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He Has My Number

by Christina Banks

Twos and fours hover before my face. I swipe at them, trying to clear the field. Up, down, side to side. As they combine, forming larger numbers, more fill the empty places. I shift in bed, plump the pillow, and squeeze my eyes closed again. The numbers are gone. Finally, I can get some rest.

Iíve never had trouble sleeping. Iím usually out within minutes of my head hitting the pillow, but this last week has been different. Ever since Jan introduced me to that stupid game, all I can think about are numbers.

Two in the morning. I stare at the clock in disbelief. Wasnít I just dreaming about twos? My bladder screams for relief. I grab my phone as I go to take care of business.

A wrong move starts a chain reaction I canít stop. I need a two, but the game gives me a four. Iím not going to make it. Ugh. So close to beating my high score. Iíll just play one more game before returning to bed.

Hubby knocks on the bathroom door. ďAre you alright?Ē he whispers.

ďYeah. Just a moment.Ē My bum is numb. How long have I been sitting here?

I hide my phone in the waistband of my pajama pants before exiting. Hubby doesnít need to know what the holdup is. He wouldnít understand. He kisses me as I pass him in the hall.

My side of the bed is cold. Exhaustion tugs at my body, but my brain will not stop. I close my eyes and force my breathing to regulate and my heart to calm.

The house is silent when I finally wake up and stretch. I feel more tired now than I did when I went to bed last night. I rub my eyes and grope for my phone. It isnít on the bedside table. I know I put it back. Didnít I?

Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I jump up and pull the bed apart. It isnít here. I have to have my phone. I check the floor and on the night stand again, but there is no sign of it. It couldnít have just disappeared.

A thorough search of the bedroom, the hall, and the bathroom leave me empty handed. Iíd call Hubby at work, but I canít. I need my phone to do that.



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