27. The safest place in the world....
I'm thinking of all the safe places one can be in the world. Fortresses. Secret government underground bunkers. The maple tree that was designated "safe" before the game of tag started. My earliest memory of "safe" was hiding under the covers of bed. From monsters.It is a well known fact that monsters invade the rooms of children at night. Under the bed and in the closet are the biggest known culprits, although the occasional risk of one bursting through the bedroom door also exists. Parents are fools if they think that there aren't any monsters; they seem to lack the necessary radars to detect these things. But then again, these are people who don't realize that Leopard can talk to you, or can't understand why you need to have 20+ stuffed animals on your bed every night. Obviously if you leave any of your stuffed friends out, it will hurt their feelings. So, while they have the added benefit of chasing away dark shadows whenever they enter the room, ultimately they can't be trusted to help you in times of duress.
Landlocked on your tiny bed island, there are few places to run. So you must resort to the safety of deep under the covers. Shielded by the warmth of thick blankets that meld to your shape, you are able to go undetected by things with dripping teeth and large dark bodies (or even worse, the formless ones that would envelope you like some sort of demon mist, given half the chance). It is true, things like the nightlight set low at the foot of the bed do help, but when the overhead light goes out and shadows are thick like dark water around your little boat of a bed, you have few options left. The light switch, the arch nemesis of these monsters, sits just across the room. You might be able to dash over to it and flick it on in time to smite these hunkering beasts, but do you really want to take the risk? What if you wrestle with your covers for too long, stumble as you run?
In the end, all that is left is to build an impenetrable shield of cotton and synthetic fabrics around your small body. How do these things prevent monster attacks? That's unimportant, we don't need to dwell on that. Dwelling on such minor details, and the further panic that results from doing so, is exactly the kind of thing the monsters would want.
In building this blanket shield, it is crucial to seal off all spaces. Blanket edges should be tucked under feet, the top part pulled under your arms, your hunched form covered completely. The downside to such a thorough sealing is, of course, a lack of oxygen. Leaving a slight opening near the face is ideal, but such laxness in security can result in a monster reaching in. So it's quite important to open this space intermittently. To save that little bit of air in your blanket fortress when going to bed for the night it's best to take a large gulp of air before covering yourself, to make your bubble's supply last that much longer. Never, ever lay face up - much too exposed. Face down, back arched like a bridge, taking very small breaths to conserve limited oxygen; this is best.
You can hear monsters come in when you hear the thump, thump, thump! An adult might point out that it's actually your panicked little heart, creating this thumping noise, that has led you to believe the steps of monsters are approaching. And of course the more panicked you are, the faster the heart, the faster the monsters seem to be approaching. But analytical thinking isn't part of the night routine. Survival is.
It could be said, perhaps, that your imagination as a child was a bit "overactive". Take, for example, the babysitter whom you completely managed to creep out. Mom remembers this, but you have forgotten it by now. As the babysitter came to tuck you in, she noticed you seemed scared. Upon asking what the matter was, you said in a four year-old's chilling voice "they come, they come in the night and they touch my hair." Needless to say, Mom found a very freaked out babysitter when she came back home that night.
The night light, the blanket shield, for many years these were necessities for nighttime slumber. Until one day, tired of feeling terrified, you decide to fight back. On a gloomy afternoon, you squeeze into the closet, shutting the doors behind you. It's dark and absolutely terrifying. Monsters might as well be eating you right now, you're so close. But you're tired of being afraid. You think "if I can't beat them, join them." And you stand there, pressed in by hanging shirts, stumbling on the shoes under your feet, and wait. And then, still shaking but feeling like you actually may have accomplished something, you open those dark closet doors, and step out into the light.
Here you and I come to a divergence that has nothing to do with my role as teacher and everything to do with my reaction as a reader. (Understand that with most student writing my reaction as a reader is irrelevant; with you tonight it seems to be on my mind a lot since these pieces are quite a few cuts above what I usually read and demand very little of the teacher.)
ReplyDeleteThe divergence is a matter of taste, and, as they say, there is simply no disputing taste; it's pretty much just a matter of whether what floats your boat floats mine.
This to me is too sweet. My taste runs to something edgier, tarter, darker. But it is what you intended it to be, I think--not a failure, just a success I can't appreciate.