Soft Dystopias #6: Beach Blues

Birds tapped the roof between the morning hours of 1:37 and 3:43. At least, that's what happened this past week. It's bird season, and I can't sleep.

There ain't many birds that come around town. Except when it's bird season. It's bird-tapping-roof time. My mind says to go sleep in the van. The white, grey, black clumps on top of my windshield that show up every damn moment tell me it's not a good idea. The town has some cats. A lot of them actually. It turns out that cats make great companions when you're single, depressed, over 35, and childless. You would think that since the stray cat population ballooned in the last 5 years this wouldn't be an issue. But here are the birds on my roof that are fighting or something.

I tap my watch. "Accelerated pulse, high blood pressure, and elevated cortisol levels. Get some sleep. Doctor's orders."

Doc has been talking. Tells me that it's not good that I haven't been sleeping. He told my grandma. Grandma told me. I told myself. It's just not that easy. Yeah, I see the charts getting worse every night. But these damn birds won't leave.

I go for a late night ride. I would ditch town, but my ankle doesn't let me. It goes zap every time I'm 25 miles away from the shoebox. It's not anything I did. It's just a way to make sure I show up at the daycare the next morning. But tonight I don't care. I hit the freeway. My ankle starts going numb, but I'm going 90 on the freeway, so it doesn't matter.

I stick with it. I'd like to get to the beach. It's another 20 minutes of driving. I can't feel up to my knee. The good thing is that the birds are gone.

At the beach, I don't find much. There's not many people out late at night. There are the occasional vagabond bonfires, but I don't see my friends tonight. I'm walking down the shore. The farther I go, the more my ankle zaps. I tap my watch.

"Get back home. High pulse. High blood pressure. High cortisol. Heart palpitations. Go to sleep."

It's a woman's voice now. I've been meaning to ask her out for a while now but it's never been the right time.

I start seeing fewer and fewer birds. I just want to get away from them. Rats with wings is what my grandma used to say. She was from New York. I can't feel my left side anymore. I keep walking.

"Are you ok? Sleep matters for..."

I cut off the vein powered battery. I don't like when she talks to me like that. The pain spread. The ocean was out there. That was enough.