I often have a difficult time falling asleep at night. It isn't that I am wired , or that my brain is still producing valuable output, but that Miles and I keep different schedules. I am the go-to-bed-early-wake-up-early sort and he...isn't.
It's nine o'clock and I am wilted over the bedclothes with two brain cells duking it out over a thin shard of cognitive thought. I hear the dance of Miles' fingertips over his laptop keyboard. I hear a melody in the opaque whir of the dehumidifier. I hear those two brain cells.
Opening my eyes, the lights are dim but they might as well be interrogation bulbs inches from my face. The clock burns 9:07 in vivid red flames. Clem is seated upon the bed, staring at me over his back leg as he cleans his nether regions. Sleep doesn't come.
Miles walks over to me, sympathetic, as he knows true abuse as the overhead lights liven up the place at five-AM. "How about I put in a movie?" I can fall asleep to a movie I've already seen, one that I know well. I last five to ten minutes after commencement of the DVD player, and it takes me several days to finish a movie.
Last night, my fourth night of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Miles grumbled, "I listen to this damn thing every night...." Nevertheless, he popped the movie in and I selected the 25th scene to play. I don't think I saw it switch over to the 26th. Miles came to bed hours later and I was jostled awake. I am a very deep sleeper, so this is a very difficult thing to do...but leave it to Miles to figure out a way.
Restless once more, as I am now accustomed to falling asleep in an empty bed, I summon the DVD menu and select scene 26 as Miles growled and buried his head beneath the sheets. The tranquilizer hit in about 2 minutes, but I think Miles might have listened to the end of the movie....again. At least, that was my impression as he, looking as if he just survived a fight with the sheets by a mere thread and quit bed an hour later than usual, mumbled, "You and your stupid movie..."
"Debbie told me to tell you, because she knows you hate them above all else, that some grapes managed to make their way home from the grocery store." I jumped to my feet and looked upon the innocent face of my husband, waiting for him to nod or bob his eyebrows, or do something to backup his last statement. He widened the slothful hoods over his eyes to reflect soulful pools of sincerity as he tucked his lower lip beneath his teeth and lowered his chin affirmatively.
I raced toward the stairs, the wolves of haste nipping at my heels. I took the steps two at a time, then three. Then I fell back four steps, stumbled back 3 more as I found my balance, and then took them one at a time to the summit. There, I paused, peeking around the corner and canvassing the room. Aunt Debbie stood at the sink, rinsing something in a colander while a misguided meteorologist pretended to understand weather patterns on the small TV across the room.
Summoning a spot of courage, I stood strong, inhaled deeply, puffed out my chest, and stalked into the room with unbent knees. My fists pumped rapidly in practiced arcs, my elbows cocked staunchly at right angels. Two strides and I was there, gazing wildly about the place. My heart thudded deafening and I spotted my prey. Having been recently washed, the green and purple orbs beckoned sinfully. "Oh, you got the message, huh?" Debbie asked, noticing me standing there. Odd that my gutsy entrance should go unnoticed, I thought.
I converged on the vines and tore savagely at the buds. A good seven or eight grapes successfully masticated, I wiped the back of my hand against my mouth and trod back toward the stairs. Miles met me as the fresh stains of battle began to dry and he stared. I don't know if he saw the feral savagery that raged within me just then, but he backed away, slowly.
"Took care of the grapes, did you?" he asked in a gentle lion tamer's voice.
"Started. I'm hoping to take care of a few more by nightfall." He nodded, looking reassured. Worry not, fair husband: I shall not let the grapes of wrath prevail.
