Some nights. . .when I'm sleeping. . .I'll be dreaming and there'll be this moment when the dream either gets so frustrating or so boring that I wake, partially, in my mind and I'm immediately aware of the sweetest sensation in my teeth. A grinding, a clenching, a sound and feeling of friction of bone on bone. It's not disturbing at all. Far off in my mind this grinding sound, like the sick pleasure, when you're a child, of twisting your tooth loose. Like taking a little extra cough syrup with codeine in it, and then the anxiety, and fear, and worry melt away, and ease sets in. I grind and grind, without thinking; its unconscious.
How many deep breaths do I take in a day without even noticing? My shoulders tight, my chest tight; do I notice? I don't. Subjectively I am unhappy without even thinking why. Without thinking. . .so much so that I don't even register it in my consciousness; I breathe deep and relax my shoulders. I feel better, but I don't even know why. I'm not even paying attention.
And this way I grind my teeth until one final push, a little off center or a little overzealous, produces a squeak like nails on a chalkboard and I wake up instantly, sit up, and wonder at my mess. I long for the moment before where I was just half-asleep, grinding my teeth and at least having that to soothe me, before I say, to myself of course, that I won't have my teeth forever and I'm certainly not getting any younger, and this is certainly no way to be treating my teeth; teeth I likely won't have when I die. "We don't have things for very long before we lose them," I think, "and some would argue. . .shit, I would argue that we don't really have things at all. That's what I was trying to tell you. . .what I never got the chance to tell you. My goodness. That night. . .that night we sat there and you looked at me and I smiled at you and told you that I knew. . .that I know. . .that there was this moment. There was this moment and we were both sitting there and I haven't ever felt so helpless and, conversely, so free at that one moment. Past and future, converging in one single moment. . ." . . . "This is crazy, middle-of-the-night talk that won't make any sense to me in the morning. Or it will, but it still won't mean a damn."
At the grocery store, Dawn and I split from Ryan to look for some things; batteries, more food for snacks. We got to the powdered drinks and stared looking at them.
"What do you think about Crystal Light?" I asked.
"Yeah, ok," she says.
"Are you particular about what kind?"
"No," she says.
"Yeah, I don't know, me either." I grab a couple of packages and look at them and the different flavors. "Aaahhhh, here's one with vitamin C and electrolytes. I'm going to get that. I have to admit, I'm sick and a little nervous about the altitude. I can hardly breathe as it is."
"Yeah, I know."
I look at her. She's still looking at the selection and then she looks at me and smiles. "You want something different?" I ask.
And after a moment she says, "No," as if she was simply lost in thought about something else, maybe something Ryan had said.
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