Are you sleeping?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GMbgZWkFQco

Cick on this link to listen to The Death of Girl Number Two by Say Hi to Your Mom. The following story was inspired by this song and is part of series of stories all inspired by a mixtape somebody made for a friend of mine.

Anthony had always had trouble sleeping. He probably would sleep two hours a night at most. Which was good because he was in medical school and most everybody else was overwhelmed with work. But he had an extra six to eight hours a night so even with all his school work he still had an astronomical amount of hobbies. He said you had to have some hobbies to avoid going insane if you don’t sleep all that much… He would draw, put puzzles together, organize his baseball cards, knit, anything you can think of he had done a little bit of. He was pretty good at most everything he tried.

Lately, he had gotten into the habit of drawing me while I slept. I would wake up with no covers on me. Anthony would pull them off so he could see me better. It was kind of cool to think that he spent the whole night watching over me. But the thing I didn’t like about it is after a while the drawings didn’t match me exactly. At first it was just little things like he would change the eye color, or make the breasts a little bigger or smaller. Then he started drawing me when I was nineteen, and then like thirty five, one time he drew me as a sixty five year old women, and I was okay with that because it was me. But after a while, I didn’t feel like he was drawing me anymore, he would pick things that he knew I was insecure about and either exaggerate them, or make them perfect.

I have a little belly fat, and one time he drew me with six pack abs. Or my arms are kind of hairy and he knows, I’m kind of sensitive about it, he drew me pretty normal except for like three or four really long arm hairs which spiraled around the whole picture. I was really fucking upset with him, when I woke up and saw that drawing. I said, “Anthony you’re a real fucking ass hole.” He just shrugged his shoulders, he said, “I’m just killing time it doesn’t mean anything” When he put it like that I couldn’t act mad, but that didn’t make me feel any less shitty.

Since he was up all night sometimes he would pick out my outfits. I would wake up and there would be an outfit all set out and ironed. If I didn’t wear the outfit he had picked out. He would pout a little bit. And when I asked him, “What’s wrong with the way I dress.” He would say nothing, I’ was just looking for something to keep me busy, but the whole rest of the day I just knew he was looking at other girls dressed in outfits like the one he had picked out for me. He probably wished he could watch them sleep. He wouldn’t have to change the drawings so much if they were the ones he was pulling the covers off of.

Finally, I told him I would wear the outfits he picked out if he would stop drawing me while I slept. He agreed and the week moved along pretty quickly, at least for me. I asked him what he was doing to pass the time, and he said just reading a lot. I asked him what he was reading and he said,” Articles on line about all sorts of different surgeries they used to try.” He said, I could do all of them now. They’re simple they just didn’t know shit back then. But pretty much everything they used to fuck up. I could do now. We just know so much more now. There was this one doctor in the 1920’s who was actually on to something but his technique was too crude, I mean we know exactly how to do this shit but the drug companies and the psychiatrist and psychologist would never let us do it. They make to much money for treating this shit to let us go in their and just fix the shit.”

“Fix what?”
”Self-esteem.”

“How do you do that?”

“Well, this doctor in the twenties found that when people’s noses were broken, sometimes when the bone from the bridge of the nose was forced up putting extra pressure on the front of the skull, people reported euphoric feelings of self worth, that continued even after the break healed. The risk was however if the bone was forced up to high it could go into the person brain causing brain damage. As fate would have it the aforementioned doctor’s wife had been a stunning beauty in her youth and was still the most beautiful women in the world in the eyes of the doctor but unfortunately

She was terrified she was losing her looks and every time her and doctor would go out she would make a scene accusing him of looking at other women. It was only when they were alone that she could be at peace. And if the doctor went out without her she would be racked with paranoia that he was cheating on her. He had come home twice to her laying in the bath tub with her wrists cut, and letter saying she knew he was cheating on her. Finally, he was so desperate he begged her to let him try the surgery were he forced the bone up. He explained they could reset the break after words and the break would not be noticeable. But she was worried the procedure wouldn’t work and she would be even less attractive to him with a broken nose so she wouldn’t let him operate. The doctor relented and said if she was scared he wouldn’t do the procedure. Their lives went on, as they had previously, the wife unable to go out with the doctor without causing a scene and also unable to stand the thought of him being out with out her. Once again, he came home to her bleeding in the tub. He took her to the hospital, and she returned home. As he was driving her home he decided he would do the adjustment as she slept. So when she got home after she had been asleep for a couple hours, he gathered himself, set his feet, put one hand on the bridge of the nose and the other at the base of the nose and right as he was starting the adjustment she sat bolt upright, causing the bone to be pushed to far into her brain. The doctor rushed her back to the hospital. They stabilized her but she had what they called a traumatic lobotomy. She was at peace but in a docile, yes to any answer kind of way. The doctor explained what he had been trying to do, but was imprisoned for attempted murder.

“That’s a really sad story.”

“Yeah, you thirsty.”

“sort of.”

“Good why don’t you get us both something to drink.”

I punched Anthony in the arm, “I hate it when you get my hopes up, that you might actually do something nice.”

Anthony, smiled, “Okay, I’ll get us something; I think we got some red pop you want a glass.”

“Sure”

Anthony came back with two tall glasses of red pop. I took a big sip. The ice cubes bumped against my teeth. I finished the whole cup in four sips. My eyelids started getting heavy almost immediately. Anthony rubbed my eyebrows, and whispered when you wake up everything is going to be perfect.

I sat bolt upright and looked around the room. I was sweating like crazy. My bed was empty of course it was. I grabbed my cell phone and dialed Anthony’s number. It rang five times, and went to voicemail. I said, “I just had a dream. In it you drew pictures of me while I slept, and picked out my clothes. Then you wanted to break my nose so I would feel better about myself. Please call me back so I know you aren’t having sex with some other girl. Okay, I love you, and I trust you, and I wouldn’t have called you late like this. I know you need your sleep. I just had that dream. Okay, I love you.

I hung up the phone, and prayed he would call me back so I could fall asleep again.