|Chapter 8 : What Did I Miss?|
|October 27, 1998
It didn't really hit me. More of like a glancing blow. Of all the things it could have been, I didn't really expect it. Tears were streaming down her face.
'Something happened to the baby,' raced through my mind. But she would be hysterical, calling for an ambulance, not crying - sobbing, really - looking like the world ended.
'Somebody died,' my second stab at what was causing this unnatural reaction. My brain was still a bit fogged. As I rubbed my face, I could feel the indentations the bunch-up sheet had made, deep curving lines I traced up and down with my middle finger.
But no, somewhere in the back of my mind informed me that it would have woken up if it heard the phone ring. Of course the quicker part of my head wasn't awake yet. If it was, it would have informed me that it is possible to call out as well as receive calls. Technology is a wonderful thing.
It's really odd, the first things that pop into my head. Granted, there was someone standing before me, crying, obviously upset. But it's enlightening. The baby must rank as the top important thing to me. And then, I shifted to what I thought may be something else that was important to my wife. It sheds some light on what 'love' may actually mean.
I may be oversimplifying, but 'love' could almost translate into what means the most to you. What runs through your mind as that semi coming in the opposite direction crosses the yellow line on that small one lane country road?
If I had been more awake, maybe I would have jumped right to the quick without my little mental debates. But maybe only in the state of confusion I was in, did I fall back and rely upon instinct; what was important to me. My child, my wife.
I think next I thought briefly about the dog, but by then my mind had caught up and wanted to know. "What? What's wrong?"
I had the distinct feeling of immobility in my left arm. Typical of when I am in a deep sleep, my arm was now useless from laying on it all night. Even trying to lift it off the bed is useless. I have to grab it with my right hand, creating an even weirder sensation when I don't feel my hand touching my dead arm, grabbing it, lifting it about six inches and letting it plop back down, lifeless, on the bed. Shaking my shoulding in an odd 'Night of the Living Dead' zombie-esk sort of way, I work some pins and needles into my arm and it begins to become useful again.
Waiting for an answer, my mind is still confused. It was just dreaming about this big mansion. A concert was going on inside, and I was onstage with some friends, sitting at a coffee-house type table commenting on how it must suck for the little people out in the stadium seats while we got to listen to the band on stage.
At some point, one of my friends pointed and said 'Hey, isn't that 'Maura Johnston?'
Now, that I thought was a bit odd. I've never met Maura, and I don't think I had been to her web site or Yahoo!Club for a few days or so. But, it was part of the dream, so, whatever.
So all of this is swimming around, and I manage to sit my wife down on the bed, my resurrected arm holding her shoulders.
Two responses popped into my head. The first one was "You woke me up for that?" I chose the second.
"Uh, yeah.. and?"
Oh, it was happy tears. Duh.