To The Dog Outside Barking at 2:37, 2:43, 2:52 and 3:05 in the Morning

This is the last morning of what has been a very stressful week at work. Reports are due and then they have to be read. And then interpreted. And then forwarded to the People Who Will Have Questions. There’s a leak in my office I’m trying to ignore, but dark circle widening on the carpet is getting closer to my desk. My students are beginning to understand college is for real and when I wake up at 5:00, my inbox always has a few frantic emails about the assignment due in class today. They will not wake up in time to read my reply. I consider using Twitter to communicate with them. Twitter is stressful.

 

All these worries go to bed with me and though we all fall asleep, we wake each other up. One kicks and the other pulls the sheet off the bed. One is too hot and the other is too cold. One snores. One is having bad dreams and talking out loud. Usually, I just get up. We all calm down when we start working.

But this morning, we have managed to sleep peacefully. I’m drifting through a dream that has no narrative, but a house from my childhood I recognize. A well-lit kitchen. A glass sugar server with a metal lid hinged in the center. As it is becoming more and more clear, I hear you barking. And that barking becomes louder, though not urgent.

Bark. [Silence.] Barkbark. [Silence.] Bark. [Silence] Barkbarkbark. [Silence.]
 

I wake up. You aren’t part of my dreamscape, but a real dog that has been left outside at this unholy hour and needs desperately to go back in the house, to the blanket in the corner of the room, to the bowl of fresh water, to the crumbs the boy leaves on the stairs as he goes to his room.

Your owner has forgotten about you and you have waited all night by the door. Finally, you have to say something but you are trying not to bother the neighborhood. You are barking as small and infrequently as caninely possible while still trying to get what you need. Yes, you I love.

Your owner, on the other hand, needs to understand what he has robbed from me. This first complete sleep cycle in weeks. The possibility of going to work without circles under my eyes. A clear head, if only for a day. The reassurance that a full night of sleep really is possible. That bowl of sugar.

That was my grandmother’s kitchen. She was in the next room. We would have had a cup of coffee. Maybe she would have held my hand. I haven’t seen her in years. We were so close.