By Judy Kramer
When I was a child, I suffered from insomnia. It was terrible, and it was particularly awful on Sunday nights. I don’t think I was nervous about going to school the next day, at least not consciously, as I always loved school. Whatever the reason, I just lay awake in the dark for hours. I couldn’t turn on the light and read myself to sleep, because that would wake my sister, who was sleeping peacefully and easily in the other twin bed.
Instead, I would lie there with my eyes wide open, wishing that the morning would come. I occupied myself by mentally listing all of the states in alphabetical order, counting them on my fingers. Sometimes I’d lose track of whether I was up to twenty or thirty fingers and have to start all over again. Then I would move on to state capitals, silently enumerating them, this time in geographical order, going from east to west.
On certain Friday nights, I had no trouble falling asleep. Those were the Friday nights when my father’s poker game was at our apartment. My father and his buddies, some from his childhood, and others he had met in the Army, gathered once a month, taking turns hosting the games.
I loved it when the games were at our place. The men played at our kitchen table. I could hear them from my bedroom, just down the hallway, although they were not especially loud. There was more cigarette smoking than drinking on those occasions. Maybe there was something soothing about the sound of coins being tossed into the center of the table and men saying “I’ll raise you,” “I’m out,” and “aces are wild,” because I fell asleep easily on those nights.
But one Friday night, when I was about ten years old and the poker game was at someone else’s place, I lay awake. My efforts to fall asleep were as futile as if it were a Sunday. I don’t remember how long I lay in bed alphabetizing states or listening to Jack Parr’s monologue drifting from our living room. At some point, though, I decided I couldn’t stay in bed any longer, so I got up and headed toward the living room.
I gasped when I saw the front door to our apartment. My mother had put a chair under the doorknob, so no one could come in. Now I believed I knew the cause of my sleeplessness. My mother and father were having problems, and she was barring him from coming home when his poker game was over. Sobbing, I went into the living room and confronted my mother. Why was she trying to keep my father out? Were they going to get divorced?
I can only imagine what was going through my mother’s mind. I’m sure she knew she had to quiet my fears about their marriage, but was she also worried about telling me the actual reason for barring the front door? She turned off the TV and told me to sit down.
“Dad and I aren’t having any problems,” she said, “and I’m not trying to keep him out. I’m trying to keep you in.”
Not only was I an insomniac, but it turned out that I had also become a sleepwalker. My mother told me that on several occasions, she had found me wandering around the apartment, asleep with my eyes open, and had led me back to my bed. She was afraid I might wander out the front door and into the street. I don’t know how much longer my somnambulism went on. I do know that my insomnia eventually improved, and I don’t believe I walk in my sleep anymore. At least no one has told me I do, and no one has barred my front door for a very long time.
Judy Kramer lives in Alexandria, Virginia. She practiced labor and employment law for many years, and now enjoys writing, volunteer work, and spending time with her family and friends.
