Alex knows how his bedroom ceiling looks in every nuance of half-light conceded by the night. Recently, it's not until morning has bled through the curtains that he manages to drift into a shallow, twitchy sleep that maybe lasts two hours. So he isn't lying. He isn't cheating. After all, an element of insomnia goes with the territory now he's reached a certain age, but no matter how forcibly he tells himself this, standing at the pharmacy counter, he still feels like a junkie.
"Can I help you, sir?" the blonde assistant asks, her sharp white uniform reminding him of how gray he feels himself. She's too young to be the pharmacist, he decides, but isn't sure if this is a good thing.
He clears his throat and dries his palms on his slacks. Blushing, he says, "I'm looking for melatonin, please. To help me sleep."
It may not be the full truth but it isn't a lie. He definitely needs sleep.
"I see. Do you normally suffer from insomnia?" She tilts her head and frowns.
"My wife passed away last month," he explains, sidestepping the question. Again, he isn't lying but if she thinks he's self-medicating, she might refer him to his doctor. He doesn't want that. He’s seen enough of his doctor. "I just need a little help sleeping for a couple of nights, just until I get my energy back."
She flashes an uneasy smile and although she resists any temptation to apologize she holds his stare, like she's assessing him, just to make him sweat that little bit more. Whatever test she's posing, he must pass because moments later, she fetches a small, syrup-colored box, lays it on the counter and gives it a tap. For the next minute, her finger rests on the lid while she explains about quantities and benefits and possible side-effects.
"Each pill is two milligrams," she says. "We don't recommend exceeding that."
Alex knows all this already, but he nods politely in the right places and tries not to stare at the bottle too desperately.
Since Beth passed, it's been as though he's occupied a space in between living and dead, awake and asleep. He's been neither one nor the other. He's been invisible. Walking home today, though, he feels different; he feels as though morning has finally dawned. The pills, it seems, are already helping but he knows his plan will require more than two lousy milligrams. Six, he's read, is the ideal amount. Six promotes the enhanced REM sleep and that’s the important part.
The rest of the day drags by as slowly as his recent nights but he keeps patient and occupied and distracted. Eventually, once the purple sky has chased away the evening's remains, he takes three pills and tries to keep his focus dry while he climbs the stairs. Tonight, he will sleep and he will dream of Beth. He will speak to her again and he will get his chance to say goodbye.