even if I have to wait
a few extra minutes,
I’m sure a toilet, and
a private one,
will be available soon.
Even better is the smell
of the leftover steam
from Hannah’s shower.
You can’t understand
how happy shampoo
and soap will make you
until you don’t have
them for a few days.
Simple pleasures, Mom
used to say. Don’t ever
take them for granted.
I had no clue what
she meant then, but
as I step beneath
a stream of hot water
and lather up, I totally do.
More simple pleasures:
Good books.
Soft beds.
Warm blankets.
Clean clothes.
Shoes that fit.
I have all of those here.
This house is filled with
simple pleasures.
So why are the people
who live in it so miserable?
FACT OR FICTION:
All Nightmares Happen at Night
Answer: Not even close.
You never know
when you might
wind up in a nightmare.
Sometimes you can find
yourself wading through one
when you’re wide-awake.
I’m an expert on those.
Other times, you jump
out of sleep,
certain you just
left a bad one.
Like now.
I lie in bed
panting
sweating
heart sprinting.
Like I always do,
I try to remember
exactly what made me
feel this way—
frantic
panicked
terrified
—but I can’t tap back
into that world.
All I know is,
I’ve been here before.
I can hear Mom say,
Take it easy, Cal.
It was only a dream.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
What that tells me is,
nightmares were regular
visitors before Mom died.
I knew that, of course.
Both kinds:
sleeping
and
waking.
I think the awake ones
might be finished now,
though I’m afraid
to believe that’s true.
But the ones that shake
me out of sleep? I doubt
those will ever desert me.
I’m guessing
they’re
a regular
function
of my
malfunctioning
brain.
FACT OR FICTION:
An Owl Lives Outside My Window
Answer: Maybe yes, maybe no.
I’m not sure where it lives,
but there’s an owl hoo-hooting
in a tree just beyond the glass.
It isn’t the first time
the bird has come to say hello.
The trick
to knowing
it’s there
is, you have
to be awake
before dawn.
That seems to be his favorite
time of the day to visit—just
as the darkness begins to fade
toward the gray light of morning.
Is he looking for a mate? Or for me?
He sounds
sad, like he
lost something
important
and needs
to find it.
I hope he does. Sometimes when
you lose things, you can’t ever
get them back. I slip out of bed,
go to the window, try to catch
a glimpse of my unhappy friend.
Weird, to label
a random bird
“friend.” But in
the year since
I moved here,
I haven’t made
another one.
Who cares? It might be nice
to have one, but it isn’t really
a necessity. I’m used to being
a loner, and whenever I count
on someone else, they let me down.
I stare hard,
eyes fighting
the charcoal
color of the sky,
and finally
locate my owl.
He’s perched on a naked branch
of a gigantic old tree, still crying.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I tell him.
“You’ll find what you’re looking for.”
His head turns
right toward me,
and he hoo-hoots
before spreading
a sprawl of wings
and lifting off.
Wow. I think he heard me.
FACT OR FICTION:
Owls Are Bad Luck
Answer: I don’t believe in luck.
Yeah, okay, I cross
my fingers sometimes,
mostly because
doesn’t everyone?
That’s habit, not superstition.
But I don’t go looking
for four-leaf clovers.
I think black cats
are just as crazy
as other-colored cats.