Daytime Sleep Study

How lucky I am to be given the gift of a day for reading. I know most people would watch TV or play on the internet or talk on the phone. After all, being a prisoner in a closed up room makes you want to escape somehow. Maybe not everyone is a claustrophobic as I am. I've tried to explain to people how I believe I got this way, but mostly no one gets it.

I remember when I was a little girl and our family went to visit the Alcoa Aluminum factory in Quebec, Canada. First of all, stopping at customs was a bit scary for someone under the age of ten. Dad told us in no uncertain terms to be Quiet. Not a peep. His serious tone of voice got our attention. The guards, their uniforms, the heavy accented questions, the flashlights shined in our eyes - it was all intimidated to say the least. After the border incident, we drove on in the gathering darkness of a winter's evening.

We smelled the factory long before we arrived. The sulfur was so thick in the air it turned the streetlight glow a dusky yellow. I put my hand over my nose and mouth and tried to breathe as shallow as I could. My brothers and sisters and I, crammed in the back end of a station wagon (way before seat belts even existed) caught little glimpses of a grid of lights, spires of white smoke, huge squat buildings, gates. All that was missing were barking dogs on leashes sniffing out escapees.

Dad parked and we held hands as we tremblingly entered the windowless building and stood in a tiny vestibule where we were greeted by our tour guide, a fat hairy man with pudgy cheeks and a loud voice. After a l-o-n-g and boring speech about subjects I was not interested in, we moved through a heavy metal door into a huge warehouse filled with noisy machines. The guide yelled over the din while I covered my ears and stared at the filthy concrete floor. The smell was horrible - worse than it had been outside.

Somehow Dad and I got separated from the rest of the family. I was terrified that we were lost and might never make it back to the safety of the car. Perhaps my brothers and sisters had already fallen into one of those noisy whirling smelly vats that seemed to vibrate my entire body. I grabbed my father's hand and began crying. There was no way I wanted to go further. I only wanted to go back the way we had come, through the tiny vestibule and outside to find my siblings, and to climb in our car and go home.

Dad dragged me forward as the tour moved deeper and deeper into the factory. Dad found the whole tour fascinating. He couldn't hear me crying, didn't see my distress. When the guide opened yet another door and all I could see was darkness, all I could hear was more noise than ever, and even the smell got stronger, I sat down and refused to budge. I knew that if I went into that room, I would pass out from all the overwhelming assaults on my senses. I would probably die right there, in the middle of the aluminum factory, and my Dad wouldn't even know until he got outside and counted noses.

Dad leaned down. I tried to tell him how frightened I was. I tried to explain that I would die if I had to go any further into this horrid place. But he saw no harm from continuing, so he dragged me by the hand through the door into that dark room. My heart was pounding. My breath came in short gasps. The room was small and all the adults crowded together. On the far side of the room I could see flames orange and red shooting from the maw of a brink wall. The guide talked on and on. Everyone smiled and nodded. I almost threw up.

Dad just kept pulling me from room to room to room, all of them oppressively sulfur stenched, and packed with huge machinery that knocked, banged and made grinding sounds. Suddenly, without warning, we stepped through another door and found ourselves outdoors. Tour over. No pounding noises. No clanging machines. No shouting. Just clear sky overhead with friendly stars twinkling. Granted, the sulphur smell was still overpowering, but I could breathe! I could let go of my father's hand and wipe the tears from my eyes. My brothers and sisters rushed over to ask where we had been.

For once, I could not say a word. My constant stream of chatter was dried up. I wanted to shout "Don't ever shut me in like that again," but all I could do was wobble over to the car and climb in. I practically kissed the ground.

Once you have been shut in like that and scared good and hard, you don't ever want to be cooped up again. Curtains have to be open. Light must come into every room. Windows need to be large and filled with green trees and grassy areas. No boxed in areas are acceptable. You must be able to escape quickly into the great outdoors.

My daytime sleep aide does not know this about me, of course. He must think me strange. After every nap where he carefully draws the dark curtains, I rise and the first thing I do is open the curtains and stand there for long moments, reassuring myself that I am still connected with the world.