I was sitting quietly, minding my own business at the bus stop, when the man a ways down from me suddenly began speaking.
“It is a bit maddening.”
I looked around. He and I were alone. He didn’t appear to be speaking on a phone, as we had been sitting in silence for some time by this point.
“What is?” I ventured. He held his gaze fixed on some distant and indiscernible point on the horizon, his jaw slightly slack. He clenched it shut and let it loose a few times before speaking again.
“Did you know...that there is no physiological reason for sleep?”
I had heard this once or twice from friends of mine who fancied themselves fine scientific minds for regurgitating whatever they read on their favorite pop-sci blogs. I had no idea of its validity and therefore no inclination to believe it myself.
“So I’ve heard,” I replied in an affirmative and dismissive half-truth.
“It’s not true, of course.”
“Is that right?” I had little interest in carrying on this conversation until -- or, God forbid, well after -- the bus arrived. The stranger did not seem to be picking up on my disinterest.
“Oh, yes. The need for sleep is well documented, even if only in the sense of its privation. What I mean is that the deleterious effects of sleep’s absence have long been known, and we can extrapolate certain needs from that. What we lack is not an understanding of ‘what’, but of ‘why’.”
I nodded rhythmically, half hearing his words under my own thoughts as I tried to plan out the rest of my day. “Mhm,” I instinctively responded when I heard him fall quiet.
“Being unable to sleep.”
My foot stopped casually tapping as my brain caught the errant nature of this last remark. Despite my apathy, my curiosity had the better of me.
“Come again?”
“You asked what was maddening. I was answering.”
“Oh. Yes, I suppose I did.” I returned to my mental scheduling.
“Have you ever confronted madness?”
I let out an inner sigh. It seemed I would not be rid of this unwanted conversation partner for the time being.
“My grandfather had Alzheimer’s. I suppose that’s the closest experience I’ve had with any form of mental instability.”
“Perpetual insomnia is worse.”
Now I was on somewhat more solid conversational footing. I had experienced my share of horror at my grandfather’s gradual lapse into dimentia. A little insomnia could not compare to that.
“I would disagree. Alzheimer’s is one of the most debilitating diseases a person can face. You would equate a few sleepless nights to that?”
“'A few', he says. Alzheimer’s would be merciful compared to what awaits me. Do you know the difference between Alzheimer’s and sleeplessness? Time. Alzheimer’s is slow and deliberate. One has time to come to terms with one’s own mortality. A 'few sleepless nights', as you say, and there is already the onset of hallucinations; the mind has already begun losing its grip on reality. After a few more, memory loses all cohesion. You forget who you are, or where, or even when. To so totally lose oneself in just a matter of days -- imagine what a week might do. Dear God, imagine how soon one’s death would come on with the mind so rapidly decaying. Would one even have time to recognize one’s own fate before losing all ability to? We are creatures of such tremendous shortsightedness. For all the ravages of time, it truly is a merciful devil.”
I had retreated into silence. What I thought I knew had been turned upright after all. I quietly reflected on his words as he stood from his bench. I turned to speak again, but the stranger was already shambling off into the distance, and the sound of the approaching bus covered any words I might have spoken. I regret getting on the bus that day. Whatever became of the sleepless stranger, I hope he was able to find what he was looking for. I hope he was able to find rest.
