One Page #33

The color of sleep was a silent S in red. It was splattered against the wall in random polka dots dancing with graceful feet and angular arms. Red curls flashed wildly. The only meaning I could decipher was an encoded inscription of a passage from Deuteronomy in verses that were numbered backwards. I wasn’t sure where to begin. When she looked at me through the pane of the glass window divided into seventy-seven panes of awkward sizes her eyes were huge and her eyebrows arched. She held up a book up, but the division of glass blurred the title and I had to squint and move my eyes around to focus on each letter spelling a word that was so long I didn’t think it possible. I read one letter after the next and the list continued on like marching soldiers through the misty swamps up to their necks in murky water so warm from the sun that sent spirals of light through the water that lapped around their collars so stiff but wilting from the dampness. I never got the title of the book and her face disappeared from the pane that had distorted her face into a microcosm of worlds each flesh toned but flushed and synonymous with pain. I winced. And turned around and walked away from the splintered panes. I heard a man singing and banging on a bucket, but I couldn’t see him. He must have been around the corner where the shadows danced and the trees bent low nearly to the pavement. His voice resonated and echoed and I recognized the tune until he changed it and I couldn’t hum along anymore because it was strange and disharmonious. My pants felt heavy on my hips and my shoes scuffed unnecessarily on the ground. I found a shell, a perfect circle, in the middle of my walk. It sat there effortlessly until I disturbed its rest by removing it from the ground and holding it in my palm so close to my eyes that my eyelashes almost touched the soft shell speckled with grays. In one exhalation it turned to dust and blew away down the street swirling in the gutters and falling into hair curls and book bags. It was gone so quickly I thought I had imagined it and I put my hand into my pocket to keep it safe, just in case it reached again for something that didn’t exist. A light flashed ahead and lightning flashed through the sky and rain began to fall just as I reached my red door the color of sleep with a lion’s head knocker so regal and shining bronze. My groceries felt heavy in my arms and the sun disappeared behind a black cloud that sent the street into instant night with no stars and only storms on the way. The air was chill and I thought of peppermint tea and a slice of lemon. But I had no lemons and only had chamomile tea, so I figured I would have to sleep soon, the color of red.