2:51 AM
by Eric DeLee Holland
2:43.
"7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, and ..." the time on Jared's VCR switches over to 2:44 and he
smiles with content. "Right on the dot!"
Jared leans over to the coffee table, focusing his attention on some nameless infomercial
on mute. Not paying any attention to what he is doing, he accidentally bumps his mug,
spilling the light, tan coffee onto the backside of his hand. He redirects his eyes onto
his hand as if he was looking over the damage and then back to the television -- back to
the overacting sales-pitcher talking about 'net worth' and 'attaining yearly incomes
within the matter of mere months.' Although the sales-pitcher is on mute, Jared knows
exactly what he is saying. It's a commercial he's watched before. As a matter of fact, he
watched it just yesterday morning after the dream.
He tried to stay up again, just as he had the previous six nights, but as proven time
after time, no matter how much coffee or NoDoze you take, the shutters of your eyes
eventually will be pulled down.
Jared is going on his second pot of coffee in as many hours. On his kitchen counter there
are four bottles of NoDoze carrying Circle K price labels. That should be enough to last a
normal man nearly a lifetime. Jared? Roughly two overhauls of about six days apiece. That
would be the tops. Jared had gone nine days in a row without so much as a wink of sleep a
few times before, but it proved costly in the long run. The last time he had done so he
smashed his toe with a hammer in his kitchen in order to stay awake longer (this was on
the seventh night). That incident cost him a trip to the emergency room, but it did
accomplish one goal: he stayed awake for another two nights.
Either way, that had been before his latest troubles.
He was learning that it was getting harder to stay awake at night. Infomercial after
infomercial. NoDoze after NoDoze. The invitation to sleep was getting harder and harder to
ignore.
Jared's face is covered in stubble from not shaving since his newest version of "The
Dream." He has learned not to place a razor to his throat while wired on gallons of
Folgers and NoDoze. Something tells him that it's just about as safe as a driver taking
off his shirt while zipping along on the interstate at 80 mph.
He lives in a townhouse apartment with his wife. Oddly enough, the downstairs portion
contains the bathroom and the bedroom. The upstairs -- about 20 degrees warmer than it is
downstairs -- is the kitchen and the living room, where Jared is now watching TV.
"At least I'm not sleeping." Jared balks at the TV. Then turning his attention
back to his coffee cup he whispers: "Strike that ol' buddy. At least I ain't
dreaming."
He puts the cup down, leaving yet another coffee ring on the glass counter top. He reaches
across the arm of the couch and takes his customary six NoDoze tablets an hour. His gaze
floats to the VCR clock once more and to the empty room he starts counting again.
"10, 9, 8, 7..." In sync with Jared's cadence, the VCR blinks once and then the
last 4 in 2:44 switches to a 5.
~~~~~
The last dream was just a replay of the others. This time it seemed real. Too deja vu-ish
and too real. Not that the first dream wasn't. It's just that there was something about
this dream--something about it's texture--that told Jared not to go back to sleep. Thus he
was taking another stab at trying to find a way to never close his eyes again.
The dreams always start the same way. He is downstairs dreaming peacefully while his wife
is away on yet another business trip. Although he loves her dearly, he cherishes the
nights where he can spread across the bed without being elbowed for crossing the
"LINE" -- the imaginary breathing point his wife set for them so that she can
sleep without being crowded throughout the night.
The phone screams and shatters the peacefulness of the night. It takes Jared a little
while to recognize the ringing for what it truly was. It is almost as if the phone reaches
out to him within his dreams--fucking, calls out for him!
He reaches over to the nightstand, picks up the phone. The clock beyond the handset
flashes over to 2:49 and blinks at him like a beacon while it marks off the passing
seconds. He always says the same thing when answering that phone: 'Hello' twice and in
succession. One 'hello' in the customary tone -- as customary as it may be at 2:49 in the
morning -- and the other in a form of a question, as if to say 'Is there anyone there?'
Then: ‘Fuck’ as he realizes the cordless has given out on him and gone balls up
when he hears the upstairs phone still ringing. He glances at the clock again and, with
some inner voice given him instructions to do so, he starts counting down with each blink.
"10, 9, 8, 7..." Seven is as far as he ever gets when the clock stops his
countdown and changes to 2:50 ahead of schedule.
Upstairs the phone screams out again and again, reminding Jared of his child from a
previous marriage and how he'd just keep crying and screaming in the middle of the night.
As he starts his way up the stairs, he mumbles under his breath: "Keep yer bra straps
untwisted... I'm coming." The stairs creak underneath him as if they voiced their
opinion to him. He smiles faintly at that and insists on speaking back to them. "You
gonna' start on me too?"
The phone is still ringing, and that's when Jared's obsession with the worst-case-scenario
kicks in and he makes a mad dash up the stairs to get to the phone. The only difference
between that old dream and the new dream is that this time he does not wake up before he
can actually reach the phone. He knows the voice and the regretful tears that hang on the
voice's tongue like sap off of a tree. He knows exactly what has happened. Right before he
picked up that phone he looked at the VCR's clock and in his head the count starts again:
5...4... 3... 2... and he watches as the time switches to 2:51.
~~~~~
The bitter flavor of the NoDoze tablets leaves him with a thirst. He had read somewhere
that chewing the tablets makes the medicine work faster... even though he can't stand the
chalky, bitter flavor, it does liven up his senses a little, causing him to stay awake.
Jared walks into the kitchen to grab another cup of coffee. He looks at the bottles of
NoDoze and with a look of concern wonders how many more he can take without possibly
overdosing. He wonders if it is possible to overdose on caffeine and then gives up on the
silly notion as he heads to his left, to the refrigerator.
While retrieving milk from the refrigerator, he is startled by the piercing sound of the
phone ringing. Jared's heart begins to thump within his temples as he remembers the dream
and the phone call.
This can't happen. It's not like the dream.
Although he wishes against it, the phone blares out again. He looks at the VCR and notices
the time: 2:48. Ha! He cries gleefully. Then aloud: "It's not time yet." He
continues his previous task and unscrews the lid to the milk. As soon as he takes his gaze
off of the VCR, the time switches to 2:49.
The phone continues to ring, and with each ring Jared is reminded of his dream. He
counsels himself and calms his nerves by remembering that he was downstairs when
everything happened in the dream... NOT upstairs drinking coffee in the kitchen. There is
no way he is going to receive the call he received in his dreams. Hell... the time isn't
even right.
Over his cup he gazes across the room at the VCR and realizes he may have spoken too soon.
The time is 2:50 and he has not seen it switch over and, therefore, has no idea when the
time is going to switch again.
Except he does.
He grabs the cordless phone from its cradle in the kitchen and starts counting to the
empty room again. "5... 4... 3... 2... and..." the clock switches over to 2:51
and the sales-pitcher looked astonished on the muted screen as he holds up a cancelled
check for $12,456 with a young couple next to his side.
"Hello."
Silence. Then a sniffle from someone on the other end. Uneasy about saying it, but at the
same time knowing he had to: "Hello?"
©2002 Eric DeLee Holland
Eric DeLee is a 24-year-old writer that is constantly having
things get in the way (Work, Overtime, Neighbors that want me to cut my grass the same day
they do…) of fulfilling his dream of writing for a living. He does admit that his
graveyard shift normally allows him to find time to write each day, but he has to also
admit that he is a rather SLOW typist. He is a member of the Armed Forces (Army-4 Active
Duty/National Guard-2 years and counting) and currently works for a telecommunications
company. He started writing while in high school, but mainly used his teenage years
devoted to drawing portraits. It was not until 2000 did he start taking writing seriously.
Most of that is due to his wife’s constant encouragement and the wonderful friends
that he has made on the net.
He has three novels, a novella, and numerous short stories in
the works. He has had many short stories featured at websites and in e-magazines. The most
notable publishing was within the on-line magazine: The Harrow. His short story, 2:51 AM,
showcased for one month and now resides within the archives.
He is a proud member of the following groups:
For the Love of Horror
For the Love of Writing
BeWrite.Net
And we can’t forget to mention:
The Milers |