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Sleep

Written by:

PetPetAngel

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His parents had always hoped that they could give him more, so much more, but it was all that they could manage when they were like this; poor beyond belief. Okay, so no, they weren’t quite poor beyond belief, but they were just above the poverty line and sinking quickly.

Sheri wanted to give more to her son, her beloved son who had taken her numerous tries before coming successful and fruitful. It had been extremely disheartening to know that she could not have children, for she had always wanted to experience the wonders of motherhood. It seemed like such a wonderful when it was coming from the neighboring parents, for they all said that, ‘Whatever privileges your child takes away from you is given back in every smile they make.’

Sometimes, phrases like that made Sheri’s heart hurt, and saddened her to a point that not ever her own husband could comfort her. So it was nothing short of a heaven-sent when they found out she was pregnant, and it was a little bit on surprise, too. It was like nothing she could’ve ever imagined, and she remember letting out a shriek of happiness and hugging John so tightly she thought she could hurt him.

And now, he was here. Her little boy was here and he was beautiful – and for once in her life, besides her quick but meaningful marriage to John (for soon after they began dating they married), Sheri felt as if nothing in life could possibly go wrong, because in her arms was the most beautiful child she had ever laid eyes upon. Sheri felt herself smile looking down upon him, and she heard John whispering to her.

“He’s a beaut, Sher. He’s got your eyes.”

And Sheri looked up to her husband and gave him a bright smile, and the afterglow lit up her face like it never had before. And Sheri felt flushed, she felt tired and exhausted and knew that the birth and labor had taken a ton out of her, but she felt so honestly and purely beautiful she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Her son was here, and now she was going to sleep with him in her arms.

-

And then came the repercussions of having a newborn child. He screamed and fussed and cried and pouted, and that pout was so beautiful that Sheri couldn’t feel mad at him. John was amazingly supportive and they were both amazingly perky despite the fact that neither of them had had more than two winks of sleep in the past few days.

And Sheri still thought her son was beautiful, and thought he was the cutest thing in the world when he crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue, and she felt herself becoming more and more endeared to his smiling, laughing face each time the sun set for another day. And Sheri never listened when the neighbors said the love would wane, for Sheri never felt she had loved anyone as much as she loved her son.

Sometimes, Sheri felt as if John was missing out on a whole new world because of their son, but she knew that he was working for her and for him. John was working to give their son a future, a life, something to hope for and something to dream for, and that made her love him that much more. And Sheri knew, for the next few years, this little boy with large, innocent doe eyes would control their every choice.

His name was Alex and he was a very sleepy baby.

-

The poverty line grew closer and closer with each year. Diapers were expensive and the new, lovely mouth to feed became one of the biggest of hassles. And no matter how much Sheri loved Alex, he was becoming a lot to handle and when he began to walk – oh god, when he began to walk, it was horrible. She couldn’t find any way to keep up with his unsure, yet speedy steps.

And yet Alex was still such a joy, when he laughed it made Sheri feel like laughing as well, and she could only wish that John would one day realize what wonderful things their son could do, even as only a small, tiny child.

But that didn’t mean she was joking when she said that Alex was the biggest hassle in her household, because he most certainly was. He was a pain in the butt and sometimes far too much to deal with, for Alex wanted to play tricks, he wanted to laugh and he wanted other people to laugh. Sheri could remember the time when she came into the living-room only to find that Alex was dancing. She didn’t know that babies could dance so young! And she laughed.

He’d be sleepy later.

-

And when Alex turned seven, he made it very obvious to the world that he hated his name. Sheri couldn’t understand why, and neither could John. Though he said it all the time, Alex never elaborated what was so wrong with his name and why he hated it so much; he merely said, “I hate my name,” with the cutest of pouts, as of that would make his parents actually change his name.

His teachers said that that attitude was not restricted to only their home, but also at school. Alex would go on, and on and on and on about how much he hated his name, and that he was making the kids go along with it. Sheri could remember when the teacher spoke to them, “So now, the kids won’t call him Alex anymore. It’s always, ‘Hey, you!’ and we know it’s Alex. It’s strange.

“Sometimes it tires me out a bit, too.”

-

She was ill, she was dying, and she was losing her baby. Sheri missed her son so much, and only hoped that he would not understand when John told him, “Mom’s not going wake up, so just let it settle down.” They knew she was going to die; they all did, all except Alex. So John and she had sat down and discussed how they would break the news, and decided on lightly telling him instead of hitting him with it head on.

“He’s still got so much to learn, John,” Sheri told her husband weakly. “I love my baby, I don’t want to lose him… I don’t want him to lose me so soon! I feel as though I’ve barely learned a thing about my son… I’ll never have grandkids! I’ll never see them, oh, John, I’m not ready for this, I’m really not.”

John stayed silent and held his wife’s hand, stroking her knuckles with his thumb. “It’s true, but you’ll get front row seats to watch him grow up. Just think of it that way.” He smiled at her and Sheri felt her stomach tighten painfully. “I’ll miss you,” he whispered to her, and suddenly…

Suddenly she felt so sleepy….

-

My name is Alex Turner and I’m fifteen years old. Most people just call me ‘Dad’ because of a nickname I picked up in grade school that stuck. Probably the only good thing I got out of it, too, I bet’cha. My parents are crap – they don’t know how to raise me at all. Well, my dad is crap, but I try not to give him too much trouble. He’s gettin’ to be an old man and I figured I can take it easy on him.

I’m not a good kid, I’ll tell you. At first, I wanted good grades, I wanted to be smart and I wanted to make something of my life. My close call with Dictator School taught me that those things didn’t really matter, all that mattered was her. It was almost as if no one knew her name either, and they called her ‘Mom’. If I could have Mom then that was all that mattered to me.

I don’t talk about my mother. Don’t ask and you’ll stay safe. No one goes on that territory except for me or dad, and sometimes I blow up at him, too, if he starts going into one of his moods. Yes, he has moods. He gets practically delusional and starts mumbling about mom, and it always makes my heart hurt. Last time I almost hurt him when he went into a ‘mood’, but instead I just went upstairs.

Did I mention my dad is crap?

No one ever told me doing drugs was bad, or that soon after your first dose of anything, you’ll need it to go on in life. It’s not that simple – dad thought I was such a good kid and thought I could never get into trouble… And here I am, doing drugs, and running us straight into poverty. We can’t even go on welfare, since both of us are capable of working.

I hate my name. It’s Alex. But you can just call me Dad. I’d prefer that. Alex is so plain.

I’m afraid I’m losing my chance with Mom, the more coke I have, the less chance I have with her. And I’ve already told you she’s all that matters. She did make a promise, a long time ago, just before I almost got sent to Dictator School, to marry me and crap like that, but I’m not so sure it’ll work out now. You don’t remember promises like that. I’m not like I used to be.

My dad has no hold on me whatsoever. I hate him, and I hate myself. It’s hard times, but I’ll make it. Even if most of it is just sleeping my life away – or what’s left of my life, anyway.

-

Dad’s dying, and I know it. I know he’s not gonna last through the night, but there’s no way that he or I could afford hospitalization bills to deal with his medical problems. He’s gotten a few off of places, even a few under the counter, most of which I get for him myself. I know every medication he takes, when he takes them and with what he should take them.

I can’t leave my old man when he needs me like this.

I may be a failure in life, but I want his last memories of me to be happy, clear. I had a coke just a little while ago, so I’m not jumpy or jittery or sweating yet. The high hasn’t come yet, but for now I’m settled. I don’t want him to see me when I’m breaking down, when I’m hurting inside just like he is. I’m going to die before I’m twenty-five, I bet you. I’ll never have a life with Mom or a buck-toothed kid named Timmy.

“Son,” dad rasps, and I go over to him and take his hands. It’s corny, but I want his last memories of me to be pleasant, “I love you, and I know you can get out of this rut. Find a new drug – one that won’t make you sick. One that won’t make you crazy and one that won’t hurt you. I love you, my boy. I know you’ve got it in you.”

I nod, “Sleep well, dad.”

-

My foster home is terrible. My foster mother is determined to set me straight. She wants me to get rid of my drug problem, and only then will she even consider letting me move to another foster family. I cursed her many times for this apparent advantage she had over me, and worse of all…. She calls me Alex. I have corrected her many times to call me ‘Dad’, but still she persists and calls me Alex, almost as if in defiance.

I hate it and she knows it, that’s why I think she does it out of defiance, to show that she ‘rules’ in her home or whatever That’s some funky stuff, the way she’s thinking. I guess I hate her for another reason, too – I guess her because she reminds me of mom and makes me think how disappointed with me she’d be. But she is watching, I think to myself, and I wince at it.

“You’ll thank me later,” my foster mother tells me, and I scowl and roll my eyes.

Like that’s ever going to happen, and when she turns I stick my tongue out at her.

-

It’s been three years, I haven’t said much to anyone in this house, but at least now I know what Mrs. Andrews meant when she said, “You’ll thank me later,” and I have done so very, very much. I never thought I’d be able to make it this far in my life, with an actual understanding of things instead of just having someone say, “This is how it is,” and “This is how it isn’t.”

At first, I was afraid that Mrs. Andrews meant to take over my life, my mom’s place, but I realize now that she was just trying to help me, just as she has told me that she has done for many other foster children who found refuge in her home. At first, I didn’t believe her at all, but when she told me stories, I realized that not even the most creative of writers could make that all up.

I got my personality back, I’m a good again and I still pretend to know how to dance. Mrs. Andrews gets the biggest kick out of it. She is the only other one to know of my fooling attitude, to know that I love life and I’ve always had the ability to, but I was just so focused on the bad things and my own problems to notice. He hadn’t forgotten to notice she had begun calling him ‘Dad’, and this time, not per request. It had surprised him at first, but it was a very, very pleasant surprise.

And while we both agree I’m not getting a very high-paying job any time soon, I have my eye on someone else….

-

Alex stared worried at his exhausted wife, surprised and a lot of other things when they found out that they had had a boy. They had always been expecting a girl, and so things went a little bit wrong when there was a boy there and not a girl, and that was one thing you couldn’t really mistaken about a newborn baby.

His wife was getting very sleep, and slowly, ever so slowly, she feel asleep.

She was beautiful.