You may not sleep again.

I am lost. I am lost in a crowd. Unknown figures with veiled faces rush past me. No names exchange. Barely a mutual recognition of existence.

They move in familiar patterns. Marching forward. The din of footsteps repeats: Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday…

I close my eyes, unsure to stand still, sit down, fall to the floor, or cry out as the passing mob continues.

Alarm blares. Wake up. Make coffee. Stretch. Workout. Turn on laptop. Meetings. Spreadsheets. Stress. Turn off laptop. Walk the dog. Eat. Watch tv. Sleep.

I stumble through the doorway. A dog on leash straining to cross into the comforts of indoor life yanks my arm and my clumsy feet follow. “Crazy dog,” I think, and shut the door behind me, sealing off the outside world.

Take off shoes. Put leash away. Grab dog bowl. Go to garage. Fill bowl with food. Climb up stairs. Return inside. Place bowl down. Await dog.

I wash my hands of the generic meaty smell that accompanies dog food bought in bulk. Wiping my wet hands on pantlegs, I turn a corner and breeze onto welcoming, soft carpet. Beyond the shelves of family portraits, containing subjects both deceased and living, and across the expanse of hallway walls, my sister speaks with my mom.

I can’t see Mom. My sister occupies the doorframe leading into our parents’ room. Why is Sam interrupting Mom’s exercise? 

Inaudible voices in hushed tones permeate my eardrums with the faintest touches. My sister continues talking and shrinks as her shoulders droop. Her hazel eyes, often full of wonder and compassion, glisten and sink downward.

I jump to an undeniable conclusion. I turn to my room, hand trailing against the wall, exploring the minute bumps and craters. I shut the door behind me, a declaration of isolation, and plunge into my chair.

My sister has COVID. I know it. She hasn’t been feeling well recently, and she got tested again the other day. Mom is going to freak out, and resent Sam. Dad is going to act normal, but fester on the inside. I don't’ know how Grandma will react, but imagine beating cancer for over a decade just to face this. Fuck.

-----

Alarm blares. Fuck. My sister is in her room. Good. Coffee time. I put on a mask and gloves and head to the kitchen. 

Dad is already in the kitchen, wearing the same new fashion of the household: mask-and-gloves. Hands in the sink, washing dishes, he glances over at me as I enter his line-of-sight, “Sean,” he says, “pick up that bottle. Start spraying and wiping down the counters.”

“Fine.” My eyes water as the fumes of sprayed cleaning solution fill the room. “Where’s Mom?”

Without looking over his shoulder, Dad responds “She wasn’t feeling well last night, I slept out here.” He turns off the faucet, and picks up a towel, “She’s going to stay in our room by herself for today at least.”

“Oh,” I look back to the counter, now suitably clean aside from the permanent grime stuck between the gray tiles. Dad washing dishes should have been enough of a clue, “and how’s Grandma doing?”

Dad puts down the towel, and sighs, “She’s not feeling well either, she’s going to stay in her room for the day too.”

Goddammit Sam. What’d you do? Was it your boyfriend? Was it work? How could you be so careless?

Time to pick up this mess. I’ve got my own work to do. I’m busy. There’s no time for this.

-----

Well Dad has COVID now too. It’s only a matter of time before I get sick.

I’m running an infirmary and a B&B out here. Each person in their own individual rooms, isolated. Portraits of family members, deceased and living (and hopefully living longer), watch over as I deliver soups, teas, and breads from room-to-room. Delivering sustenance and disposing of garbage.

Work looms over my mind. Every second spent going to stores, blistering my hands with bleach, and cooking meals is time lost. Time that I could use to work. I have deadlines to hit. This is busy. Work is busy. Life is busy.

-----

My knuckles make solid contact on the door: knock, knock.

“It’s Sean, I have lunch, chicken soup.”

“Oh hi Sean, thanks! Do you want to swing around the outside and talk for a bit?”

“Um, I’d like to Grandma, I really would, but-”

“Oh Sean it wouldn’t be for long, just as I eat lunch. I know you’ve been very busy. Relax for a bit.”

“Well, I guess so, alright.” I set the soup down, pulled over a jacket, and set up a chair outside my Grandma’s window.

“So Sean, I appreciate all your help the past few days, very kind, how’ve you been holding up?”

“Haha well things are going fine, I’m glad no one can taste my cooking, and work is coming along, just busy.”

“Oh I’d imagine you are quite busy! I remember your granddad suffered from ADS: Always Doing Something. Your dad got it and I’m sure you have it too.”

“It’s just that I have a big project due, and Beth Ann, my boss, is putting a lot of pressure on me.” I looked up at sprawling clouds crawling across the sky, persuaded by the brisk breeze. I put my head back down, “I know I can do it, I’m sure, just stressed is all.”

“Sean, of all the things in the world to occupy your time, why should stress be one of them?”

“Pfft, I guess I’m really not the one that should be stressed. I’m the only healthy one here.” Swaying branches, stretching out from the big oak in the backyard caught my attention for a moment. “Sam’s convinced she’s killed our whole family, Mom is worried how this will interact with her blood pressure issues, and I bet Dad is beyond stressed, but he’ll never let that be known. I should ask, how are you doing?”

“I think I’m fine dear. Even before this, I’m at the point where at nights I have to tell myself, ‘You may not wake again,’ and in the mornings a reminder that ‘You may not sleep again.’ But there are still joys to be found in the day.” She paused, finishing up the rest of her soup. “You know Sean, when this is over, I want to go on a drive in the countryside. It’s been a while since I’ve made it out there, can you take me?”

“Of course Grandma!”

-----

Alarm blares. I rise out of bed, advance toward my desk, and begin work. Guided only by the light of the room and the laptop screen, my fingers pound away at the keyboard, clickity-clackity-clickity-clackity. Birds chirping add layers to the developing symphony.

The crescendo ends with the shut of the laptop: slam. Time to prepare breakfast. I pass out bowls of steaming oatmeal as offerings in front of closed doors, a light rapping indicating the arrival of food.

I wash dishes, clean the kitchen, and travel back to my room for an encore. Clickity-clackity-clickity-clackity.

Lunch arrives with another intermission. I parade bowls of leftover soup around the house, trading the needed sustenance for more garbage.

I wash dishes, clean the kitchen, and think: “Man, my parents have done this for years, and I’m tired after only a few days. I never imagined shouldering this weight and how heavy it would be.”

In my room for one last performance. Clickity-clackity-clickity-clackity. Shut the laptop. Journey out to the rest of the house to trade more food for refuse: rice and stir-fry this time, somewhat of a change.

When I make my last rounds to gather the remains of my limited culinary skills, I stop at each door. 

“Hi Sam, how was your day today? You played what with your friends? DnD, what’s that? Oh Dungeons and Dragons, please explain!”

“Hi Mom and Dad, how’re you feeling today? Your stomach feels better and you’re full of more strength, I’m glad! Mom’s painting a scene and Dad’s re-learning chess? What inspires you to paint and what makes chess so great?”

“Hi Grandma, what did you do today? You practiced embroidering? On what kind of stuff? How long does it take to make a pattern so tough?”

The circuit complete, retreat to my room, fall into bed.

A long day. A good day.

-----

Five hours waiting outside a hospital. I’m outside a hospital. I can’t even go inside.

Mom is in there. I don’t know how long she’s spent waiting, how long she’s been getting treatment.

One moment she seems fully recovered, the next moment she’s wrapped in blankets, thermometer reading 96.4 degrees Fahrenheit. I hope her blood pressure monitor was broken. Those numbers did not add up to anything good.

In and out, people rush through the hospital doors. Anxious to enter, eager to leave.

My phone buzzes to life, “Hello?”

“Hi Sean,” Mom’s faint voice struggling to carry any weight, “everything is fine, I’m on my way out.”

Thank God. Thank anything and everything. I’m not even mad about the final prescription: soup and rest. Five hours of a hospital visit and that’s the grand advice of modern medicine. I’m just thankful that she has more time, and that I have more time with her.

-----

Back home, I step into my room. Flip a switch. Time to grind.

A mountain stands before me. I stand before a mountain. One step at a time, one minute at a time. Steps turn into miles, minutes turn into hours. This is nothing. I’ve been through hell-and-back the past few weeks, my family has been through worse. Quit your whining, you can do this.

Submit work. Shut the laptop. Shut my eyes. Fall into bed.

I’m tired. A good tired.

-----

Alarm blares. Mind still mush and body lifeless, I prop myself up. Staring toward my desk, my laptop rests upon a stack of textbooks. I look away and grab a book off the shelf to my left.

Crisp crackles of turning pages, eager eyes pouring over word after word, line after line, lost in a story…

Placing the book down, closing pages that I am eager to open again, I approach the laptop. Still towering over my desk, the laptop flashes to life with a few clicks and keyboard strokes.

Despite not stretching, not working out, or heavens-forbid not making coffee yet, I already feel recharged. I open my email. All the energy falls out, my heart sinks into nothingness, and fear stabs at my chest.

Email after email after email. Each full of fury, panic, and worst-of-all, resolute calmness. 

The last email’s letters burned into the screen:

“Sean,

Please call at your earliest convenience.

Thanks,

Beth Ann”

I examine every email. Each one with similar content: Urgent! Please call back. Why aren’t you picking up??  What files did you submit? The numbers aren’t matching! What did you do?

What did I do? What did I do? What have I done?

-----

The days, the time, they all exist as a constant. But the constant march of time is not to be confused with the constant force of the days. The activities and actions that fill up those days is under my authority. Each day brings new activities and memories!

I read. I draw. I call friends. I go on hikes.

My family is free of symptoms. We continue to spend much of our time together. Monday is painting with Mom. Tuesday is DnD with Sam and her friends online. Wednesday is embroidering with Grandma. Thursday is chess with Dad. 

All other days and time in between are also under my authority. Yet as the days fill with intent, an internal imbalance persists. When presented with a casual “How was work today?” I look away from the source of the innocent inquisition, respond “Fine,” and move on to another topic.

Overall, I’m more excited to greet each day, but as time passes within the day, dread fills my body, cement. Anxiety throws me into the water and watches me drown. How can I be so happy yet miserable at the same time?

I have to tell someone. 

I have to tell him.

-----

I pulled out the chessboard. Dad perched across the table. Dull thuds as I place the pieces in their respective positions. Dad adjusts the pieces to the center of their squares. I hesitate to place the last piece, the king, on its square. 

My hand relinquishes its domain over the piece, and I look up at my dad. Throat tightening, I attempt to swallow what little saliva remains in my drying mouth. “Dad,” I begin, “I, I,” my glistening eyes lift up to meet a pair of glasses, “I got fired from my job.”

“What?!” He jolted up, pieces jostled from the center of their squares. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, eyes looking back down at the laminate floor disguised as distinguished oak. “I messed up bad at work, and I’m the one that ended up taking the fall.”

Silence passed in an eternal moment.

I lifted my gaze again, “I never, I never knew, I-”

“I can’t believe this,” he uttered with powerful simplicity.

“Neither can I!” I protested to nothingness.

“Un-fucking-believable,” his thumb picked and twisted between his two front teeth. “Four years of college, honors, awards scholarships… results in this?” Moving his hand to de-crease his forehead, he pinched his brow and said, “Well have you started looking for a new job?”

My insides squirmed, switching from an uneasy anxiousness to a boiling pot of rage. What the fuck? What the actual fuck? This bastard has the audacity to skip over any detail of my problem at hand and go straight for the ‘look for a new job?’

I shoot up, chair ricketing in my wake. My knuckles whiten as fists tighten. My teeth clench and nostrils flare. My eyes ablaze focus directly beyond the glasses and into stone marbles. Metallic adrenaline pools in my mouth, my heart rate skyrockets, ready to fuel a brutal battle.

“Stop. Stop. Stop,” I tell myself. “You figured he would respond this way, then why be so surprised?”

I unclench my teeth, “Dad, I’m taking some time to figure things out. Please respect that.”

“Taking some time? What the hell is that?” his eyes remained in an intense lock, but his brow began to unfold. “C’mon that sounds like something Sam would say. Really?”

“I don’t need you to understand. I don’t even need you to like this or have your blessing or some crap like that,” I said, relaxing my shoulders and placing my hands on the now stable chair. “Just respect my decision, thanks.”

“Ok Sean. Ok.” 

We lock our gaze one last time, and in silence, acknowledge each other. I disappear out of the dining room and enter into my room.

Dad wants me to have a job, not “waste” my time. What is wasting time? Is it not working? Is it not contributing to society? Is it aimlessly wandering through a crowd, lost and too shy and too powerless to look up?

The power has always been there, a hibernating force, waiting to be harnessed. I have the power to decide what I do. I control what I do with the day. I don’t control what or who I interact with. I don’t control what they think, say, or do. But I do control what I do with my day.

I sink into my bed, close my eyes, and await the future present.

-----

I sit up, arms stretched out, a deep breath in and then a deep breath out. Rays of light extending from the rising sun break through the window. I scoot out of bed, crack my neck, and peer out the window, staring at everything and nothing.

Enveloping myself in the morning glow, I take another deep breath, a light tingling filling my body. The corners of my mouth rise up and I display a slight grin. Exhale. It’s Friday!

Today I’ll go on a drive with Grandma, paint with Mom, and play chess with Dad. This weekend I’ll go camping with Sam.

I feel as if I know the days better now. Before they were just some of many in an unrelentless crowd, forever stampeding forward. Now, those days are my friends. I know a lot about them: their names, their quirks, and the relationship I have with each one. They provide the time to live life.

We share with each other experiences, opportunities to learn and grow, and ways to connect to the other people who also walk with the days.

“Good morning!” I say out beyond the window. I shift my attention back inside, and prepare to embrace the day.

You may not sleep again.