Page 10

Monsters My little sister never sleeps at night. At exactly 12:02 AM she opens the door into my bedroom with a creak, her face coated in hesitance and a light sprinkling of anxiety. Her body is dressed in her Minnie Mouse pajamas that only reach down to her thighs. They once touched her knees. Sissy, She says, her voice quiet, as if testing the waters before taking a deep plunge. Can I sleep with you? My eyes open, having been brought back to life by the creak of the door and the light shining into my dark alcove. I can see the bags under her eyes from broken sleeps like broken windows, cracked in all the wrong places and waiting to collapse under the weight of the rain. Maybe there’s a monster under the bed. Or maybe the shadows in her closet remind her of the scary story that she heard at school when she was four years old. Maybe she stays up all night curled up under the blanket, staring at the crease where her two walls meet and waiting for them to split open into the depths of her worst fears. I sit up and watch her face as she stands still between my doorframe, her body a mere shadow in front of the light of the hallway. She is as frozen as ice, waiting and counting down the seconds until she hears my voice. Maybe the monsters aren’t under her bed. Maybe the shadows aren’t in her closet at all. Maybe her worst fears aren’t waiting to jump out at her the second she takes her gaze away from the wall. I watch her face as I pause. I think about everything I have to do the next day: read your books, finish your journal assignment, clean your room, take your car in for repair, send an email to your mentee, share the excel document for your committee, read the article for your theory class, find some time some how some where some place for your own self care, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc. Go to sleep in your room, I whisper apologetically. My voice drowns in the weight of everything that isn’t nearly as important, yet takes up way too much more of my time. Maybe the monsters are inside of her thoughts. Maybe the shadows in her closet are actually shadows in every curve of her imagination, in every thought that she has swallowed and choked on. She leaves. Maybe she goes back to waiting. Maybe she curls up under her blanket. Maybe she holds her breath for as long as she can until her lungs force her to move again. Maybe she counts sheep. Maybe she cries. Maybe one day I’ll remember to let her stay.

10

Profile for Blueprint Magazine

Fears Issue  

Newest issue out for Blueprint Magazine! Have a read if you dare...

Fears Issue  

Newest issue out for Blueprint Magazine! Have a read if you dare...

Advertisement