Land of the Rising Sun

The mattress is thin, very firm. Lying awake, I imagine the filling is a sea of buckwheat. The support is amazing. The stage has been set for a perfect night’s rest. Only it is not perfect. At home in New York it is three in the afternoon. My mind and my body are not in sync. Ohm, also awake, crawls over my lifeless limbs, giggling and squealing with delight. Despite the darkness, he is ready to play.


“Go to sleep.” I croak. My voice is horse. I’ve been awake now for 36 hours.


He takes a series of enthusiastic laps around the bed then collapses, head to one side. He’s quiet.


Satisfied I roll over preparing for attempt number 25 of sleep for the night, but something goes terribly wrong. A bright ball of hazy white begins to flood in through the parted curtains. I sit bolt-up, thinking perhaps in my delirium that we have come under nuclear attack.


I look at the glowing red numbers to my left. The alarm clock confirms that its 4:15 am.


“Mark!” I shake the still lump that is my husband. My hand is swatted away.


“Mark. M-a-r-k! Something’s wrong. Look.” I point accusingly towards the window. The white glow grows increasingly intense. The baby is on all fours again. We are all squinting in the direction of the window now, writhing beneath the supernaturally bright glow.


“What’s happening?”


Mark gets up. He staggers towards the window to close the curtains.


“The sun.” He grumbles.


“At four in the morning?” I do a double take at the alarm clock.


“This is the east, land of the rising sun.”