Weekly Anamnesis #28

I tucked my fuzzy pajama covered knees beneath my chin, wrapping my arms around them, hugging them close. I rocked back and forth a bit staring longingly at the sleek dark finish of the bedroom door.

“I won’t cry! I won’t!” I whispered to myself as tears threatened, brimming and pooling at the corners of my eyes. I dashed them aside with my grubby hand. I could hear them, laughing and giggling, their sounds muted by the closed door and the distance of the hall. I could picture them sprawled across the floor munching on their popcorn and laughing over their silly poses on the slides. I saw the slide of my brother in my mind, his hands placed upon his cheeks in a surprised “Oh!” and laughter in his eyes as he stood below a waterfall in naught but his underwear. Oh, how we giggled and laughed at that one. The water splashed off his elbows scattering in disarray, with the brown rock behind him. I heard a burst of laughter, no doubt my sister, and I hugged my knees tighter. “I won’t cry!” I whispered fiercely as I unfolded my little body and crawled into bed.

Only when the covers were yanked over my head did I let myself dissolve into a heap of gut wrenching sobs. Mother had said, “Go to bed.” But I wanted to be with the family. I hadn’t been bad had I? My crying softened and I heard someone at my door. A soft tap and the slight creek as it opened, followed by quiet footsteps. I felt the covers slip over my sodden hair and I looked up into my Mother’s worried eyes.

“What’s wrong? Why didn’t you come out?” She asked.

“You … said … I had to go … to … bed,” I gasped as the sobs threatened another act of piracy. I looked into my Mother’s astonished face as it crumbled into compassion.

“Oh, darling, I said to get ready for bed,” she whispered as she gathered me into her arms.
I turned my tear-streaked cheeks up to gaze into her face, a glimmer of hope in my eyes. “Then, I’m not in trouble?
”I can come out and watch slides?”

My tears forgotten I scrambled out of bed and followed my mother out the door, leaving them to dry.


Filed under Anamnesis, Memory, Parenting, Writing

5 responses to “Door

  1. Deb

    ROTFL. That sounds like me when I was a kid; I always misunderstood my mom. Great story!

  2. How sad! I felt every emotion with you julia!!! Reminds me that we have to be careful how we say things to our kids hehe.

  3. Okay, I’m blaming the hormones… but that made me cry! I felt so sad for you and then I felt how awful your mom must have felt for you. And it made me want to never let that happen to my daughter.

  4. You poor little thing! You are so gifted with your writing, Julia. It makes me feel like I’m right there in the room with you!

    We do have to be careful with what we say…little ones can easily misunderstand our words! One time I told my oldest “I don’t like you watching that tv show,”. Even though I meant that I didn’t want him to watch a certain program, his ears heard me say “I don’t like you” and in a shocked little voice he asked “You don’t like me?”. I quickly eased his mind and re-phrased my words.

    Keep those great stories coming:)!
    Sorry for the long post.

  5. snicker. hehe. hahaha!

    i know it’s bad to laugh, but that is funny. i wonder what was going through your moms mind before she found out what made you stay in the room. (my mom would have been thinking, “i bet that little imp is in something she’s not supposed to be in!”)

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