Sleep Was Gone and I Snorted a Pixie

The military, namely deployments, breed a sense of constant exhaustion that is akin to an insomniac trying to find sleep in the Alaskan sunlight months. The military is an entity unto itself and devil be damned they will get their pint of blood from you and then some before they notice the haggard and hollowed out eyes, staring vacantly or the stiff limbs stumbling to stand upright. When on home turf, the military is much more relaxed and sleep is just something we have and we have enough of. While on foreign soil, however, sleep because a rarity we search for but rarely find.
Northern Japan, in the winter, when the snow drifts are piled as high as my shoulders, and the light, stringy and weak, makes a pathetic attempt to break through the tightly cloistered, grey snow clouds that coat the sky. Everything is sleepy. The trees are constantly tilted over, just enough, to imitate a worn and weary thin man, with no energy to stand upright. On the streets, the tires of vehicles moves sluggishly through piles of half melted slush, emitting a noise of lack luster affect, whining o be returned to the comfort of a garage where it can rest. I am here, in this drifted white and grey world, surrounded by the crisp essence of a world soundly asleep but struggling in dreams to remain so.
My barracks, the building in which I am roomed with the rest of my company, sits four floors high, a beige and dull building that fades tiredly into the background of winter, the dingy windows staring vacantly across the world, seeing, but seeing nothing. From the fourth floor I wake in the early morning, the world still quiet and dark, and my eyes grit with an exhaustion that runs bone deep. I have slept for five hours, after working a sixteen hour shift, for what I think is the forty-fourth day in a row. I am not positive of the number of days I have worked these hours but I know it has been going on for over a month now and time is blurring with fantasy now. Still, sleep is for the free and I signed my being over to the military more than four years ago.
I slither my body from the comforts of my warm cocoon and half crawl, half stagger, half fall to the tiny bathroom I share with four other women. An hour later I am bundled in an Eskimo like parka, my dark blue uniform, and steel toed boots and am dropping my self down four flights to emerge into the icy pre-dawn air. I have a half mile walk to the hangar where I work. Half of a mile is nothing. I run five miles daily. The difference is that when I run in this frozen world I run on a treadmill. When I walk to work, I am plowing through waist high snowdrifts. Each step is a push of muscles that, by the time I reach my work, has left me huffing and cursing and begging for my bed again. But there will be no sleep. My day has started and I will not be seeing my bed again for at least sixteen more hours – and I still have to walk back through the drifts to reach my bed.
Coffee is supposed to spike my metabolism, lift my energy, and shoot me through with a dash of adrenaline. Spurts of up and go in a 8oz mug of brown, steaming liquid that burns and alerts my senses as it flows down my throat. Coffee used to work. I am up to three pots a day now and it doesn’t tough me. I am still burnt out, lethargic, vaguely aware of my surroundings and clearly aware of the fact that my body is responding to my commands slower and slower each day. From the drawn and haggard faces around me, I know I am not the only one. Several of my co-workers and I pop caffeine pills from time to time but even those do not help very much.
“Candy!” Julie bursts into the tiny workspace, her voice a frantic high pitch, a clear indicator that she too is nearing the end of her rope. She waves her arms around, fists full of candy. “I have candy! Sugar should perk us up.” We have been at work for a little over ten hours now and she dumps a small pile of the sugary toxic hope in front of me.
“I hate candy,” I grumble. “But at this point I am willing to try anything.”
Seven pieces and two hours later it hasn’t helped. Julie has crawled under a counter with sliding doors and pulled the doors shut behind her. Her soft snores break through the steel and wood barrier from time to time. I am staring at the last two pieces of candy in front of me. Pixie sticks. Blech! I have always disdained the artificial, powdery grit in the little orange and pink and blue and red paper straws. But I am a little delirious right now and there is a flight coming in soon and I have to be on top of things.
“I wonder…” I cock my head to the side, an exhaustion induced idea rattling into my mind. I pick up the Pixie stick and peel off the top. “Maybe? What the hell? It’s worth a try.”
No one is around. I carefully dump the sugar into a neat, straight little line on the desk in front of me. I search around. Paper is too big and I am too tired to rip it. I smash my nose near the line but that only gets powder on my forehead. My coordination dies several days ago. Aha! I have some cash in my wallet. I fumble through and pull out a dollar. It takes several attempts but I finally get a sloppy roll. Another hasty and sneaky glance around. All is quiet save the muffled snores. Bust or nothing, I think to myself and lean over the line of Pixie dust.
I made it halfway down the line of sugar with one sniff and the door to my shop opened. From my hunched over position I glance up and see, dear God why? my Commanding Officer and the Command Master Chief staring at me, mouths slightly open in shock, eyes wide, from the open doorway.
There was a shocked and silent standoff. I know I am supposed to stand at attention and yell, “Attention on deck!” when the CO comes in. I am screwed. I know it. This looks bad. This is moronic and yet my sleep addled brain had told m it was a good idea. Yep. Bust or nothing, I think again. I am in it now, might as well finish. With my free hand I hold up a finger.
“I’ll be right with you, sir,” I say. One last snort and head sweep and the line is gone. I drop the dollar and snap to attention, yelling the cursory words that are required.
The duo in the doorway continue to stair at me. The CO’s mouth opens and then closes, opens and closes again. He is a fish dumped out of his bowl and he is confused because what he has just walked in on does not match the world he runs. I wait, stiff backed but knees trembling and a bubble of insane laughter threatening to spill out of me at any moment. The last snort of sugar did me in. Snot is running from my right nostril, tears are leaking profusely from my eyes and my nerve endings are buzzing like a live wire.
After a moment, the CO makes up his mind, “Petty Officer Praught,” he says and something trembles in his voice, a moment of hilarity he fights to cover. “I would ask but I think this is one of those times I am just going to say ‘carry on’ and walk away.”
“Sir I can explain-” I begin but he shakes his head.
“No, no,” he answers. “Please don’t. I just remembered something I have to do.” His mouth is twitching wildly now and my eyes are blurring from the sugar induced tears running out of them. He turns and hurries away. The CMC stands a second longer, eyeing me dubiously.
Finally, she says, “Once again, Petty Officer Praught, you have left me wondering what I am going to do with you.” With that, she too turns and strides away.
I wait for the door to swing shut before collapsing in my chair, peals of laughter pouring forth, scrambling for a napkin to wipe my face.
From under the counter, the sliding doors creaks open and Julie peers out. “Was that?’ she asks.
“Yes,” I nod, still laughing.
“What did you do?”
I hold up the wrapper. “I snorted a Pixie,” I gasp. “Sleep was gone and I snorted a Pixie!”