Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Last night's ride was different—I say last night; it could have been between brunch and siesta
or Thanksgiving and Chanukah. Tsadik speculates on REM behavior disorder, a more precise
name for sleepwalking, or physically acting out on a dream script.
Marisol pressed, “How he can ride a motorcycle in a hospital? Is crazy.”
“That's just it,” murmured Tsadik. “He can't!” he verdict is final, even in the face of over-
whelming evidence that I can.
Tread marks on the walls? Sheetrock gouged in the corners where I laid it over to get
around? All night I rode, many laps around the room, a side run down the hall, a jaunt
through the burn unit and radiology, up the stairs to the ICU and up again to the children's
trauma unit, where the tykes watched, longing to join in.
It feels like the fix is on.
I need a nap, coming right up.
A little voice calls,
Sleep, my friend
.
It fades beneath the snoring of the fellow I've become.
