Fuck me.
People say that when life is getting them down. Something bad happens: "Fuck...me!"
If you think about it, why are you saying that you want someone to have sex with you when things turn to shit?
I'm thinking about this because that's what happened. Life took a turn for the worse, and then...
--
Months ago...
At 18 years old you think you can take on the world; that you're immortal. Usually something happens that, in no uncertain terms, tells you that you're wrong. A broken bone, or a near-death experience in a car, or...
...or your Mom suddenly dying. One moment she was with us and life was good, and the next she was being rushed to the hospital. Soon after she was dead, the victim of a brain hemorrhage. The doctor said it could have happened to anyone.
But it wasn't just anyone...it was Mom! My Mommy...
Dad took us back home after we left the hospital. It was just him and his two daughters now...well, stepdaughters. He had met Mom 11 years ago, when Stacy and I (I'm Robyn) were just 5 and 7, and they had married almost 2 years later. We didn't remember our biological dad (BioDad, as Mom used to call him), who took off before Stacy was born. In our minds Cal was our Dad.
It took a while for all of us to get to sleep that first night. I just lay in bed, tossing and turning. Finally, it was 1 AM and I had to pee.
As I left my room I could sense someone was in the kitchen. My eyes adjusted to the light and I could see Dad shuffling about in there.
"Dad?" I called. He turned to me and seemed to pause. I moved closer. As I did so I realized he wasn't wearing a shirt. And a moment later I realized he also wasn't wearing pants...or underwear!
"Ack!" I gurgled, averting my eyes. "Dad! What're you doing in here, naked?!" He didn't answer. "Dad?" I turned back to him, keeping my eyes on his face. He just stood there.
"DAD!" I yelled.
He dropped like a stone. As he hit the floor he started screaming and screaming, his limbs flailing. Stacy bolted out of her room, looking as terrified as I felt.
I was about to call 9-1-1 when Dad stopped. Just...stopped. No movement, no noise. I leaned close and could hear him breathing slowly. He was asleep.
He seemed to be okay so we covered him with a blanket and went back to our own beds, frightened and confused.
--
In the morning Dad asked if he had been sleepwalking last night, as he had woken up on the kitchen floor. We said he had, and told him what had happened.
"I'm sorry girls," he said, looking extremely tired. "I used to do that when I was growing up; haven't done it in at least 15 years. Hopefully it won't happen again, but if it does please don't try to wake me. My doctor said that the shock could..."
We waited. Dad looked sheepish. "I have a heart murmur. A shock like that and I could have a heart attack. Just leave me to wander about...maybe lightly direct me back to bed, but no loud noises or jolting, okay?"
Stacy and I looked at each other. We could lose Dad too! We turned back to him and nodded. We would make sure he stayed safe.
--
We stayed home from school and Dad from work for a few days. When one of us would cry the other two would group hug so we could share strength. Dad hadn't sleepwalked since that first night.
When the day of the funeral arrived we buried Mom and said our goodbyes. The rain made it seem like the whole world was crying, not just us. During the reception I decided to ask Gran, Dad's Mom, about his sleepwalking.
"Oh dear, he's doing that again, is he?" she asked, looking around for Dad.
I took her hand. "Gran, is it true that waking him up while he's sleepwalking could kill him?"
She looked sad. "Yes, dear. I thought he grew out of it, but the recent loss of your Mom must have affected him deeply." She thought for a moment. "He'll need your help Robyn. Please do what you can for him." It seemed like she wanted to say something else, but instead she patted my hand and turned away.
--
That night I awoke to the sound of the kitchen chairs being moved around. I grabbed my bathrobe and went to see what was going on.
Dad was in the kitchen again, as naked as before, moving the table and chairs into a new configuration. I realized as he pushed the end of the table against the wall that it made more space in the kitchen's dining area, but now there was only room for 3 chairs. Was his subconscious trying to adapt to the new family dynamic by doing this?
When he was done I whispered that he should go to bed, and I gently steered him that way. He complied and then I did likewise.
--
Dad didn't sleepwalk for a couple of days, and then one night I awoke to find that I was not alone in my bed!
I turned to see him sleeping next to me in the dim light coming through the window from the street lamp. He was just sleeping, not in that weird in-between state. He was, again, naked.
He was on top of the covers and I was under them, so I just let him sleep there and returned to dreamland. In the morning he was gone.
--
Dad, Stacy, and I returned to work and school, respectively. It was hard, but the familiarity of school made it easier as the day went on.
Not so for Dad. He was already home when we got back after school. He said he broke down and cried during a meeting and had to come home. We hugged him and had a good cry together.
--