Ambian Night Cap

Ambian set off my psychosis.

The sleep medication was prescribed to me the day I went to get my HIV results.

I waited just over a week for a positive or negative sign.

I didn’t sleep for six nights.

I stayed awake as the clock ticked slowly, planning my will.

It was a treacherous week without sleep– crying over my dead lover and getting fired from my job within a two week period.

I walked into Dr. McGowin’s office quite delusional to get those test results.

“Charles, glad to see you! Come with me,” she said with a smile. I was rushed to the top of the waiting list that day because Dr. McGowin understood just how upset I was.

I wondered if she were a lesbian. She seemed far to kind and understanding of the needs of the gay community.

When I came in for the test, referred to her by my HMO, I broke into tears and told her to give me all the Hepatis shots available.

“I was going to call you and tell you over the phone but I’m not allowed-- it’s okay,” she said reassuringly before we reached the exam room.

I cried all over her white doctor’s jacket. She held me for a while and slowly pulled herself away.

“I haven’t slept in a long time. Can you give me something to make me sleep?” I asked.


She prescribed Ambian and handed me the lab paperwork-- outlining statistics on blood as red and healthy as life itself.

I left there with my pill pass, still very sleepy and unsure of just how happy I really was about being ‘negative’.

When those nights passed so slowly waiting to hear the bad news, I didn’t have time to sleep.

There was far too much to think about.

I had to find another job and arrange for my lover to be shipped off to the City of Angels.

The Ambian sent me to heaven where I spent some time with my recently passed over lover.

His was the first voice I heard in my crazy head.

“Hey sexy, guess what heaven’s like?”

I pushed the pillows around my head to drown the chatter.

“See that beer over there on the desk? The bottle is your body and the beer is your soul. Take away the glass and the beer is still good!” he said to me in that irresistible masculine voice of his.

I must have slept for three days straight on Ambian before I could pull myself out of the bed. I walked the streets of the great city like a sleep- walker on the run on that sleeping pill.

I knew the pill had set something off in me and I couldn’t snap out of it.

I was dreaming yet awake.

I went to the same hospital where my lover died and waited all night to see a psychiatrist.

I grew tired and left.

In my walking dream I knew I could not stop dreaming, even though I was somewhat awake.

I’ll never swallow another Ambian nor will I ever have another HIV test.

But I do sleep well at night now that I know I’ll always be like beer without a glass.