Mother often laid with me in bed at night. I slept on a fairly comfortable bed. I lay facing towards my left. Mother lay down to my right. My warm blanket covers my body, which I huddle under with my stuffed toy giraffe. When we were settled in under our blanket of darkness, a soft warm hand creeps up onto my back and lightly scratches the skin on which it rests. My eyes close. Lightly, quietly, I relax my tense small body. In acts of gratitude, pleasure massages my mind into a dream. Happiness brings my face muscles to a rest. My face muscles bring my mouth to a small neutral frown. My eye lids flitter about in an attempt to keep me awake, so that I may embrace that comfortable feeling for a longer time. As my mother’s hand comes to a rest, my body shifts towards her hand, suggesting another go of back-scratching. She starts again, accepting my silent request, and a cycle of comfort repeats.
Father often sat by my bed at night. I slept on a fairly soft bed then. He used to comfort me. Such things like the caricatures of my favourite monsters hiding in my closet, or maybe grotesque beings that sleep soundly under the ticking clock like I would. Those things scared me. Perhaps he didn’t know. Either way, he sang a soothing song to my ears. I faintly remember it as a variety of songs, of bedtime themes, originating from The Sound of Music. I huddle with my small stuffed toy giraffe. Under a small warm blanket covering my body, I twist about every predetermined minutes to signal to my father that I was awake. Such is the way that fills my remainder of the night with a cycle of relaxing songs.
Mother left our house. Father often went on business trips.
I often lay in bed at night. I slept on a fairly large bed. I lay down facing a cover of darkness. I myself manage by, only embracing the darkness I could see under my blanket, illuminated by passing car lights that shine though columns of space in the curtains. Occasional. Distant. Yet damning awaking. Now, I just feel lonely. The giraffe, instead, sits by my side. Or rather, it stands on four legs on the table a gap away. Two dark spots represent it’s eyes. They stand on it’s head and look at me. Black, small, and sewn on. Indiscernible in the darkness.