Hardcore. 

My bike is way cooler than I am. I got it a few birthdays ago. It’s a re-creation olive-green classic roadster, complete with basket, bell and spotlights.

Originally, I had visions of riding whimsically through cherry trees, wearing a summer dress, my hair flowing in the wind.

But I soon realized that summer dresses have a tendency to flair up and reveal my panties to the world. And cherry trees don’t even grow in this suburb.

So my cool bike spends most of its time neglected in the garage, next to Dad’s carbon-elite-mid-life-crises silver bike. (Which, after a brief obsession with the local cycling club, is also collecting dust in the garage. I’m not complaining, his MAMIL phase (Middle Aged Man In Lycra) was embarrassing.)

Un-whimsically, I kick off down the street. Hair not flowing. Terrified.

“Bear left on Pickles Street,” GPS lady tells me. 

I do as I’m told.

I wonder what I’ll find downtown? Will people be looting, or rioting, or shooting each other?

At least some kids look like they’re having fun. Near Sierra’s house I pass a group of thirteen year olds… skateboarding… on a roof. A few blocks later I stop to admire a front yard, covered entirely by a blanket fort.

A dog barks and almost startles me off my bike. It sets off a chain reaction of howling and yelping around the neighborhood. They must be getting hungry. Oh god.

“Turn right onto Snowy Creek Trail.”

GPS lady has chosen the scenic route. Interesting.

Snowy Creek Park is a local virginity threat. The fact that Chads’ house backs onto it is a contributing factor.

I pass several public barbecue areas, cross the creek on yet another local-council-statement bridge, and my pedaling is interrupted by really, loud dub-step.

I turn off my bikes spotlight, creep up to Chad’s back fence and peer through a gap in the boards.

Talk about cliché. The backyard is absolutely packed full of people. There’s booze everywhere, Sierra’s minions are on the shoulders of two hockey players (in the pool), the gifted-and-talented mega-nerds have snuck in and are trying not to be noticed while Chad and Sierra argue in the back corner.