亚色影库app

An open access publication of the 亚色影库app & Sciences
Winter 2007

Life is Adequate

Author
Peggy Shinner
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Peggy Shinner is the recipient of several Illinois Arts Council Fellowships, an Ausable Press Fellowship, and a Pushcart Prize Special Mention. Her work has appeared in 鈥淎laska Quarterly Review,鈥 鈥淏loom,鈥 鈥淭he Chicago Reader,鈥 鈥淭ri-Quarterly,鈥 鈥淲estern Humanities Review,鈥 and other publications. She also has essays forthcoming in 鈥淔ourth Genre鈥 and 鈥淭he Gettysburg Review.鈥 Currently, she is at work on a book of essays about the body.

Sheep, milk, TV. He鈥檚 tried everything, but she never believes him. She thinks it鈥檚 a joke that he can鈥檛 sleep. She thinks if only he tried harder. If he really wanted to he could. All he has to do is close his eyes. It鈥檚 that easy. What does she know about trying to sleep. She鈥檚 young, she wants to go to sleep, she sleeps. He used to be like that. Time was he slept like a baby. He shut his eyes and went to sleep.

That was a long time ago. Lately, he can鈥檛 buy a good night鈥檚 sleep.

Sometimes she thinks he鈥檚 lying. Or at least not telling the truth. He鈥檚 fabricating. Exaggerating. He can hear her telling her friends. Embellishing. She says embellishing just so she can say a big word. He knows a big word or two. His vocabulary isn鈥檛 so small.

So she thinks he鈥檚 lying. He can tell by how, when he says he can鈥檛 sleep, she goes on to the next subject. She doesn鈥檛 skip a beat. By the way she says yes and mm-hmm. She鈥檚 humoring him. All those naps, she鈥檚 thinking. Old people always say they can鈥檛 sleep. They want you to feel sorry for them. But you add it up, an hour here, an hour there . . . . The morning always comes, she鈥檚 thinking. He can tell.

The thing was she woke him up. He was almost sleeping. He was dozing off.

The news was on, Walter Jacobson talking about a fire on the South Side. He鈥檇 punched up a couple pillows, and from underneath him he felt them give way. His foot twitched. You could see the smoke for miles, he thought he heard an onlooker say. He reached out his hand, blinked his eyes. Faces flickered on the screen. No one was injured in the fire. Is it too late? she said. Did I wake you up? At first he didn鈥檛 know who it was. He moved the receiver to the other ear. I鈥檓 returning your call, she said. He got the feeling she was repeating it. I鈥檓 returning your call, like he was some kind of business establishment.

He shook his head. The room was dark, except for the light from the TV. He pressed the remote a few times to turn down the sound. His call? Oh yeah, he had to call once a week to remind her he was her father. . . .

To read the full essay, access the PDF of the volume.