I remember how the salt from my tears made my face itch. It was agonizing every time I had to pull my numb fist from the comfort of my blankets and rub furiously at my cheeks and eyes. Even my fresh tears didn’t help clean and sooth the hot red patches. I moaned and on occasions wailed, but quieted soon afterwards hoping I didn’t cry too loud stirring mommy and daddy. They wouldn’t be happy and the piercing angry thumps of their footsteps pounding up the stairs frightened me. I didn’t want that. I turned on my side facing the door but then shuttered. I could barely see anything except for the objects bathed in the ocean blue light coming from under my blinds, I turned onto my back. This was frightened me the most, not knowing or seeing what was around me. My young naive four year-old mind couldn’t take the overload of my vivid imagination. A hazy fog spun around my fidgeting form entrancing me to sleep, but stubbornness and anxiety kept me half-awake. With small but heard steps that my tiny years had picked up from the creaks of the floor, I heard someone enter my room and I felt the stranger’s presence by my white barred cage. I almost choked. I was anxious to hear one of my parents voices merged with exasperation but it didn’t come. Instead the person didn’t talk at all. I turned on my side and watched a tiny figure dressed in black by the darkness crawl underneath my crib and lay down. I knew she was down there because of the tiny sliver of body I was able to see when I looked straight down. Sleep soon closed my tired eyes and I soon drifted off. A soft orange light touched my closed eyes and I heard soft murmurs of mature voices over my head, then a sigh escaped an unknown mouth and the light went out without me even opening my eyes. When I woke the next morning and I was taken to breakfast, I didn’t notice that Sara wasn’t under my bed anymore.
December 9, 2010