Serious Moonlight(75)

“Those tights are pornographic,” I said.

Daniel laughed. “It’s a famously epic film bulge.”

“That’s not a bulge. It’s a sentient entity.”

A sentient entity? Oh my God, I think I’m high.

“Ha-ha!” I laughed so loud, it made Daniel jump.

And then the worst possible thing happened: my muscles stopped working.

I was about to have a cataplexy episode.

No, no, no! Not now!

The blood left my arms. Then neck, then face. And I was absolutely frozen. I could still hear. I was conscious. It probably wouldn’t last long—a few seconds. A minute at most. But I couldn’t tell Daniel this because I couldn’t talk. My jaw had fallen open, which was utterly embarrassing, and my face was twitching.

And Daniel was freaking out, shouting my name, shaking me.

I zoned out for a moment, and then—all at once—my muscles suddenly thawed. I closed my mouth and moved my arms to stop him from shaking me.

“I’m okay, I’m okay!” I told him.

“Oh my God,” he said, anxious. “I thought you passed out. Your entire body just drooped all at once.”

“It’s happened before a couple of times, usually when I laugh really hard.”

“What?” he said, mildly hysterical.

“Stop. It’s fine,” I said, still trying to shake off the tingling feeling. “My grandpa calls it going boneless, because it feels like your bones disappear. It feels a little like when you’re on an elevator and there’s a strange moment when you can’t tell if you’re moving or if the walls are moving.”

He stared at me, blinking. Completely dumbfounded.

“It’s not a big deal,” I said. “One time it happened to me when I was sitting in Madison Diner, and I laughed really hard, and the next thing I knew, people were picking me up off the floor. I slid right out of my seat,” I said, whistling. “I could hear everything they were saying, because they were talking about calling an ambulance. It never lasts long.”

“Birdie?” he said carefully. “Do you have . . . narcolepsy?”

“Wha-a-at?” I said, sounding like some kind of stoner in a bad teen movie.

“Oh my God, you do!”

“Maybe? Not officially. I don’t like doctors, so I’ve never been checked.”

“Jesus! It all makes sense now. That’s why you’re sleepy all the time. Why you fell asleep in the hotel lobby before we went to Kerry Park.”

“It’s possible I may have inherited a few pesky sleepy genes.”

“Hello! That’s called narcolepsy!”

I sighed heavily and tried to sit up a little, but I was still feeling weak, and Daniel was sort of in my face, blocking me from moving too far. “Yes, it’s possible I have narcolepsy. Grandpa got diagnosed when he was in the Coast Guard, but only after he fell asleep piloting a boat and screwed up his leg. Before that, he just sort of managed it on its own.” I shrugged and stretched my neck, trying to revive my muscles. “One doctor thought he had epilepsy and another thought it was insomnia. I guess it’s easy to misdiagnose.”

“Is it serious?”

“More like seriously annoying. I’ve only had a few cataplexy episodes—that’s what just happened. Sometimes I zone out when people are talking and miss a few words of a sentence. Grandpa calls that blanking out, but I think of them as mini naps. They only last a couple of seconds. Not even long enough for me to put my head down.”

“That’s not what was happening when you fell asleep in the lobby.”

“No. That was pure exhaustion. Sometimes I get so tired out of the blue that I know I’ve got to sit down somewhere and take a nap. And sometimes I hallucinate a little when I’m falling asleep, and it feels like I’m still awake, so I get confused.”

He blinked several times. “The finger-counting trick.”

“Ye-a-a-ah,” I drawl. “But that’s all.”

“That’s all? Oh shit! When you were telling me about that nightmare you had about the demon sitting on your chest—like the famous painting.”

“That’s only happened to me that one time.”

“But you haven’t seen a doctor about all of this?”

“There’s not a cure. What’s the point?”

“Don’t be stupid. You need to see a doctor.”

“Paging Doctor Danny,” I called out.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured. “You’re stoned out of your goddamned mind.”

“I feel really good,” I said, unable to stop smiling.

“I can tell.”

“Well, pat yourself on the back for being right about the candy,” I said. “It’s totally fine.”

“Why haven’t you told me about your narcolepsy?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“I’m sort of embarrassed about it,” I admitted. “I’ve talked with people online who have it, and they all say not to tell anyone because, you know, if your boss finds out, they can fire you. And people will start looking at you like you’re a leper.”

“Melinda wouldn’t fire you for that, and you’re not a leper.”