jaime's Guestbook

Greg exhales slowly, like he's setting something fragile down between them instead of answering right away.

 

"Jaime," he says quietly, steady as a hand on a railing, "none of that sounds insane."

He leans forward just a fraction, voice firm but gentle. "It sounds like someone who's been running on fumes for too long. Someone whose brain never gets to shut off because he's too busy holding everything together."

A pause.

"False awakenings. Hallucinations from sleep deprivation. Anxiety loops. Those aren't character flaws," Greg continues. "They're warning lights. Loud ones."

His gaze stays on Jaime, unflinching. "And the part where you checked if I was alive?" A faint, sad smile tugs at his mouth. "That tells me how exhausted and scared you actually are. Not how weak you are."

Greg straightens slightly. "You don't have to convince me you're okay. And you don't have to manage this alone. Right now, the most competent thing you can do is admit you're not functioning."

Another beat, softer now.

"I'm here. I'm very much alive. And we're going to slow this down before it breaks you."

Lynda smiled as she watched her son's eyes get big. She could tell that he was getting excited again, which made her happy. She just loved seeing her sons happy. She listened to everything that Jamie had to say before he finally took a couple of breaths and paused. This gave Lynda a chance to speak on the things that Jamie said this far in the conversation. "Well, maybe it's my fault a little bit for working a bunch of hours and forgetting that my children, even as old as they are, still need a little bit of mama's attention too," she told him honestly as she began to play with what was left of her banana split which wasn't much, though there was still plenty of banana. Lynda didn't say anything for a while as she listened to Jamie speak again. The smile on her face grew as she heard him say that he forgave her even though she didn't do anything bad. Lynda couldn't help but laugh as she listened to him planning things out, regardless of the fact it was a tiny house. As he took a bite of his ice cream gave her the opportunity for her to speak again. "I know it will son," she said with a huge smile as she went on. "And the bed you are thinking of that fold up is called a murphy bed, but I think I have a better solution," she said as she then took a piece of banana and some melted ice cream on her spoon and then began to eat it. As she was chewing up the banana, Lynda went onto speak about what she was getting at. "What I'm meaning is, that there are tiny houses that do have lofts big enough for a regular sized bed," she added and then she went on speaking.

"And I figured that we could into one of those that way you can have the complete downstairs for more of the things you want," she told him with a smile on her face, knowing that would cause Jamie to go over the edge. As she sat there waiting for Jamie's reply, she couldn't help but take a couple more bites of what was left of her banana split, though the ice cream was mostly melted and the banana was even mushier than before. Lynda pushed it to the side and watched her son enjoying his ice cream. Lynda sat there for a little while just watching her son enjoying his ice cream and making all these plans for such a small place, but somehow, she was going to make it work. Finally, after several minutes of not saying anything for a while, Lynda broke the silence as she began to speak to him again. This time, on a totally different subject. "Jamie, honey," she started as she didn't really know how to put this. "I want you to know that I love you and everything I did or will ever do is for your protection," she said knowing that he had no idea what she was talking about, though the look on her face told him that she was being very serious. Lynda then cleared her throat as she began to speak Jamie again. "And I want you to also know that a lot of what I need to tell you happened way before I met your father and before you were born," she added. "So, even your father doesn't know about half of the stuff that I've been keeping to myself," she said. Then Lynda went silence for a few minutes as if she was thinking about things for a moment and then went on. "But we can talk about all of that later, today, however, is a fun day out with your mom," she said as the smile once again appeared on her face.

Greg stays quiet for a moment after Jaime finishes.

 

Not because he doesn't have an answer.

Because he does.

Too many of them, actually.

He leans back slowly in his chair, cane resting against his leg, eyes fixed on Jaime with an unusual kind of steadiness. No sarcasm. No smirk. Just attention.

And somehow that makes the room feel smaller.

"...Yeah," Greg says at last, voice low. "That'll do it."

His fingers tap once against the armrest before going still again.

"Your brain's running on emergency mode now. That's the fun thing nobody tells you about fear—your body gets addicted to it." A slight tilt of his head. "You stop sleeping because the dreams scare you. Then the sleep deprivation makes the dreams worse. Then your brain starts treating exhaustion like proof you're in danger."

A dry exhale through his nose.

"Which means eventually even lying down feels like stepping onto train tracks."

Greg watches Jaime carefully for a second.

"The knowing-you're-dreaming part?" he adds. "That's not crazy either. Happens when your brain gets stuck halfway between awake and asleep. You're conscious enough to realize it's a nightmare, but not enough to pull yourself out of it."

His expression hardens slightly—not cold, just honest.

"And before you ask, yes, it feels real because your brain doesn't care whether the threat exists. Adrenaline's adrenaline. Panic's panic. Your body reacts first and asks questions never."

Silence settles again.

Greg studies Jaime's white-knuckled hands.

Then, quieter:

"You know what the worst part is?"

His gaze lifts back to Jaime's.

"People think exhaustion eventually wins. Like if you stay awake long enough, your body just shuts down and gives you peaceful sleep out of mercy."

A humorless half-smile touches his mouth.

"It doesn't. Not like that."

He shifts forward slightly now, elbows on his knees mirroring Jaime without seeming to notice.

"After long enough, your brain stops distinguishing between danger and anticipation of danger. You start bracing before you even close your eyes. That's why you're exhausted all the time even when you're technically resting."

Greg pauses.

Then more gently than Jaime's probably heard from him in a while:

"And for the record? None of this sounds like weakness to me."

The words sit there plainly.

No dramatic emphasis.
Which somehow makes them hit harder.

"It sounds like somebody who's been scared for too long without giving himself permission to admit it."

Greg lets that breathe for a second before continuing.

"The death dreams..." His jaw tightens faintly. "Those usually aren't about wanting people dead. They're about helplessness. Your brain grabs the thing you fear losing most and forces you to watch it happen over and over because apparently subconscious minds are sadistic little filmmakers."

A small shrug.

"Brains are efficient that way."

Then his eyes narrow slightly, studying Jaime again in that sharp diagnostic way that never completely turns off.

"How long since you've actually slept more than... what, three or four hours straight?"

Greg doesn't jump in right away.
For once, he doesn't fill the silence with a joke or a deflection. He just watches Jaime—really watches him—the pacing, the way his hands won't settle, the way his words come out like they've been waiting too long to be said.
His expression shifts, something quieter replacing the usual edge.
"...Yeah," he murmurs after a moment.
Not dismissive. Not surprised. Just... understanding.
He leans back slightly, arms folding—not closed off, just grounding himself before he speaks.
"That's the worst part," Greg adds, voice lower now. "When it's not even about one thing. Would be nice if it was. You could point at it, fix it, or at least pretend you could."
A faint exhale slips out of him, almost a humorless laugh.
"But no. It's the highlight reel. Director's cut. All the scenes you'd rather forget, playing like they've got a personal vendetta."
His eyes flick toward Jaime, sharper now—but not unkind.
"And your brain's real generous with edits too," he continues. "Adds in all the things you meant, all the things you could've said... rewrites it until you come out looking worse every time."
There's a beat. He shifts forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
"I get it," Greg says more plainly.
Not dramatic. Not heavy. Just true.
When Jaime mentions sleep, Greg's jaw tightens slightly—subtle, but there.
"...Yeah," he repeats, quieter. "Different doesn't mean better."
Another pause, but this one feels steadier.
Then, a small tilt of his head—studying Jaime, like he's deciding how far to push.
"So what's worse for you?" he asks, tone even. "The reruns... or whatever's waiting when you actually knock out?"

"Yes, you very own space, for whatever you want to do in there," she said as she paused for a minute to rethink what she just said. "As long as it's legal and with reason," she added as she chuckled as she started to take a couple bites of her banana split. She could see the excitement not only on his face but in his eyes. Though she knew this was probably spoiling him a little bit, she couldn't help it, she just loved seeing her children happy. Lynda took a few more bites as she listened to Jamie speak again. Lynda couldn't help but chuckle a little as she listened to everything Jamie had to say. But there was one thing that he had to say that both surprised and shocked her. She couldn't believe that Jamie thought she didn't think about him. Lynda didn't say much for a few minutes as she put down her spoon and reached over for his hand gently and ran her thumb over his knuckles as she finally began to speak again. "Sweetie, you are always in my thoughts," she said with a smile on her face. Then she reached over and softly touched Jamie's face. "I don't want you to think that you're not, because you are," she told him. "And I love you very, very much," she told him as she went on. "That is why I'm doing this for you, because I love you and I want you to feel special," she added with a smile. She the let go of Jamie's hand and began to eat more of her banana split. "And I'm sorry if I haven't made you feel that way or made you think that I don't think about you," she told him, hoping he would forgive her. It was just then a nice and peaceful quiet silence came over them for a few minutes as they ate their ice cream. It was Jamie who broke the silence as he excitedly began to promise things that she knew he would keep and then excitedly went on to change the subject and started saying his ideas out loud.

Lynda couldn't help but laugh as she got some chocolate, vanilla and strawberry ice cream on her spoon. After he completely was all talked out, though it was nice to just let him talk for a while and get all his creative ideas out. Plus, this gave her time to think about everything he was wanting to do, which would be fine if she wasn't getting him a tiny house. Lynda swallowed the last of the ice cream in her mouth and then let out a chuckle as she finally began to speak to him. "Woah, slow down there tiger," she told her son with smile on her face. "First, I'm glad you are going to keep your grades up and keep on top of your chores," she told him. She could see the face he was making and shook her head. "Son, chores aren't all that bad. They help keep you grounded and give you a good work ethic for later on in life," she added as she finally moved onto how he wanted to decorate his tiny house. "Let me remind you that it is a tiny house so there is limited space," she told him. "But if you really want to do half art and half music, and by the look on your face you really do, we can look at some slightly bigger ones then I was planning on getting," she told him and then went on. "But that's okay, your mama can afford it," she added and then continued to speak to him. "It's not too much, and I really do love the idea of half music and half art. I know those are your two favorite and best subjects," she added as she paused for a few minutes, then went on speaking. "We just might have to make a few adjustments to everything you want, just depends on how big of a space you have," she added with a smile as she broke a bite of her banana off and scooped it up with some vanilla ice cream. Lynda began to speak again. "You can even stay out in your tiny home on weekends and in the summer, if we are able to put a bed in there. During school days though, I want you to stay in the house so that I can make sure your homework gets done," she added and then began to eat the bite she had just fixed.