The Night Tremor

The other night I was laying in bed, feeling drowsy, when I heard a whispered, “Are you asleep?”

I said, “No. Who is this?”

The whisper said, “It’s time.”

I said, “Time for what?”

The whisper said, “No, I’m Time.”

I said, “Oh, I’m sorry…I’m Brooks.”

The whisper said, “I know. I’m very familiar with you.”

I said, “How’s that?”

The whisper said, “Because of your constant time traveling. You travel in my under layers. It’s extremely intimate.”

I sat up and said, “Tell me more.”

The whisper said, “Normally people are in the moment. It’s like a container. A container that I hold. They are in the container. But when you time travel, you step out of the container. You move to my hand. I can feel you on my skin. It tickles and its sexy. You are only there briefly. Then you move back into the container, but to a different place in the container. Because of our quick but memorable interaction, I think about you. A lot.”

I said, “Are you actually here now? Or are you speaking through the walls of the container?”

The whisper said, “I’m here, in the room.”

I said, “I’m gonna turn on the light.”

The whisper said, “No. Don’t. Stay where you are.”

I said, “But I want to see you.”

The whisper said, “You can’t. I’m not visible. I’m a feeling. Like a tremor in the ether.”

I lay back down. I sensed.

The whisper let out a slight, “Wooh.”

I said, “I felt your quiver.”

The whisper said, “You most certainly did.”