The best bridge between despair and hope is a good night’s sleep.
He was a short man, with some bulge to his limbs that gave him a funny walk. Startled that he was in my kitchen (and going through my refrigerator), I addressed him in a firm, questioning manner.
“Um, excuse me, sir. Can I help you?”
Alarmed at my voice he jumped and turned to me and yelled, “Woh! …oh, my dear lad. Caught me off guard, you did. Sorry, I was comin’ to talk to ya, but I’m awfully partial to my warm milk. I was fixin’ some aforehand.”
With such a funny voice and character, I immediately relaxed and decided there was nothing to worry about. But I was still curious as to why he was in my house.
“Um, okay, that’s fine. Might you tell me who you are and why you want to talk to me?”
He was still preparing the warm milk as he answered, “Certainly. I’m an old friend of yours, but you haven’t known me like you see me now, that’s fer sure. My name is Sleep.”
“Sleep?” I said confused, as my mind drifted to think of how cruel parents were becoming.
“Aye, Sleep’s me name. I have come to talk about you and I.”
“Am I dreaming?”
“Ha! Dreamin’? How can ya dream if ya don’t sleep?!”
“Good point,” I said, still puzzled. “You know, you look a lot like Rip Van Winkle.”
“Aye, that’s me old name. I was appointed the guardian of sleep after my nap in the woods those many years ago. Goes to show what a good nap can do for ya!”
I didn’t care that it was absurd, I liked the guy, and I wanted to talk to him. In a jesting manner I remarked, “So, you’re like the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus?”
His faced dropped. “No,” he replied, “They’re not real.”
I stopped smiling. “Oh, right.”
The awkward silence and our staring at one another was broken by the microwave’s beeping.
“Well lookie there! My milk’s ready!” he said in a once again energetic voice.
We moved to the table and sat down. After excitedly rubbing his hands together, he sipped his milk.
“So why don’t you like me, sonny?” he blurted out.
“Like you?” I started, trying to figure it out, “Oh, yeah. You are Sleep. Um, well, I don’t really feel the need to sleep. Besides, without sleep my day is longer.”
“Well ya know that I make your life longer, don’t ya?” he quipped.
“Yes, but those extra years of my life would have been spent sleeping. If I sleep 8 hours a night and live until I’m 90, I really only lived 60 years. That’s all I was awake for.” I responded.
“I see,” he said, understanding he needed a different approach. “You know, a lot of very interesting people are known for their hibernation: Astronauts, Han Solo, Grizzly Bears…”
“Yeah, but I mean, sleeping is a nuisance. It’s like a long commercial break to my favorite show. Staying up late is my way of fast-forwarding through those commercials.”
“No, you’ve got the wrong thinkin’, lad. Think like this: you’re good friend Sleep is like a spring, like the thingy that launches the pinball,” he said, trying to help me understand very carefully, “All night long the spring becomes more and more compressed, and then upon waking up it launches you into the day! The more sleep, the higher the spring launches ya out inta the big sky! And then you’re really livin’ then, o boy,” he explained, very excited about what he was saying.
“Hmmm…” came from my face, staring straight ahead, scraping in my mind for a rejoinder. Then it came to me, “Ahh, but in the book of Proverbs it says that slumber brings poverty.” I was confident he couldn’t argue against God’s word.
“O, don’t think I aven’t erd that one before! Solomon generally wrote his proverbs around noon, I think he was talking about then. Asides, the wise man is early to bed and early to rise. Y’know, like the early bird gets the worm an’ all that.”
“Yes, but the owl, the symbol of the wise, is nocturnal. And the bird who pulled an all-nighter beats the early bird,” I quipped with a grin across my face.
After the quick-witted replies, there was a moment where we both paused. This time, he tried talking to me on a personal level.
“Listen, Philly boy, you really need me. Remember the good old nights? Why do you like stayin’ up s’late anyhow?”
“Well,” I explained, “midnight is where it’s happening because nothing’s happening.”
He looked confused.
“Besides,” I continued, “I don’t really like lying down in my bed all that much.”
“O, that’s easy to fix, lad,” he replied, “Just sleep around!”
“Um…?”
“You know, around your house.”
“Oh, yeah. Of course.”
He smiled at me and nodded his head, hoping I would nod with him.
“But the night just gives me this sense of wonder. The rest of America dreams away, while New York, the stars, and I guard the night. Silence reigns during the hours where traffic has subsided and the clamorous people of the world have been drawn into an unconscious slumber. There are two worlds around us, and the world of Night is far more adventurous than the world of Day. How could I willingly bid farewell to a place that I have grown to love?”
With a sense of hopelessness about him, he didn’t quite know what to say.
“Would you abandon me, your friend, for a sense of wonder? Just open your mind!”
“Open my mind? You want me to close my mind! That’s what sleep is!”
“But closing your mind gives the day its marvel once you have awoken! Every flower was once a bud and every play starts behind a curtain. Sleep is the curtain that rests before it is pulled back to reveal the day! Without the curtain, there is no anticipation, and the show loses its foretelling sense of excitement, and the audience is not as delighted!”
Sleep looked at me sheepishly, waiting for a reaction. Maybe he was right after all. I had always scoffed at the thought of sleep, like it was the fad of having a pet rock. If sleeping was a fad, it is certainly the longest running fad, and it probably won’t die out. What would happen if I joined the crowd and wrapped up the night at 10 or 11 PM? I tried to rationalize it.
“But sleeping is such a vulnerable state. People could draw on your face, or put shaving cream on you, or TP your house! I’ve never seen a TP’ed bat cave.”
“I’d rather have sharpie on my face than have a shortened life.”
That was it. I caved. He was right. How could I have been so blind? Sleep was my friend, I had only forgotten. To sleep and to dream and awake to the morning is a glorious thing. It was like a revolution had occurred in my brain. The brain cells that wanted sleep had overthrown the government and were now rejoicing in the streets.
“I’m sorry, Sleep! I want to sleep again! I’m so very sorry that I’ve neglected you!”
“Ahh, why that’s alright, lad. Let me tell ya, New Year’s Eve is a lonely night for me, so I know what it feels like. And those confounded girls that have sleepovers! It’s like an organized protest against me!”
With a compromise and truce found with my friend, Sleep, I began to hope for peace in the Middle East. If I can make it to bed at 11 P.M., then by golly, there can be hope that the world can learn to cope with differences. Sleep walked out the door and went to his convertible, where Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy had been waiting for him. I shook my head to myself and set my aim for dreamworld, a place I love more than Wendy’s.
Have a goodnight. But better yet, have a good sleep.
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