I awoke from a dream in which someone was
whispering my name. In it, the whisperer darted back
and forth behind me, hissing into one ear and breathing
almost lovingly into the other.
I sat up in bed, cotton-mouthed and disoriented. My t-shirt was bathed in sweat and I pulled it away from my body with a grimace. In my head I pictured a glass of iced tea, so cold it was sweating beads of condensation, and my mouth began to water. But even as I was thinking of how good it would be to quench my thirst, I cocked my head slightly at an unfamiliar sound.
Metal hangers, clanging softly together inside my closet.
I’ve had a fear of open closets since I was little and refuse to sleep without making sure every door is firmly closed in my bedroom. Last night was no exception. And although the window was pushed up just a bit to allow a little fresh air to circulate throughout the stale room, the breeze was not strong enough to work it’s way under the closet door and move those hangers around. I listened for another moment, more curious than frightened. The sound was gentle, almost like windchimes.
“Morning!” Sarah said sunnily, bustling into my room with a breakfast tray. “How’s my favorite patient today?”
I leaned back against my pillow and groaned, all thoughts of the noisy hangers banished from my head at the sight of the enormous glass of cold water Sarah had brought in. It wasn’t iced tea, but it would do.
“You mean aside from my busted hip and the thirteen staples in my scalp?” I asked grumpily. I hate morning people.
“Your car looks worse than you do, honey,” she said with a smile.
“Remind me of that when I’m pissing sideways into a bedpan.”