My wife hears the noises and she wakes me in the night. The dream I’ve been having is not a good one. There is a huge black cow with long white horns chasing me, its breath right on my neck. I don’t know what it means, but I’m frightened when I awake. Her hand is gripping my arm. She is holding her breath, almost.

Sometimes I sleep well and sometimes I don’t. My wife hardly ever sleeps at all. Oh, she takes little naps in the daytime, but you can stand back and watch her, and you’ll see what she goes through. She moans, and twists, and shakes her head no no no.

Long ago we’d go on picnics, take Sunday drives in the car. Long before that, we parked in cars and moved our hands over each other. Now all we do is try to sleep, seems like.

It’s dark in the room, but I can see a little. I move my arm and my elbow makes a tiny pop. I’m thinking coffee, orange juice, two over easy. But I’m a long way away from that. And then I know she’s hearing the noises once more.

“They’re down there again,” she says.

I don’t even nod my head. I don’t want to get up. It’s useless anyway, and I just do it for her, and I never get through doing it. I’m warm under the covers, and the world apart from the two of us under here is cold. I think maybe if I pretend to be asleep, she’ll give it up. So I lie quietly for a few moments, breathing in and out. I gave us a new electric blanket for our anniversary. The thermostat clicks on and off, with a small reassuring sound, keeping us warm. I think about hash browns, and toast, and shit on a shingle. I think about cold places I’ve been in. It’s wonderful to do that, and then feel the warm spaces between my toes.

“Get up,” she says.

Once I was trapped in a blizzard in Kansas. I was traveling, and a snowstorm came through, and the snow was so furious I drove my car right off the road into a deep ditch. I couldn’t even see the highway from where I was, and I foolishly decided to stay in the car, run the heater, and wait for help. I had almost a full tank of gas. The snow started covering my vehicle. I had no overshoes, no gloves. All I had was a car coat. The windshield was like the inside of an igloo, except for a small hole where I ran the defroster. I ran out of gas after nine hours of idling. Then the cold closed in. I think about that time, and feel my nice warm pajamas.

“You getting up?” she says.