I had actually intended to sleep. When something as serene as a spider is captivating you,
you can’t take it for granted, so they say. If they never said that then I declare it now, and so
forth. Any motivation I had to sleep dissipated along with my desire for it. In an instant it was
4am and my mom was hollering to awaken my brother and I. Not so shockingly, I wasn’t the
slightest bit tired. I only really felt tired during the day, but that could just be me being reclusive.
I think I was vaguely aware of my mom nagging us to get going, but I typically ignored
her, consciously or unconsciously. I sloppily threw on some shorts with my wrinkly night shirt,
and either I didn’t notice that not only did the bottoms not match the top I was sporting, but the
cuffs were also perplexingly twisted, or I didn’t care. I grabbed my messenger bag, paying no
mind to my luggage my mom had knowingly put in the car the previous night. It still seemed like
the previous night though, boycotting shuteye never does your schedule any good. Sleeping isn’t
something that’s ever been necessary for me though, I only get a few hours during the school
year to numb my inability to focus. I’ve never enjoyed the way I feel fully rested. Somehow it
makes me more lethargic. Due to the fact that it was summer, my mind held my full captivation
now that focusing on course work wasn’t a necessity. I hadn’t slept since the week before, when
vacation had begun, and I felt delightfully hazy. My first week had been an extended first day for
me, a dreamlike day where the only coherent philosophy I had was that time was worthless.
I then noticed my mom had been honking her horn for who knows how long, and already
beginning to retreat from the driveway. My brother hurriedly stumbled past me, shirtless with his
hair sticking up in clumps and a blanket draped around his tiny frame. In the rare occurrence that
I were to be not deprived of rest, I might’ve even been annoyed with him for some reason. Not
because he’s particularly annoying, but I’m grouchier when I’m rested. When I was little I would
try explaining this to my mom, and in my own juvenile way told her this was my body rejecting
sleep. She gave up after a while of that discussion, and saw ‘tired’ as one of my personality
traits.
The moving car seemed as if it were hovering when I threw myself into it. My mom was
nursing her first energy drink, while my brother already was snoring softly. I think my mom
made a comment about wanting to do the same. I suddenly felt pretty damn anxious. My flighty
brain was racing, and the type of road trip stimulation I chose at this instant felt vital. Before I
could come to a conclusion, we were in front of my grandparents’ house, my mom helping them
pack their car. We were back on the road, my grandparents behind us when I was fixated on
reading for the time being; but then the sun was making an appearance and I snapped my eyes
shut and hoped for sleep before I got too cynical.
I greeted the remainder of the drive like that, in solitude with headphones on, acting like I
was asleep so well that I thought I was. Several times I forgot where we were going and why,
and I would get so nostalgic that I thought this a different era of my life. I was 8 years old and
going to the circus, or 4 and staying with my dad for the weekend. Soon but probably not soon
enough, I forcefully took mental note that I was heading to Maryland for my aunt’s wedding. I
couldn’t tell if I was excited or not. The change of scenery was always pleasant, but it wasn’t enjoyable being around a group of people who thought you were a troubled kid or whatever. To
be fair I had been arrested a few months prior, but that only amused me for playing the roll so
flawlessly. Adults leave kids who they think are troubled alone, but still manage to pay extra
attention to them.
I jolted upright at a speed bump hours later only to discover that we had arrived at our
destination. If the journey was so important or whatever, why didn’t I remember it? I pretended I
was sleeping again while my mom greeted our other relatives we would be staying with, and
then trudged out of the car when I was the only remainder.
My aunt had rented one of those hundred year old historian homes for us to stay in, and I
was the only one on the bottom floor it appeared, as I dragged myself into the open dark room.
There were no lights on, but the surrounding streets were also so dark that beams of moonlight
bounced off of the vintage furniture in an ominous fashion. Eventually I found myself on the
third floor in search of the remaining bedroom, naturally the one that made your spine tingle. I
paced the room to make note of every wooden panel that eerily creaked. Then I must’ve lain in a
million places in the room to find which angle displayed it the spookiest. When I discovered the
space between the bed and the wardrobe where the moon bounced off everything in the creepy
way, I docked myself there and held an upright flashlight while I blew bubbles towards the
slanted ceiling. In retrospect I think that seems excessively arbitrary, but for some reason it
seems like one of the most significant scenes. The irony kills me, because it’s also a moment I
can label as one where I didn’t feel alive really. I recall crawling onto the roof afterwards
thinking maybe surreal moments only happen when you’re dead. It’s difficult to reflect on
moments when I’m all pretentious like that, but it didn’t feel cheap when I thought it.
I slipped onto the roof pretending I was a ghost from the attic as the sun snuck up on me,
only then I felt too alive. I observed people throughout the street begin their day. They were all
notoriously easy to identify, in a way that seemed synthetic. The hairs on the back of my neck
were rising, but I realized it wasn’t just because of the house anymore, but the town in its
entirety. I felt so erratic up there that at one point I believed I actually was a ghost. Children were
playing with paper planes in the street, I was uncomfortable at the lack of technology present, but
it a refreshing way. As if in a Southern mystery novel, there was even a house with a canopy of
trees secluding it, it’s ghastly aura drifting towards me. I noticed one kid point towards it in
gossip to another, and I was intrigued. A man in overalls emerged from the green walls of his
home, and I immediately categorized him as the town eccentric(though I was the one on the roof
watching people), with potential psychotic tendencies. I didn’t understand why I was so
intrigued, or even process how intrigued I was. But I watched him until the moment he was out
of sight, when I realized how excited I was. Throughout the rest of vacation and still today, I
keep an eye out for people like the man in overalls; I don’t know why or how define that sort of
person but I feel as if they know something I don’t, which is a part of your intuition you don’t let rest.