The Insomniac's Twin

Just going to jump right in this time. Facebook friends of the author's alter-ego will understand...
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“Son of a bitch,” he exclaimed. He had been enjoying a lazy summer afternoon, floating in the pool, drinking a beer and listening to the combined hum of the pool filter and the countdown of the great hits of the 80’s that poured from the outdoor speakers mounted on the house. The sun, light breeze, and gentle waves in the pool had nearly lulled him to sleep when the music cut out in the middle of Toto’s Africa. The iPad, connected to the stereo inside, had timed out and lost the satellite radio signal. Within seconds thereafter, the pool filter, which had switched itself on and off a half a dozen times already, died again as well.

Reluctantly, he paddled over to the pool stairs and lifted himself out of his float and dried himself off. No one else would be home for hours and he’d be damned if he was going to waste one of the rare opportunities he had to force himself to relax. Relaxing was not one of his strong suits. Over the years he had, in essence, forgotten how. Almost like someone injured in a car accident and learning to walk again, he too was relearning things he had long since forgotten – things like how to enjoy a sunny afternoon in the pool without feeling guilty about it.

Heading towards the house, clicking off the pool filter switch along the way, he felt the breeze pick up. The combination of the wind and the sheath of water droplets that still covered his torso caused his skin to swell with goose bumps. His whole body shuddered. Shaking it off, he went inside, reset the iPad, and was about to return to his afternoon of aquatic nothingness when darkness filled the room. He assumed one of the puffy white clouds he had been staring at all afternoon had passed over and shrouded the sun. ,He soon realized that it was darker, much darker, than it should have been. Turning slowly, he could see that the sky had morphed to a deep, melancholy-filled gray, and was filled with the darkest, blackest rain clouds he had ever seen. Lightning danced through them, though never touching the ground, and the ensuing wind stirred any loose leaf in the vicinity to life. It was not so much the clouds that bothered him, though they should have – no, it was what he saw floating in the pool that frightened him more.

Unable to control his own actions, he walked outside and, consciously or unconsciously, ignored the leaves and dust that pelted him from the heavy winds. Slowly, he stepped down off of the deck and through the gate until he stood at the edge of the pool. No longer able to move a muscle, he stood there frozen like a statue and stared directly into his own eyes as he, or someone, or something that looked just like him, floated in the pool where he had been himself only moments before.

What the hell is this?” he asked aloud, looking around in the vain hope that he was on some kind of hidden camera show. He was not. Turning his attention back to, well, himself, he inquired again. “Who are you? What the hell is happening?”

“Haven’t you ever wanted to have a conversation with yourself?” The apparition in the pool asked. He struggled to convince himself that it was an apparition that was speaking to him in his own voice. There could be no other rationalization.

“Is that what I’m doing?” he asked, utterly confused.

“You tell me. You’re the one standing here talking to yourself.”

Normally he would have a witty, sarcastic retort for a comment like that. Not this time. He was, in fact, standing at the edge of his own pool talking to himself, or an apparition of himself, as he, it, whatever it was, floated ten feet in front of him. Suddenly he felt nauseous.

“Sit down before you fall down,” the apparition instructed. He did so, falling backwards into the deck chair that he hadn’t realized was behind him. Blinking rapidly, then closing his eyes, then opening them again, he was truly hoping that the apparition in front of him was simply the result of a head rush caused by dehydration and over exposure to the sun. When his eyes opened, however, the sky was as dark and foreboding as it had been a moment ago, and the wind just as fierce. For the first time, though, he noticed that the surface of the pool was as still as glass, and his apparitional self caused no ripple in the water as he floated there.

“This is a dream, it has to be,” he muttered to himself. Upon his words, hail began to pelt his flesh like bb’s. “Ow!” he exclaimed. There was no respite to be had from the storm that raged around him. Still, the pool, and its current inhabitant, remained calm.

“If you were dreaming do you think you would feel that?” the apparition asked.

“Fine, no, I’m not dreaming!” he screamed frantically as he tried to shelter his face from the onslaught of frozen rain. As soon as he acknowledged that he was not in the throws of slumber, the weather reverted back to the sunny afternoon he had been enjoying earlier.

“You have to sleep in order to dream, remember?” the apparition reminded him with a horrifically chilling laugh. He had never laughed like that. He didn’t know he was even capable of laughing like that. Hearing such noise come from his own lips terrified him to the core and resounded in his ears until he jolted upright with a start. His heart beat heavily and his breathing was labored far worse than he had ever experienced, even during his worst asthma attack. Fumbling in the dark, he managed to grasp his Albuterol inhaler and take three puffs in rapid succession. His beautiful wife, sleeping peacefully beside him, never woke. Knowing fully well he would never fall back asleep, he decided to get up and ensure that he wouldn’t wake her, again. When he slipped out from beneath the covers he immediately felt a chill from the air-conditioning wash over him. Quietly, he tiptoed from the bedroom, downstairs and stealthily opened the sliding door to the patio.

The blast of warm, humid air was welcomed. Plopping himself down in a chair on the deck, he rested his elbows on the table and kneaded his knuckled into his temples. He attempted to relax himself by breathing deep, abdominal breaths, and closing his eyes. After about ten minutes of silent meditation, he had nearly gotten his heart rate back to normal and was about to head back inside.

“How many nights has been?” the apparition asked.

“Goddamn it!” he said in a loud whisper as he jumped from his chair. The apparition, seated across the table from him, continued.

“Four nights, five?”

“I don’t know. Maybe,” He responded warily. “What are you?” he finally blurted out.

“I’ll tell you exactly – eleven. It’s been eleven days since you’ve gotten anything more than three hours of sleep in a night, and even then it was cumulative, not consecutive. Do you know what happens to the human mind when it’s deprived of that much rest?”

“No, but I suppose you’re going to tell me. Or I’m going to tell me, since you appear to be me,” he responded bitterly. Again the apparition let out a disturbing laugh.

“No, I’m not you. You’re the insomniac. I’m just the insomniac’s twin.”

Staring into the apparition’s eyes, his eyes, as if he were looking into a mirror, he questioned what, if anything, left in his life was real.

© J.J. Goodman 2012. All rights reserved.