A Portrait of Sleep
The hollow station became wider as it emptied out. I slid a homemade, zigzagged bookmark on the tattered edition of Catcher in the Rye. As the bus arrived, I packed the thin novel in my backpack, temporarily robbing Holden Caulfield of his escape as I made my own.
Weary t-shirts, hoodies, and jeans travelling alone made their way out of the terminal and into the joyride. I carried my oversized, blue duffel bag to the station agents as they dumped it inside the bottom of the bus along with the rest of the anonymous baggage.
I walked up the steps and showed my fifteen-hour trip ticket to the driver. I took off my backpack and slumped down a chair as my shoulders felt light once again. A tall, dark man wearing a black hoodie with his head masked sat next to me. He diverted his face away from me and pulled out a crumbled piece of plastic paper with scattered morsels. He used his fingers as tentacles, quickly consuming the contents of the baggie.
I felt his nerves settle as I pulled out the tangled headphones from my pocket. His head fell forward and rested comfortably on the seat in front of him. My music player resembled a digital, black harmonica. I turned it on, put my headphones in, and closed my eyes.
Departure time: 7:30 PM. The bus carried itself across state lines, mindlessly drifting through industrial cities. Clouds of fog blur the cover of night as my mind begins wearing out. I reach for my bag and pull out a piece of bread with stale turkey, browned lettuce, and dry tomatoes—the mayo doesn’t mask its lack of flavor. I chomp through it, and look out the window.
I arrive at a familiar setting,
shrouded by tall buildings and bright lights, seeking attention. The
bus stops, marking the end for some,
but not me. The station is different than the first—halls of
emptiness are replaced by shadows en
masse. The fluorescence of the atmosphere knocks me
into a state of vivid consciousness
for hours before the bus arrives.
Departure time: 12: 30 PM. The calm is
restored in the pitch-black dead of the bus. I force my
eyes closed but I still wander. The urban wasteland is replaced by a long trek
of shriveled trees
overtaken by the cold. The cold. I left my jacket in my bag,
and my sweater feels damp. I curl into a
ball sideways, trying to release my
own body heat unto myself.
I find solace in a corn muffin and a
warm bottle of orange juice during the seemingly endless
night. I manage to doze off without
realizing it at 3:32 AM. My brain shuts down and I finally
manage to sleep. I see my eyelashes
coalesced as I open my eyes. My throat is scratchy, my nose
watery, and a string of drool connects
my lower lip and my greasy jeans. My watch reads 3:50
AM.
Dawn comes without warning and slaps
me in the face. I immediately regret leaving the night and
facing the orange
sky. My stupor continues, and the hallucinations begin. I listen to Burzum’s
“Tomhet(Emptiness)”,
a dark ambient piece written for sleepers who seek solace in the darkness. I
too miss riding into the castle of the dream, where
the light can’t touch you.
And as the trees come alive, and the yellow craters grace the ground we ride in, I finally succumb. The hallucinations stop, and the cold air disappears internally despite my shivering body. I escape the lifeless dawn with my face stuck to the chair where thousands have been before, and I finally let go.
