Wake and watch

I have not been a very happy sleeper for some years now, waking up with every squeak of the cat or rattle of a bird’s claws on the awning above my bedroom window. So after nights before which counting sheep (or any other not-very-exciting animal), drinking herbal tea, reading deadly boring books or watching mindless television, I need to do all I can to stay awake long enough to finish work…or just to get there. And since I do not and can not sleep in a car, moving or otherwise, I have devised various strategies to get me through the travel time, until I can reach out and touch some sleep-buster like coffee to cruise its caffeinated way through my bloodstream, or cold water to splash my face and eyes with or even my irascible boss to have one of our interminable and completely illogical arguments with.

One of these is to stare out of the car window at people waiting to cross the street. If there is a child standing there, either alone or with a guardian, I smile, wiggle my fingers or even make a funny face. With amazingly few exceptions, the child reciprocates, often with a smile wide enough and so illuminating as to wake even those parts of the world where the sun has not risen yet. If there is an accompanying adult, the child will look up, perhaps say something, look back at me and then, after a slight hesitation, smile tentatively, then gradually grin with every gap-tooth showing.

Or sometimes, when I am stopped at a traffic junction with a policeman directing the various streams of cars, all headed towards him at breakneck speed and then veering suddenly away into the melee. I stop, perforce, and wait for my lane to be waved on. Stare at him long enough, even at his back, and he will, at some stage, turn and glance back, stopping to stare if you smile. Which I often do. Not to aggravate or otherwise stimulate him, but just because I was brought up to be nice to everyone, no matter who they are and what they do. And he will, inevitably, smile back before realising his own grim self-importance and role as upholder of the law and then resuming his dour demeanour. But as I drive directly past him, he will almost always smile again, adding a special flourish to his wave.

Of course, talking to the driver, who is usually the only other person in the car with me, if there is anyone at all, also serves the purpose of keeping me awake. He tells me all about a way of life and an ethos that I do not have and have rarely encountered, in that it is astonishingly simplified in its codes of behaviour and astounding in the range of knowledge the young man has. In his world, women have specific roles, should be married before they are 22 years old, should not be too good looking or too educated and should know their place in the scheme of things, invariably designed by a man. A man, in his role as representative of the male sex, will be single only long enough to make sure his older siblings are ‘settled’, should respect his elders and betters and should know how to keep a woman in her place. His views on how a woman should dress, what family honour means and how fast I should drive are entertaining enough to keep me going until I get to the office or get home.

After which the boss, the caffeine, the work, or the painters, the small cat or my father take over…until the long night comes back to keep me going.