"Child,
how could you cross alive into this gloom
at the world's end?-No sight for living eyes;
great currents run between, desolate waters,
the Ocean first, where no man goes a journey
without ship's timber under him."

"The Odyssey," Fitzgerald Translation. Book 6, Lines 173-178.
Used without permission.
 

MARTHA:

I watch him sleep.

I keep reminding myself, he's a patient, and I need to be clinical.

I need to be rational. I need to be clearheaded, objective, decisive.

I'm going to have to do things he is not going to like.

I watch him sleep.

I need this job. I return to my regular job tomorrow night, but I need the extra money terribly.

This is my way of getting what I need.

(No kidding, Martha!)

And this will be a job where the hours will probably not be horrendous, and Joanna indicated that the pay would be good.

I may even be able to catch up on some of my sleep, of which I am years behind on.

I watch him sleep.

He seemed to appreciate the teddy bear...right now he's got one hand curled around it, next to his cheek on the pillow. He looks like a little boy, restful, innocent.

I am sure he is anything but. You don't live as long as he has and stay innocent.

But he gives an almost angelic illusion of it.

He snores. Daniel always snored. I found it such a comfort to listen to when he was home, before he became so ill.

All you women who complain about your husband's snoring, I have two words for you: Shut up. Believe me, you'll miss it when you don't have it anymore.

And I watch him sleep.

It's been so long since I watched a man sleep peacefully. I am certain that a great deal of this, if not all of it, is due to the quantity and quality of meds induced into his system. He has to be in a good deal of pain. Any kind of belly surgery is painful, and slow to recover from.

But even with meds, in the last year of his life, Daniel could only sleep in fits and starts, for very brief periods of time.

I wonder if this man sleeps well generally.

Somehow, and I'm not sure why, I think not. Although perhaps the night I met him had been the end product of an unusually tiring and stressful day, he had the face and eyes of one whose sleep is constantly uneasy.

Right, Martha. And you're just the one to make him rest easy.

I watch him sleep.

I wonder what it would be like to get him ready for bed.

I mean, really ready for bed.

First, I'd turn back the sheets. Make the bed comfortable. Maybe light a candle or two. Turn the lights down low.

I'd wear the purple nightgown. I bought it a few years ago, hoping that Daniel would be able to appreciate it on our anniversary.

A month before that, he began to have seizures and periods of unconsciousness. Which only became worse over time.

The purple nightgown, which is satin, very simple, sleek, and lovely, lies untouched in my lingerie drawer.

I wonder if Melvin likes purple. Or nightgowns.

Of course, if it wasn't to his liking, it slips off easily.

This is how I'd get him ready for bed.

I watch him sleep.

Martha, you're crazy. It will be weeks and weeks before he's even ready to contemplate such things...

And that's assuming he's interested.

Somehow, I doubt it. He seems to like my company, but to see me as a woman? A partner?

A love object?

Martha, you've had too many years of too much work and too much stress, too little sleep and too little sex.

Make that no sex. I'm trying to remember the last time Daniel and I could perform the act.

That was 1995.

Yes, it's been a while.

No wonder you're smitten. The first man in years to pay attention to you, and you go and fall for him like some dishy schoolgirl.

I watch him sleep.

The son. I didn't know he had a son. I'm wondering if it would have made any difference had he told me he had a son when I first met him.

Too late now.

Don't be silly, Martha. Of course it's not too late...it's not even too early!

It seems like everything is against us. And probably everyone. Truly this is symbolic of how far I've gone over the edge. To even think that we have a chance...

To think he would want me.

What does he need from me? What do I have that he could possibly want?

I wish I knew. I would offer it to him.

I watch him sleep.

What does he do for a living? What are his politics? His taste in music? What does he like to eat?

What would he want to do with me? If anything?

Is he romantic? I sense he might be. He is such a gentle soul. And caring. Who else in their right mind would have done for me what he did?

He must have been married before, or at least been seriously involved with someone, since there appears to be a child. How long has it been for him? Is this a fresh wound or something in the distant past? And how long did it last? What was it like? What caused it to end?

I know so little of him, it seems absurd to say that I'm...

Don't use the word...

Oh, hell, admit it, Martha. You're in love with him.

Yes, you are.

And what do you know of love?

A great deal, thank you very much. I've practiced enough of it.

And now I'm ready to receive some.

Is he ready to give it?

I watch him sleep.

He seems affectionate with his child. Would he be so with me?

Would the child ever grow to accept me?

How old is this boy? He looks to be of majority, but one never knows.

And does he live with Melvin? He didn't say. Of course, he didn't say he was a father, either...

He called to tell me there was a funeral for some friends of his. I was touched by this, so much I went to the funeral. I remember the boy being there, with a young girl, who seemed no more than a teenager. The girl appeared grief-stricken. Were these her people?

I went to a funeral for someone I never met, for a man I barely know...

All to be near him.

I watch him sleep.

He is restless now. I read the liquid crystal numbers glowing in the backlight of his room. Temperature of 100.2. Normal after surgery, but no doubt making him uncomfortable.

I take a face cloth from the bathroom, dip it in some cool water, and pat his face with it. He seems to find relief in this gesture.

A gesture any good nurse would do.

Right, Martha. Sure.

I then dip the cloth again and cool his wrists. Get the pulse points cool.

He's more comfortable now. Not quite so restless.

I check to see when he last had pain medication. Nearly 4 hours ago. He'll need more soon.

I find myself murmuring to him to just hold on...

As if he could hear me right now!

Perhaps he can, but he is too weary and too medicated to be able to make sense of my words.

Although I sense that he calms under the voice.

I watch him sleep.

Men always look so small and vulnerable in sleep, and he looks positively helpless right now.

I have the urge to take him in my arms and tell him everything is all right, that he'll be fine, that I'll take care of him and make it better...

So that someday, he can watch me sleep.
 

MICHAEL:

August 26, 2001

Oh Christ, this can't be for real. It's 5:30 already...gaak! And Kelly's alarm is shrieking at us to get up out of our comfy little womb here and get out there and show our stuff...

If you don't mind, I'd just as soon curl up and forget it, thank you very much.

I can hear footsteps upstairs. Sounds like the whole place is being dragged into the day, kicking and screaming, but it's really only Langly and Ally. Which by themselves can constitute an entire front in the morning. He's swearing about something, but I can't make out the words.

Kelly groans when the alarm goes off. She loves school, but she also thinks sleep is a Good Thing...and now that school's in session, we know we'll never get enough of it.

Because school's in session? Hell, I went all summer and hardly got any! And it sucked.

Yeah, I spent the night here. Ally and Langly don't give a fuck, and Dad...

Well, he can't say jack to me.

Bet she stayed over with him. How much you want to?

Kelly looks tired. She's got strands of her wheaty hair in her eyes, and her eyes are sort of half-closed and puffy. But she gives this little sigh of contentment when she curls up to me and I see the smile on her lips.

"I like it when you're here at night," she says.

Me too. Although her bed's a single, and it's a little tight, I still love being here with her.

Mine's huge. Maybe tonight we'll stay at Dad's and my place.

She's got her arm tossed over my waist. "You ready to do this?"

"Nope." I'm not. I'm not ready for anything except total retreat.

"Me neither, but I think we'd better get moving," she says, pulling herself up. She's wearing one of my T-shirts. A lot of them seem to be ending up in her wardrobe lately.

What is it about women and guys' T-shirts? I notice Ally sleeps in Langly's a lot, and even Miranda steals from him. Don't know about the prof and Juliet, because for one thing, I've never seen the prof in a T-shirt. And now that the semester's back in swing, you'll only see him in a suit till Christmas break. Betcha.

I think, no way would any woman be caught dead in my dad's clothes...

Frohike, get off it. You got to get to school, you have an 8:00 lecture, and you're lying here like some kind of useless lump of seaweed.

Besides, what if she's not interested in him? I mean, let's face it, that's a more likely possibility...

So why are you so fucking worried?

And why are you worrying about this instead of your dad getting better?

Because for some reason, all of a sudden, the two have this weird link. It's like, he'll get better if he gets some help...

And this is the help Jo picked out for him?

Aargh!

And what kills me is, Jo knows! It's not like she pulled a rabbit out of a hat from nowhere. She knows how my dad feels about this lady!

Being sick must be warping Jo's brain. She's not mean like this. Usually.

Maybe she'll only be there when at school and work, and I'll never have to deal with him, and maybe once she gets a look at the blue bunny jammies...

That's right! Kelly brought the blue bunny jammies to the hospital...

And the alpaca vest!

The alpaca vest, if it doesn't work, the woman is either blind or insane.

Maybe this'll be easier than I thought.

I finally get my ass out of bed.
 

LANGLY:

Oh man. I do NOT want to do this.

This is making me real nervous, and I don't need nervous on Monday morning.

Might have helped if I could SLEEP, but that didn't happen. I just kept tearing up the bed and Ally rubbed my back but it didn't help, and for some reason I just couldn't get into the idea of doing it last night...

Weird.

I keep wondering why I'm getting shipped over to Langley (not to be mistaken with how I spell my name, thank you!), and what I'm gonna be doing, and who I'm working for, but mostly, I keep wondering why.

Worries the shit out of me.

Glad we went away this weekend, otherwise I could have probably had two more nights of not sleeping!

I keep thinking about how Ally and me were joking about my going in drag on the first day. Tell the truth, I looked at her stuff, but she doesn't have anything to fit me. Damn. Maybe I could've bailed out because I was insane.

I am insane, they just don't know it yet. Or maybe they do and they want to use my insanity. How the fuck should I know? All's I know is, paranoia's getting me down this morning.

I wimp out and put on jeans instead of shorts, even though it's still so fucking hot I could scream. Dead Kennedys were on top, so I grabbed them. Should make a great impression.

Hope not.

Ally hands me a commuter mug full of Italian roast-she knows I'm tired, so she went for the high-octane stuff.

I think I'd rather just go back to bed. I could maybe hibernate till about the year 2038. That's 37 years from now...I'd be 75...I'd be past retirement age...

I need an update on the Fro, but don't have time. Ally asks if I want her cell, since I don't know where I'll be and stuff, but I don't think I do. I'm kind of nervous about using cells. I tell her she needs to be careful, too.

At least my keys are in some place more or less accessible...I only have to look for about five minutes and recycle my stream of profanity twice before I find them. Ally and me are both real bad about this, but seems like we never do anything to make it better.

Okay, dude. Time to get your ass out there and work it.

It's gonna be a long fucking day.
 

BYERS:

I hate the first day of a new semester. It's complete chaos.

This is coupled with my entire life being in chaos, so it's bound to be a breaker of a day.

I make certain I have plenty of Advils in my briefcase. I keep wondering if I should throw a fifth of gin in there. I might need to drink my lunch today.

We came home to a message from our real estate agent, saying that the sellers are having trouble with getting the loan on their new home and they're going to need some more time...she thinks maybe an extra two weeks, but she's not sure...

They're not going to need any extra time to get their loan. I'm going to be a very naughty boy...and do something very nice for these people.

And for Juliet and me.

I'm going to make their loan go through. By the time I arrive at work, their loan will be ready to fund.

Ordinarily, we avoid financial manipulation. This probably seems an odd code of ethics. We don't have a problem with what is referred to as phreaking, but we stay out moving money around, unless it's our own. We actually use our own Visa cards, which may seem strange, but it's pretty hard to get along without one these days.

And although we would feel no remorse at stealing a large chunk of change from a major corporation and moving it to more deserving parties, we don't. That sort of behavior just raises red flags all over the place, and we like to remain low-key.

Okay, there was the one time Pinker Pharmaceuticals decided that there was no cause of action in a class-action suit filed on behalf of a number of people who had died using one of their cholesterol-lowering drugs. We felt rather bad about that, in view of the evidence we had, so we spent some time shaving off little dribs and drabs of money and quietly placing them in  the plaintiffs' bank accounts.

But that's rare. While many people are certainly more deserving of the ridiculous profits of large corporations than the CEO's, we stay out of this. I have often been tempted to go into my father's company's funds and do a little reallocation, but considering I already did something even worse when I was young-drove the stock price down to nearly worthless-and I can
sense a few thin, tentative links to my father again, and I'm unwilling to jeopardize that.

He at least did get me a lawyer that got me off lightly, and in this day and age, that is rare. Sentencing is becoming much harsher and less well thought out. And the poor and ethnic minorities are suffering disproportionately. This is of course not new. But the gulf between those that have and those that do not is beginning to form an almost impassable chasm these days.

And the wealthiest of all are those that insist that all must sacrifice-except themselves.

This isn't new, either. You would think I'd have gotten used to it by now.

I think it just makes me angrier and angrier all the time.

But I can do one good deed (of a sort today).

And Juliet and I can close on our house next week.

I have to get out to see Frohike today. I know how difficult it is on the first day of a new term (read: impossible), but if I have to knock a few people unconscious so that I can get out of my office, I'm willing. I need to see him for myself. I won't stay long; I know how he feels about company when he's under the weather. But I'd like him to know that I'm thinking about him, and it would reassure me greatly.

It's now 6:30 a.m.

I want this day to be over already.
 

FROHIKE:

What day is this, anyway?

END OF PART 20