Freudian Sleep

by Sydney Andrews, 2006

Chapter 1

My eyes flicker open to sunlight filtering in through Venetian blinds. I catch the scent of misty lilacs, and turn over under an eider down comforter. Bare skin on clean linen, my arm reaches out blindly to by left. "Honey?"

"I'm late for work."

I glance at the clock. "Slept in."

"Baby kept me up."

My head lifts from the pillow. Aurora. "She isn't crying."

"She's fine. I just checked on her." Tom hurries from the master bath, hair still wet from the shower. His crisp white dress-shirt is undone, tie slung over his shoulders. "Fever's down. Maybe she'll eat something this morning."

"Sorry I drifted off on you last night," I say softly, rising as he walks over to the edge of the bed. My fingers work quickly to fasten his collar button and weave a Windsor knot. "I guess I was a little more tired than I thought."

"You were delusional." He reaches for his watch. "Two days without sleep will do that to you. You don't have super powers, you know."

"Well, one of us had to take care of her while you were in Cleveland."

"Wicker furniture doesn't sell itself."

"You could have done a conference call."

"You know I'm technologically crippled." His lips brush my forehead. "I'm doing this for us. If that girl of ours is going to become a surgeon one day, she'll need tuition."

He is about to pull away, but I catch him by the Superman tie that he wears every Monday. I press our mouths together, tasting toothpaste and strawberry Pop Tarts. "Come home early today. Nobody needs their patio set recaned at nine p.m. The human race will survive without you for one night."

He laughs, kisses back once more, and fastens his Rattan Village nametag to his blazer. Mr. Thomas Anderson, Junior Sales Agent. "I'll fly home to you."

"Hmm. Something wrong with your bicycle?"

"Huh?"

"I need the minivan today. Aurora's pediatrician wanted to check up on her."

"Shit," Tom curses under his breath. "I'll take the train."

"I'm sorry."

"Mr. Smith is going to kick my ass," he mumbles bitterly of his manager. "Son of a bitch is always on my case. Like it's his purpose to make my life miserable."

"If he gives you any trouble, tell him to call me."

He smiles as he shuffles into his Dr. Martins and snatches up his tattered briefcase. "I think he's a little afraid of you. After that time at the company barbecue, you told him that if he didn't like your cookies, he could go to hell."

I laugh. "It must have been the pregnancy mood swings. I was Mrs. Anderson, unplugged."

We share a knowing look just as the sound of my daughter's cries catch my attention. Tom sighs. "Tag, you're it. I pass the baby and car keys to you. When's your appointment?"

"Eleven."

"I'll call at one to see how it was."

"Love you."

He grins from the doorframe as the cries get louder. "Copy. Paste. Send. You have mail."

"Get going, soldier."

"Wake up, Trin."

"Hum?"

"Trinity… wake up…"

...I rise with a start, nearly crashing my forehead against Neo's on my way up. He doges out of the way, bracing a hand against me. "Whoa. You okay?"

I blink, look at him strangely. "Yes," I reply slowly. "... Neo?"

"Expecting someone else?"

"No. It's… nothing," I stutter absently as I realize that the wailing from my dream had a basis in reality. Rorie is up, and the sound of her crying still sets off a mild panic in me, even after nine weeks to adjust to it. "What's wrong?"

"I think she's hungry. She keeps pawing at my shirt, like she's disappointed it's me and not you. If only I could lactate, right?"

How he can be so calm about it, I'll never understand. Was that a joke? Jesus Christ, where is she? I throw the covers off and rush to Rorie's bassinet, lifting her carefully, pressing her to my chest, hand on the back of her head. I hush her, silently apologize to her; I slept through her feeding, again. "What time is it?"

"It's early. Trin, you're fine."

"She's starving, Neo. I am not fine." I'm still lightheaded from jumping up so fast, and I unsteadily ease back into a chair. I hush her again, hurrying with the buttons on my top. For a moment, I think I might cry. Not a day goes by that I don't feel like I'm failing her somehow. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get this right.

Rorie seems to agree. She looks at me with big, round eyes mildly alarmed, as if afraid that I may snap at any moment. I think she learned the expression from Neo. And I can't stand them both looking at me like that at once. I ask my new husband to give me some privacy, hoping he won't take it the wrong way.

"I just need a moment," I say over our daughter's impatient exclamations. "Please. I can do this myself."

I don't look up as he leaves, and I'm not sure why I can't seem to face him. I feel embarrassed, or ashamed, or resentful. He has such a connection with Rorie, and has had since the moment she was placed in his arms. He was nervous, to be sure; I noticed his hands were shaking as he took her. But she stopped crying when he held her, which, ironically, is when he began to bawl uncontrollably. And those little hands reached up and touched the tears on his cheeks. It's really something to watch them together. Indeed, if only The One could lactate.

"But you're stuck with me," I mumble wryly, cradling her as she latches onto my breast.

I enjoy feeding her; it's the one activity she and I seem to have mastered. Naturally, it's all her initiative, as if she knows I can't be trusted to facilitate anything. Just hold still, for goodness' sake, Mom. Then she'll gaze up at me as she suckles, those expressive brown eyes curious, intrigued. You aren't anything like I imagined, she seems to think. What an unlikely mother. What a peculiar person to be holding a baby at all!

"You know, I'm not this useless at everything," I claim defensively, as she swallows, sighs, and swallows again. "I don't know if anyone's told you this yet, but I cracked the IRS D-Base. It was a pretty big deal at the time. You could even call me a celebrity."

Rorie doesn't comment, and I sense that she's unimpressed. She's hungry. I sigh and try to relax. The pleasant sensation of her mouth is comforting, and her ears wiggle as she feeds, eyebrows arched upwards as if in surprise. It's impossible not to smile at her. She's a beautiful baby. With flawless, ivory skin and jet black hair to her shoulders, the longest hair any doctors had ever seen on a newborn. And it's as soft as feathers. Nothing as soft exists in the real world; I'm certain of it. She's as much of an anomaly here as her father is in the Matrix.

"I had the strangest dream just now," I whisper, talking to her in confidence, as I used to do before she was born. She knows all my secrets, including a whole pile of things I'd never tell Neo in a million years. God help me if she remembers any of them. "Your dad was a wicker furniture salesman."

She makes a clicking sound and adjusts her grip. Was that a giggle? I rub my thumb over her head. "I know, and I get the feeling he wasn't a very good one, either. And we… we had a minivan. And a house in the suburbs. And I didn't have a heart-attack every time you cried. It all felt so natural."

I haven't dreamed about a life in the Matrix for many years; these fantasies tend to fade as the mind comes to accept the truth. And I've never dreamed of another life with Neo, or… Tom (I nearly choke on the idea of even calling him that). It's a little unsettling to have had one now. I prefer my usual dreams of donning my leathers and eluding agents, or monitoring targets on the Neb. Realistic fantasies, or at least… they used to be. Before the truce with the machines. I haven't been to the sewers in months. And I haven't used a gun in two years. Jesus, has it been that long? Two years.

In that time, everything has changed. I've seen the rubble of this city rebuilt, and I've seen my vision for the new fleet slowly take shape. Neo and I have been celebrated as icons of peace, the only two people to have ever been pulled from the fields twice. We fell out of love. And back into love, perhaps by necessity, when I got pregnant. When we were given a new purpose. After all that was taken, somehow, we began again. He proposed on bended knee only six months ago, and we started a whole new life. For Rorie, and for us. In that order. Always, from now on, in that order.

Neo peeks his head in, timidly, checking on us. "Okay?" he asks softly.

I hum back in response. "I guess so."

"She loves you, you know."

"I know."

He leans on the doorjamb, watching silently for a minute or so. "I love you."

I grin. "Copy. Paste. Send. You have mail."

"Huh?" he chuckles.

"Nothing. Just… something I picked up somewhere. It's stupid. Forget it."

"No. I mean, my inbox is always open… for you."

"Alright, then."

"Just don't send anything too nasty, or it'll get filtered into my junkmail folder with the rest of the porn that… I swear, I don't open."

"Neo, go do something useful."

"You know what? I'll just instant-message you." Before I can object, he strides over to me and presses his lips to mine, first chastely, then deeper. We both seem to remember how long it's been, and we seize the brief chance to reconnect. Rorie coos, catching our attention.

"I think she likes it when we kiss," Neo muses.

"Or she's relieved to see you haven't gone far. Ready to jump in and save her when it's time to burp."

"You're too hard on yourself," he says, hands on my shoulders. "And you're exhausted. Too many hours under the hull of a hovercraft."

"They need my help. The new pads are a monumental headache to install."

"You don't have to go tonight. And neither do I." He waits for me to argue with him, and when he sees a window of opportunity, he ventures, "Niobe has offered to take her for a few hours."

"No," is the automatic response, even though I have no logical reason to support my argument. Niobe is better with Rorie than I am. Maybe that's the reason. "I don't think I could leave her."

"Trin, you leave her every time you rush off to the dock."

My cheeks flush, and Rorie breaks our connection, apparently sensing the wave of tension that tightens my body. She whines, a little upset, and I have to consciously force myself to be calm. It used to come so easily to me.

"You want me to stop working?" I ask carefully, though I am fooling no one with the low purr. Rorie looks at her father with pleading eyes. Let me at least finish my dinner.

"Of course not. I just thought you might like a break. I miss you."

"I don't… I don't know. Neo…" I stumble through what I hope passes as an adequate rejection, dismissal, and apology. "I just don't feel… right."

Neo is looking at the baby, and not at me. "Alright. I'm going out. Be back soon."

"Where are you-"

"Just for a walk. Half an hour."

"But-"

"You'll be fine," he says over his shoulder. "Just hold her up straight when you rub her back. And put a towel on your shoulder."

I look down at Rorie helplessly as Neo leaves. She isn't pleased at all. Nice going, Mom. Now who is going to burp me? Please, just call Aunty Niobe. I'm begging you…

"Absolutely not. As I was telling you earlier," I say firmly, swallowing the lump in my throat that always comes with knowing that I've hurt Neo. It is happening more and more these days. "I am The IRS D-Base Trinity."

I pick her up and rest her against my chest, tossing a towel over my shoulder. From previous experience, I know this is going to be a long and painful experience for both of us. "Or, at least, that's who I used to be. A long time ago."