MY JOURNEY

I’m exhausted, literally, understandably so. As a t.v. news reporter who has not reached ‘star’ status yet, my hours are long, exciting, stressful and are taking a toll on me. The studio calls me in at 4 a.m. or midnite, whenever news breaks and staff is ‘off call.’ My days become nites, my nites days. There are days I sit and am merely emergency fodder, am on the air 4 or 5 minutes. For a 36 year old, attractive, married, still childless woman, I am drowning. The money is good. Donnie, my husband, is now part of a group of heart surgeons. I zig. He zags. Situation- Poor.

8 American service men and 2 women were killed in Afghanistan in yet another Taliban battle. A crazy in Texas murdered his wife and 5 children. I followed police cars as they chased a car for 90 miles. A mentally disturbed teen in a stolen car had killed three teens riding their bikes in the proper bike zone. When he finally ran out of gas, he was captured and 2 officers stomped on him. Every channel carried the chase.

I know I need time off, know I need a rest, at least 5 or 6 uninterrupted hours of sleep. It has been eluding me too long. I’m fuzzy too much of the time.

Our king sized bed waits for me. Our housekeeper has pulled back the covers, laid a nightgown and robe on the top of the cedar chest at the foot of the bed. It looks like heaven, but Donnie is still in surgery so I have to cuddle a down bolster. I pull it closer, fluff it higher, wrap my legs around it and am gone.

Little elves, fairies, lift my bed. It doesn’t shake. It glides on gossamer wings through the wide open french windows. No complaints from me. Where have I been so long? Why didn’t I take this trip sooner? Although I have never been to heaven, probably won’t ever get there, I am confident the sky my bed and I are flying into is the true, real heavenly blue. If there are angels, they are hiding or maybe sleeping. Soft breezes lift my light weight duvet and I am free, free as the white doves that coo as they fly and guide me to St. Maarten. Below the water is turquoise. The beach is clean, white and so wide I cannot find its end. Tiny sparkling grains of sand look like upside down stars.

‘Take me down there, Bed. Let me swim a little, at least until I wake up.’ We dip, go lower and I am on an anchored yacht. Bill Gates has a launch to take me closer to shore so I can swim more safely. I swim until I am exhausted and content. Donnie appears from nowhere and is beside me. He moves closer. I am so relaxed I don’t care if I never wake up, but I do.

Donnie is naked. His legs are wrapped around me. His soft lips are kissing the back of my neck.

My dream was a wondrous prelude. Reality is a lot better.