As a child, I was prone to waking up suddenly in the middle of the night.

I could feel the echoes of a noise that I couldn't recall,

a silence that reminded me of something deafening, but there was never anything there.

At first I would simply try to return to sleep, but found myself unable to.

At some point I would roll out to my bed, pit about down the hallway and try to wake up my brother

so I wouldn't be alone in the dark. No matter how loud I yelled or how hard I hit him, he would never wake

up. Eventually I would give up, crawl into bed with him and fall back asleep myself, comforted by his presence.

I was just a little kid who looked up to his older brother, and I believed that he could protect me from anything, even in his sleep.

As an adult, the problem persists.

However, there is no one here to comfort me now. I live in my own, no family in the area and no

girlfriend to speak of, but I still find myself waking up in the dead of night at least once a week. It is no longer to a silent

sound that I can't recall, but instead to the cries of a screaming baby just one house over. I don't mind it so much. I know it must be more

of a hassle for the parents than it is for me, but it can be tiresome.

Instead of tossing and turning in bed, I brewing myself some hot cocoa, add in just the smallest spike of Crown Royal Whiskey,

then make my way to my computer chair.

There, I enjoy an hour or two of warm conversation on fortune

before the fuzzy feelings of sleep invite me back to my bed.

When I first awoke last night, back to my bed.

When I first awoke last night, I had no reason to think that this was any other than business

as usual.

If the baby had been crying, I seemed to have just missed it, but it wasn't something I gave much thought to.

It was a bit earlier than usual, about 2 a.m.

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