https://www.angelfire.com/art2/dream/index.html
writegirl2000@hotmail.com
Problem #1
When I was seven, my older brother, who was eighteen at the time, was supposed to take me to the movies so my parents could do some Christmas shopping. I wanted to see “E.T.” for the third time. I loved it. Especially the part when the boy with E. T. in the front basket were being chased by the bad kids and suddenly the bike lifts off the ground and zooms up into the sky, my heart would turn somersaults and I felt like I was up there flying around with them, totally free. I lived for that scene. But my brother convinced me that “Poltergeist” was much better. "Both films are by Steven Spielburg. Try something new."
So we went.
I gobbled popcorn, screamed, chewed Raisinettes, screamed, drank three 7-Ups, and screamed a lot more. My brother doesn’t know how to scream.
By the time we left the theater I was certain that I had joined the big kid’s club. My friends wouldn’t ever be allowed to see that kind of scary movie. Haha! Monday, in school, I could tell EVERYONE about it. But my brother warned me not to tell my parents that he had taken me there or I would never be able to hang out with him again. How cool was I? Cool enough to not spill the beans. Cool enough to know I could get my brother in BIG trouble if I told my Dad. Cool enough to realize how many points I could score with my pals. Cool enough to know I should keep my lips sealed.
Problem #2
That night, snuggled in my bed, I couldn’t fall asleep. I thought all sorts of demons were in my room. Whenever I get very very frightened I try to slow down my breathing so my chest doesn’t move. Movement attracts the eye. So if I didn’t move, if no breath came out of my mouth, then I would be invisible and the demons wouldn’t notice me. I kept my eyes closed. Every tiny sound seemed to become magnified. Some thing or some one was in my closet. Dododododoooo. Another creature was brushing against my second-story window. Crish! Crish! If I stayed in the room any longer I knew I would be dead or evaporated.
So I very very quietly slipped out of bed and crunched down on the floor on my hands and knees. I pulled my little yellow-flowered nap blanket from the bed and put it over my body for camouflage. Very slowly, very quietly, I snaked across the carpet and out of my room and into my parent’s bedroom next door. I didn’t want to act like a baby. I was SEVEN! So I didn’t crawl into bed with them. No. I was a big girl now. So instead I crawled under their bed, wrapped up in my blanket and fell asleep. I knew my Dad would kill anyone that entered their bedroom so I was totally safe.
Problem #3
I hear strange noises. My mother is being tortured by a demon. I try to figure out how to save her. I need a weapon. The demon must have already killed my father. Slowly I pull back the comforter on their bed and look up. I see my mother’s hand grasping the edge of the bed. Father’s hand is on top of hers!? This makes no sense. Quietly I pull my body out a little farther and I see Dad’s head between my mother legs. My mother is moaning. Oh no! I don’t think I am supposed to be here.
I slipped back under the bed and covered my ears tightly with my hands. I needed to think. How do I get out of here? Maybe I should just get up and blurt out, “Mom and Dad I am here. Brother took me to a scary movie and I was frightened and I left my bed, and I crawled in here, and now I am going back to my bed. Okay, good night.”
I didn’t do that.
Plan Two: I could just crawl back out the same way I came in, blanket over me. Oh my, there could still be demons in my room.
I didn’t do that either.
I could go to my brother's room. No. He would just call me a baby. I was almost in double digits, well, in three years. No, no, no, not my spitballhead brother.
I was trapped.
I took my hands from my ears.
I listened.
Somehow I did know this was sex. My friend Elizabeth Hahn had told me the week before how her mother just lost a baby and it came flying out of her mouth. Right then all four of us girlpals took a pledge to never have babies. We didn’t want to puke out dead babies. Ewww!
But this was different.
This was strange.
It seemed violent and loving at the same time. I liked the way they were breathing. The sweet words that one or the other occasionally said out loud. They moved around a lot.
Then the bed started moing toward me. No.No.No. I started to cry.
My Dad peeked his head under the bed. "Little girl what are you doing down there?"
"Daddy I got stuck."
"Come here sweetheart." he said.
He placed me on the bed and I told him and mother that E.T. scared me this time. "How long were you stuck under our bed?" Dad asked.
"About three weeks." I answered. Dad looked at Mom and made an odd face.
Mom said, "Jump in with us honey."
Dad said, "No. She's a strong girl. She needs to sleep in her own bed."
He took me back to my room and turned on every light. He looked in the closet. No demons. He held me up to the window. The lock was secure. Then he placed me on the floor and whoosh! he picked up my entire bed. "Daddy!" I burst out laughing. My Dad could be so outrageous sometimes.
"I'll stay with you." he said and he took me up in his arms, snuggled my yellow-flowered blanket around me, and rocked me to sleep.
(Days later I told my little brother not to go into their bedroom because Mom and Dad might be in “mention.” He asked what that meant. I said it meant STAY OUT. I have no idea now why I called it “mention.” Maybe I meant motion. Who knows?)
I never told anyone this. So sshhh! Don’t you tell anyone about this either. Okay? Our secret.
Oh, and if you want to kill my older brother, go ahead.
