The fleece of her penguin pajama pants itches the inside of her quilt..
She clings to her stuffed frog, inhaling the familiar scent of home.
Did every kid feel this way? The dread of nightfall unfolding.
Her stomach turned as the night light softly illuminated the walls.
What would night bring? Nightmares? Rest?
She squeezed her eyes shut.
The house filled with loud silence.
Her family slept peacefully. Soft inhales and exhales.
The top sheet wrapped around her legs like vines.
Suffocating her with assurance of comfort she couldn’t feel.
Instead of the moonlight carrying her into sleep,
Her thoughts wrestled her to the ground.
Pinning her down with ease.
Would she be sick?
Have a scary dream?
Wake to find herself completely alone?
Would a stranger get in somehow? And take her away?
That was silly. She was letting these tainted tales carry her away. Too far.
She rolled over in bed. Staring at the NSYNC poster on the wall.
Even the songs she played in her head couldn’t quiet the thumping of her heart.
Why couldn’t she just sleep like everyone else.
Why did the taunting voice of “what if” tug at her like a desperate child?
She clasped her hands together until her knuckles turned white.
“God, please let it be morning soon.”
The grandfather clock in the dining room dangled the safety of morning from a string.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
Echoing old fashioned chimes throughout the halls.
One. Two. Three. Four.
She’d never make it til morning.
Tears stung her eyes.
It felt as though every kid on this side of the globe was pointing and laughing.
How could she be afraid of darkness? Of sleep?
It was childish.
The slow rotation of the ceiling fan blades must have finally carried her into slumber.
For once her eyes slowly sliced open, she could see the smallest sliver of hope.
Not yet morning, but no longer night.
An extended hand of grey blue seeped through the curtains.
She had made it.
That dim glow welcomed her as she unclenched her jaw.
Her breathing slowed.
The promise of morning never cured her fear. But, it gave her permission to sink.
Deep down into a protected peace.
As I think about this little girl now. Thumbing through photo albums,
I see all of the fear behind her crooked smile.
The restless nights of worry.
Anxiously faced toward the window.
Counting down the seconds until the long awaited promise of light.
I think about how I, too, dread the heaviness of nightfall.
The unknown it brings in its overnight bag.
I want to tell her how the light never actually made her safe.
It was never a lifeguard extending a raft.
It was recognition.
That she made it through the waves of another night.
It was simply a brief moment where fear loosened its grip just long enough for hope to slip in.
She could begin again.
The world was beginning again.
With the silky nautical twilight of a new day.
