It's past 4 pm and I'm on my way home from Brooklyn. A 30 minutes ride becomes a sleepdriving struggle as my eyes close and my head tilts and bobs beyond my control with every pavement denivelation.
I drive up the crowded 48th St and passed the UPS yard I cross an intersection and slowly roll along Calvary Cemetery fence. At this point my eyes can no longer stay open. Eyeliner smeared under dark Blues Brothers sunglasses I wobble and jerk under the burden of sleep deficit. That makes me a graveyard escapee; I feel and look like one.
Down a potholed side street I turn right instead of left and drive onto a narrow, winding path fenced by leaf stripping trees and gray headstones.
It's quiet. No traffic. No people. Here, there a visitor or a landscaper. I pull to the curb next a mausoleum bearing a Italian name, recline my seat, sunglasses on, hands on my chest and I the temporary defunct descend into the convulsed world of REM.
An hour into it I brusquely arise dazed and irritated at a nagging sound waving from my bag; my phone is ringing.
"Dinner's ready, we're waiting for you, what's your 10/20? Hubby demands.
"I'm not far. I'll be home in 5 minutes."
I hang up, refresh my eyeliner apply a fresh coat of red lipstick then, all rested and wide awake I drive the entire 0.2 mile home without incident. Around the kitchen table hubby and our two children patiently wait to dig in.
|Calvary Cemetery - Queens, NY|
"Why are you late? Where were you? They chorally burst.
And I tell. Once finished with the story of my cemetery nap hubby exclaims "So why didn't you stay there?"