It happens quite often: I wake up after a four hour stretch of dream filled sleep and I'm wide awake the second I open my eyes, no matter the hour. It's usually around 4am but can be earlier if I'd fallen asleep on the sofa at 10, watching the 5th rerun on Downton Abbey (when the show first came out, I thought it was a seedy tale of a streetwalker called Downtown Abbie) Once I'm up, I don't even try going back to sleep - having made that attempt many times before, I now know it's futile. I go downstairs, make myself a cup of tea and munch on a couple of ginger snaps. Occasionally, I'll take a tranquilizer but more often than not I hop in my car and do a little night driving.
Much as I despise driving during the day - especially on Central Florida's deadly I-4 Interstate (the Tampa/Orlando corridor is one of the most dangerous in the nation) - I love driving at night: I sail out of the garage smoothly, then turn right at the end of our townhouse complex and drive on lovely, silent, magical night roads through quiet leafy neighborhoods, rounding placid, shimmering moon-lit lakes. Often in the summer there will be heat lightning on the horizon.
My satellite radio dial is set to the “Siriously Sinatra” station and the car is sonically awash in the best American music ever written. Songs by Gershwin, Porter, Ellington, Berlin and all the other giants of the Great American Songbook, performed by the likes of Mel Torme, Nat “King” Cole, Billie Holliday and, of course, Old Blue Eyes, the Chairman of the Board, Mr. Francis Albert Sinatra himself. I was born after most of these genius tunes had been written, and I was weaned on British Invasion bands but once I dipped a toe into the classic 1920 - 1950 standards, all other music ceased to interest me.
My drive usually lasts about 40 minutes. I get back home, sneak back into the kitchen, the house is still very quiet. Tyrone, my shaggy black cat rubs up against my leg: feeding time. I prepare two plates of cat food, one for Tyrone and one for our tuxedo (aka “diplomat”) cat Mikki. The two don't like each other very much but they commune at meal times.
I contemplate another cup of tea but don't want the clattering dishes to wake up Diane. I sneak back up to bed, lie down next to her and listen to her quiet breath. Tyrone hops up and curls up on my chest, purring like a little engine. It's almost 6 o'clock now, the eastern horizon blushes red and I drift off to sleep, cat on chest, the music of Frank in my head: “Come fly with me, let’s fly, let’s fly away”
I've heard that it's a natural cycle of our bodies to do this. After all the dreams, your night drive a very nice waking one to finish the night off. Magical.
Lovely story. Drive safe!