Pig Man

My wife dreams hard. Sometimes she wakes us both when those dreams come and sometimes those dreams are terrifying. This is based on one of those dreams.

 

“MOMMY, WHO ISthe pig man?”

Holy shit, she scared the crap out of me. Is it even daytime? And where’s that worthless husband of mine…oh yeah, on a business trip. It never fails. Whenever I’m sleeping soundly, something wakes me up. When he sleeps, we tiptoe. He’s in a hotel somewhere, no doubt snoozing soundly. 6:15am. Or he’s in one of those showers with the massage head, plenty of pressure and unlimited hot water.

It’s lucky for this kid she’s mine, and that she’s adorable, or I would’ve jumped up swinging. It’s also creepy to wake up and see a child standing there just staring at me in the dark. Now, what was it she said?

“What honey? Mommy was sleeping.”

“Who is the pig man?” She asks again.

Was there a pig-man on one of those tabloid news shows and she’s just now getting around to her investigation. Who knows the mind of a five-year-old? Besides, mommy is the source of all information, right? Maybe she saw a commercial for a new BBQ joint. Pulled pork, strangely, sounds appetizing. I put on a false look of dramatic interest to match hers while still trying to blink the sleep out.

“I don’t know about any pig-man, was he in a book?” I ask.

 “No.”

That’s it, just no. I prod a bit more.

“Was he on TV?”

“No,” she said again.

This, apparently, was going to be a process.

“Where did you see him, baby?”

The turns sideways and points toward the doorway, which is standing open. It has always stood open since she was born, so I could hear her if she needed me.

“He was downstairs, right at the bottom where the window is. He just stands there and looks out.”

She says these words as if there’s nothing wrong with them. As if they don’t cause my chest to tighten and my body to break into a cold, terrified sweat. My heart swells in my chest and begins to pound.

“Wh…when did you see him?” I say, starting out of bed and wondering what was handy that I could use as a weapon.

“Last night.”

I stop, sitting on the edge of my bed in panties and a t-shirt and look at her. She isn’t alarmed, why should I be? Kids can sense when things are wrong, can’t they? It was last night. That's slightly comforting. Just a dream. Cardiac arrest on hold. I looked at her again, hair mussed with a rat’s nest in the back, sweet face of an angel, a lavender-colored nightie and her stuffed animal of choice, a floppy little guy with plastic bead eyes and a very cute expression on his face. The toy’s name is Piggy, and as usual, he is clutched in her hands. Piggy has been through the ringer, but has proven very tough.

“You were dreaming, honey, probably just saw Piggy in your dream.”

“Piggy sure did look weird…and he had a suit on.”

This phrase is spoken with the matter-of-factness only a child of six can muster as she bounds out of the room. Ah, Sunday, and I’m up to get started at 6:20am. One crisis avoided, and onto the next one which should be coming along any minute.

It’s a great weekend for him to have a business trip. I almost had to beat a phantom pig-man to death with an alarm clock..And in my period panties.