The Nightmare Persisted

He woke in a sweat. Panting for breath, he reached for the end table. The lamp came on and his room was immediately the other side of the coin, darkness to bright light with the tug of a small, weak chain.

He was sweating, but he couldn’t remember his dream. He remembered falling asleep. There was the book on the table beside the lamp, the relentless McMurphy gambling in the ward. His breath was becoming even, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember his dream. He slowly pulled the blankets away from him, a snake shedding. The room was warm. He slowly stood, hunched like the man in the Christmas tale.

He stumbled to the bathroom, tripping over his shoes. This never happened when Kara was home. She would have badgered him to put them where they go, beside the door when he first came home from work. It’s funny how rebellion works in the absence of conflict. She wasn’t there to see him wearing them throughout the house and still he subconsciously insisted. A personal victory no one would ever know about.

When he got to the bathroom, he flipped the switch and his eyes winced at the electric lighting. Under his breath he muttered a word reserved for sailors and rearranged his briefs. His hands found the sink before his eyes adjusted, muscle memory. What was his dream? He remembered a birthday party, a high school quiz, but both of those existed in distant memory. Or was it just five minutes ago?

The warm water helped to wake his eyes as it ran down his face dripping into the sink and down his bare chest. He reached for the hand towel that hung there for convenience, but it was absent. He rubbed his eyes dry remembering he had used it yesterday to dry the Campbell’s tomato he had spilled in the hallway on his way from the kitchen to the bedroom. She would have already replaced it. Instead, he found the towel on the back of the door reserved for showers.

The feeling remained, the nightmare persisted. What had it been? Surely if it were so terrible and so potent he would be able to remember at least a glimmer. He shut off the water and made his way to the kitchen to fix a glass of water. Warm for face, cold for mouth. For a moment he considered why, not worth it. Restaurant Takeout Plastic Cup from the cabinet, he opened the fridge and remembered he hadn’t refilled the Brita. Another thing she would have done had she been here. He placed it back in the icebox, still empty

It was then that his phone rang. It came from the bedroom. He returned to the room where he had so recently awakened panting. He looked down at the buzzing cell. A picture of Kara from last Christmas flashed across the home screen. He picked it up, “Hey,” he muttered.

But he didn’t recognize the voice that spoke back.