Sunday morning, 5 AM, lost in dreamland, then--BZZZZT--the piercing wail of the phone. My eyes open immediately, I stumble for the receiver...but it's not ringing. The caller ID shows no one had called. Evidently, the phone only rang in a dream.
Why? What is my subconscious trying to tell me? Is it trying to evoke a similar crack of doom ring on a similarly lazy Sunday morning twelve years ago? Is it trying to remind me of hearing my mom's voice on the other end, quietly telling me my dad passed away during the night?
If so, it's working. I return to bed, but every time I close my eyes, images and emotions flash in my brain, memories half-forgotten, of driving out to Mom and Dad's apartment complex that misty morning, the police having arrived before me, the flashing lights on their cars stabbing through the fog. Mom, strangely calm, sitting in her chair making small talk. Dad's sheet-covered body carried out, only glimpsed for a fraction of a second before I averted my eyes. Me, making at least some of the inevitable calls to siblings--I can't even remember how many I spoke to, or what was said, or if I cried.
Probably not--the most concrete memory is an overwhelming numbness. A turning point had arrived and I shrugged, unable to fully engage it. All I could do was detach myself from any emotion and stumble forward without a look back.
And it worked.
But now, this morning, wishing only to go back to sleep, that dull roar of nothingness I've grown to know so well is replaced by an unidentified voice whispering in my ear, wondering how I could have felt so little, asking when I'm going to re-engage with life. I tremble under the covers, unable to answer.
