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Finally, Time for Bed

Good night.

By dkPublished 5 years ago 4 min read
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I remember being a kid with a routine, dad carrying me to bed, singing to me, and reading Sleepy Dog. Mom coming to choose my outfit for school the next day and making sure I brushed my teeth. Shannon, my sister, still up watching TV because she is older.

9:00PM - is when dad closes my door; lights out. I listen to my sister’s show through the crack under my door, ‘Up next is back to back George Lopez on Nick at Nite.’ I hear the TV click off, and Shannon is quickly in her room down the hall. The absence of the white noise produced by the TV reveals more white noise; my mom typing on her computer in her office. Pulling the covers back, my boney kid ankles creep out of bed, cracking the door open just a sliver. The light is already off in Shannon’s room, and I can hear her heavy breathing. She’s a gifted sleeper. Warm spillover of light from mom’s office stretches into my room, and then stretches back out when I softly close my door shut. I listen with my eyes open in the dark, feeling like I am spending time with mom. We are the only two awake in the entire world. I’m savoring this time while I can. I hear the gentle click of the round light switch, mom is going to bed.

11:00PM - I’m left alone, the only one awake on the planet. My kid ankles are back out of bed, turning on the light. I scramble over to my white bookshelf, scraped and sprinkled with scratch and sniff stickers. The Babysitters Club graphic novel is always the first to catch my eye. I sit on the floor, leaning against the bed. I have five hours to fill, so I read slowly. Next is Junie B. Jones, Nancy Drew,The Boxcar Children, Bunnicula, then Junie B. Jones, again, because Bunnicula is scary.

1:01AM - Dad is in the kitchen, making noises like a hibernating bear. I quickly turn off the lights in my room, and poke my head out the door, quiet like a mouse. Dad is pawing through the fridge, but always ends up with a glass of milk and two pieces of toast tucked under butter and jelly.

1:13AM - The kitchen lights are off, and the bear is stumbling back to his den. I enjoyed not being the only one alive for twelve minutes, but now, back to reading. I read in all different places on my carpet, trying to cover the entire floor with my bony behind’s invisible print. I bring out my Hello Kitty notepad and write a few stories of my own in blue, sparkly ink. No matter how I begin, I always end up writing horror, and have to pull out the Junie B. Jones, again.

3:00AM - I should try to sleep. My kid ankles turn the lights off and race to bed, scared of the monsters that exist in the moment when my eyes adjust to the dark. I take one large leap from the floor, diving deep into my purple covers, avoiding the area in reach of the corpses that live under my bed. Shaking and teeth chattering, I pull my blanket over my head, like I’m wearing a protective ski mask, my eyes being the only exposed part of my body. My exposed eyes are fixed on the closet that is filled with mom’s crap from the 80s, the perfect home for an evil witch to live, like the one from Wizard of Oz. She slowly creeps out, her pointy nose being the first to appear from behind the wooden closet door. Wearing all black, she steps out and walks to the middle of my room, it’s not a witch at all, but Bloody Mary, even worse. Luckily, my ski mask makes me invisible and safe, although she is a fright to see. I tear my exposed eyes away to look at the clock.

4:00AM - I bravely step into the cold air shared with Bloody Mary, and run to mom and dad’s room.

I walk into a night time duet, mom and dad making a harmonized snore, dad grumbling after mom’s shrill nose whistle. I stand and listen for a while, until I realize that I am being creepy watching them sleep like this. With a cold, tiny finger I tap mom’s shoulder. The smallest peck breaks the not-so-melodic tune, and mom’s whistle transforms to rigid breath and a muttered, ‘what’s wrong.’

“I can’t sleep.” Mom looks over at the clock. “Crap. Get in.” Easy win tonight. Finally,

time for bed.

literature
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About the Creator

dk

Yes, I want to know your sign.

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