We All Sleep in the Same Room (5 page)

3

“T
om! Tom! Tom!”

Hands reach for my throat. I'm being suffocated. A scream wells up from deep within me. But the sound is muted. I'm in a vacuum. White waves through crimson air.

“TOM!!”

I lunge forward. I'm in the middle of the tiny floor space in our bedroom. Finally.

“Tom, are you alright?”

Raina is looking at me. Ben's looking at me too, standing up in his bed. They're both blurry.

“Don't worry, I'm not going to do it. She didn't get me.”

There's a pause. I smile.

“Huh. I guess I'm not making sense,” I say.

“No, you're not. But I'm glad you're okay. Christ, that was terrifying. You let out the worst screams I've ever heard. It was awful. It didn't sound anything like you.”

Raina's shape sharpens—a frizz of snaky curls, face swollen from sleep. Her shoulders rise and fall. Then she whispers, “Tom, I thought there was someone in the house.”

I turn to check on Ben. Cub-like, zipped into footed pajamas, his wide-eyed stillness suggests that he's witnessed something otherworldly. For a time, the three of us remain as we are, standing together in our bedroom. I listen to them breathe. I breathe too and feel calm.

I lift my son. His fuzzy arms and legs wrap around me. Raina wraps her arms around both of us. Then I place Ben back into his bed and draw up the blanket.

“I guess Daddy had a bad dream,” I say. The clock by the window reads 3:48
a.m.
“Let's all sleep in today.”

My mind travels back inside the circus tent to the end of the first act, where Jacques is once again being swung side to side, the lights shifting from pink to yellow to deep red and fiery orange.

* * *

9:15. I wake in
a deserted room. The last time I slept this late it was a different decade.

I discover Ben, showered and dressed, seated cross-legged on the living room carpet, a few feet from the television.
Dora the Explorer
. A veteran of almost every episode, my son replies to Dora's questions efficiently and unemotionally, in a quiet, composed voice.

Raina is hunched over the kitchen sink scrubbing a frying pan.

“Good morning,” I say. “How did you sleep?”

“Miserably,” she says. “I've been up since four. I was way too shaken to fall back asleep. Tom, you scared the crap out of me last night.”

“Sorry about that.”

“I honestly thought someone was murdering you, or you were choking. You made these awful, high-pitched screams. I mean, are you alright? Do you remember the dream?”

“I'm not sure. Someone was trying to strangle me. But I'm alright now. I actually feel really good, refreshed.” I note Raina's sullen expression and the dark circles under her eyes.

“Ben's already a half-hour late for school,” she says. “I don't need to be at the office until one.” She's being passive aggressive.

“How about I play hookie with Ben and let you sleep a few more hours?” I say.

Requiring no further encouragement, she sets down the pan, puts a hand on my arm and mutters, “I'm glad you're not dead,” and retreats to the bedroom. She forgot to say goodbye to Ben.

I walk over and give him a kiss. “I'm going to take a quick shower and then I'll be ready to play. No school today.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

On my way into the bathroom, I pause in front of Raina's Olympus camera, slung, in its faded orange carrying case, over the back of a chair. It was probably her favorite possession for most of the years I've known her—the accomplice used to realize her most personal visions, her creative life. When Ben was born, she'd switched to digital to more easily distribute his picture among family and friends.

* * *

“I don't want to
go to the park!” Ben snaps and begins a mad crawl to the TV set, which accelerates into a dash in the direction of the bedroom, to his mom. I spring and clasp him from behind—hands fast on his hips. His legs and arms flail. He twists around and tries to scratch my face.

“Hey!” I say. “Listen to me. Your mom had a rough night. She needs sleep. Don't you dare wake her up.” I stop and calm myself. I need a tactic. “Listen, I'm not taking you to school today. Now, Halloween's not for another three days, but do you want to wear your costume to the park?”

He doesn't look convinced.

“You don't want to be Superman?”

“Yeah! Daddy, I want to be Superman!”

I'm unlocking the front door, when my mind returns to the chair in the living room where Raina's camera hangs in its case. Ben is chomping at the bit now. I dart back inside and loop the camera over my neck. Up, up, and away.

* * *

Ben bounds ahead. I
jog close, chasing the red cape. Two different women put their hand to their mouth in a gesture of overcome emotion. A man exclaims,
It's a bird! It's a plane!

On the subway platform, two twenty-something guys egg him on,
Dude, awesome Superman costume. You can totally fly. You have super strength. You can shoot lasers from your eyes. And you get the girl.

I know I was in school. High school, definitely. It must've been getting that invitation to my reunion a few weeks back that got me thinking about it. The date was for sometime near Christmas. Only in the dream, I wasn't even going to graduate. I had to learn something first to pass a course and be able to graduate. I was hopelessly behind, impossibly confused. I didn't know what it was I didn't know.

Then I'm in the boys' bathroom. But the walls recede forever. There are no stalls or urinals or sinks. Just tile. Those tiny one-inch by one-inch yellow-brown tiles. The floor is muddy. Black and watery with clumps of sludge. I move forward, barefoot. I'm completely naked. The door is locked. It's nighttime. I can peer out through a crack. I see the hallway and lockers.

When I turn back around a woman approaches from the infinite, tiled abyss. It's Jessie. Except it's not Jessie. It's Olga Petrova. Olga, who I've never seen and haven't thought about in weeks. Olga, yes, but physically, it's Jessie. It's Jessie's body, Jessie's face. Except something's different about the eyes, which are darker and somehow foreign to me. Her skin is white, almost fluorescent. Olga, you did it, I hear myself say. Olga/Jessie doesn't say anything, but she keeps walking closer. Closer still. And she's got this red flowing dress. It's transparent. And she takes a step closer. I'm terrified. And the dress slides off her shoulders and down her non-existent hips to the floor. She's now a man. But without genitals. No curves. She's totally emaciated. I can see straight into her white chest. One more step toward me. I'm up against the filthy wall. She puts her arms around me. Around my neck. She's a skeleton now. A corpse. I'm screaming. It's Raina. She's saying my name.
Tom! Tom! Tom!

This is Bedford Avenue. This is a Rockaway Parkway–bound L Train. The next stop is...

Ben and I pass
a Salvation Army, a hardware store, a pizzeria, a health food shop, an accessories boutique—each festively draped in fake spider webs and other Halloween decorations. With Ben's pace keeping steady, as opposed to his commonplace manic swing between clumsy dash and slumped over why-did-you-give-away-my-stroller slog, tranquility flows over me.

I'm relieved. To be with my son. Just the two of us, without Raina. It's been too long. But that's okay. Whatever has been is okay. No reason to think backward now. My mind is sailing to the future. There are a million places I want to show Ben. I'll take him to Astoria, to Wave Hill, to the Greenwood Cemetery, on the Staten Island Ferry, to Rockaway, to the Hudson Valley, and Sleepy Hollow. I'll teach him about the labor movement and about why it's important, even when you're down on individuals, to remain optimistic about mankind. And if he wants to know about something else, I'll teach him about that, too. If there's a question that I don't know an answer to, we'll look it up. Together.

Before Bedford leads us to the park there are two adjacent bars, each offering beer from the neighborhood's own Brooklyn Brewery. Ben skips ahead.

We enter McCarren Park and break into a steady jog across a barren baseball diamond. Futuristic stadium lights stand tall and alien-looking against the gray-blue sky, the way I imagine the wind-turbines that make the long shadows across the Nebraska prairie. Jessie.

We reach the playground where Ben tackles the slides. I take a seat on one of the benches, lay Raina's camera gently next to me, and start in on the snacks I packed for us. A bagel and cream cheese. I have a sip of coffee. I take out my cell phone and call her.

“Hi. Tom…” Jessie says, “I'm really sorry. I'll be at the office soon. I'm just running a little late.”

“You're not at the office? Oh, that's funny. Ben and I are in McCarren Park. I'm taking the day off. If you're still in Williamsburg, why don't you come join us?”

“Really? How funny.” I think I hear the low rumblings of a male voice, though it could be the radio. “Are you sure that'd be okay?”

“Don't worry, I got your back.”

Jessie laughs. “I can probably see you guys from my window. I'll be there in a few minutes, okay?”

A strikingly tall mother and her daughter enter through the playground gate. The mother is wearing some incredibly fashionable fur jacket and boots. She looks like a model. The blonde, curly-haired daughter sipping a juice box appears to be about Ben's age. The model unzips the girl's coat revealing a pink dress with purple and white lace. From her coat pocket, the model removes a plastic, jeweled tiara and places it on the girl's head. Another Halloween costume.

Ben runs toward the princess. The princess gives him a once over and goes back to her juice. Her mother excitedly taps the princess's shoulder and points out the
S
on Ben's chest, but the princess isn't having it. Ben races back to me and slaps my knee, grinning and pointing at the girl in the pink dress.

“She's a princess,” I say.

He nods fervently and runs back over to the girl. This time, the princess has a change of heart. Then they're off running and giggling together. The princess leads the way up the twisty slide and Superman follows. The model and the labor lawyer take to their feet.

“Hi,” I say. “I'm Tom.”

“Kristina,” she says.

“Your daughter seems very sweet.”

“Thanks. Looks like they're getting along.”

I look at Kristina again.
What would you do with all that leg?

* * *

Jessie, strides through the
gate clutching a large white coffee cup. Her hair is wet, dark. I find myself bending and pressing my lips into her wrist, as if welcoming royalty.

“Tom. What're you doing?” She blushes.

“Sorry, I...I don't know. I guess I'm happy to see you.”

I imagine she contemplates a kiss in return, but instead she gives my forearm a pinch. “Oh my god. Is that Ben? You've got to be kidding me. He is so adorable.”

“Thanks.” I'm grinning again.

“That costume is adorable. And that princess? Wow, they make such a cute couple. Halloween costumes?”

“Yup.”

“He is such a charmer,” Jessie says. “You guys trick-or-treating on Monday?”

“I think Frank's going to take him out.”

“That's the babysitter, right?”

“Yup.”

We settle into the steel benches. The princess lies down on her stomach at the top of the slide. Her dress, hiked to her thighs, exposes her purple tights, and she points emphatically to her backside, motioning for Ben, who's standing above her on the last rung of the ladder, to get on top of her. Ben hesitates. Then he gets on. The adults rise. The children ride down with Ben on top. The princess is delighted. They scale the ladder, and again, the princess sets to go.

“Rebecca,” her mother calls timidly.

“Ben,” I say.

The children scream their way down the slide. On the ground they rest, temporarily on top of each other, neither registering any sign of having heard their parent, and begin their ascent all over.

It's an awkward situation. Their game is totally innocent and sweet, of course, and amusing to watch. But as responsible, respectable parents, we're not permitted to stand idly by and allow this suggestive display to continue. Although, were it not for the the other two grown-ups present, I'd just as soon let it happen. I can't help wondering if Kristina feels the same.

When the children reach the top again, Ben lies down first, offering himself to the princess. And away they go, with Ben on bottom, grinning ear to ear. At least it's equal opportunity. This time I'm kneeling at the base of the slide. The princess starts climbing back up, but I hold onto Ben. I feel the women's gaze.

“Look,” I say, “you don't have to stop playing. Just think of another game, okay?” He looks confused at first. But he's having such a good time. “Okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.”

And to my surprise, that is that. The children continue to beam as they alter their sliding to a one-after-the-other train formation. And Kristina and I are relieved of blame. If, say in ten years time, our children turn out to be sexual deviants, it's not a result of our loose supervision at a Brooklyn playground.

Jessie and I each take sips of coffee and watch Ben trail the princess around the
fenced-in
park. Raina's camera case catches my eye.

“Oh yeah, I wanted to take some pictures,” I say, pulling the camera out of its orange case. “I've never owned a real camera.”

“You gotta take off the lens cap.”

“All the greats,” I say, examining the hardware, “like to envision their photograph in pure darkness. To see the image in their imagination.”