A Random Image
 

Jett Superior laid this on you on || December 29, 2000 || 2:42 am

I am awakened to the sound of wailing. It is growing louder with approach, and my toddler son’s silhouette appears in my doorway. Even from across the room I can see his mass of loose curls, I can see him trembling. Ahhhh, bad dream. And I can hear a train retreating in the distance. That probably did not help the situation.

He is much braver than I ever was. Even at the tender age of two, this shows. I was always bold, but bold and genuinely brave are two entirely separate matters. I would never have left my bed post-nightmare; every inch of my little frame had to be doused in blanky and I would lie coiled tightly, ready for more nightmares to strike.

As a child, I had these horrible lucid dreams. Dreams as a rule are to be grandiose and perplexing, and mine were posessed of a macabre spin as well. Everything had the appearance of normalcy, but with that feeling of being just a little off –just that imperceptible titch– just below the surface. Like one of those “can-you-spot-what’s-odd” drawings (on some level, these have GOT to be BAD for kids, but that is another rant for another time). When I would finally satiate that need for knowing where the rift was by finding the general oddity, things would always take a zinging spin into awfulness of an extremity that just cannot be put into words, exactly.

I was gifted with grossly mutated nightmares most of my life. For the most part, they went away in my early adulthood (taught myself a niftaaaay little trick, HA). They occasionally make a guest reappearance; it’s always sporadic and unforeseen, triggered by nothing in general. I have examined it to the best of my ability and found no set pattern.

I had one such nightmare last night. It focused on the getting-ready ritual. You know, basic “hey-these-are-all-the-steps-I-take-to-go-and-face-da-woild” stuff. As always, there was the nagging, the tug at the back of my brain telling me something or other was not quite meshing. Then I ran my tongue across my teeth and felt something odd. I went to the oversize mirror in the master bath and bared my teeth at it. They were pierced.

*I hesitated to tell you that, as there is likely some idiot out there who will want to run out and try it*

The top two in front each had a little hole drilled neatly to the outside edge of them, and a little hoop was slung neatly through the holes. The bottom companions wore their holes square in the center and sported little diamond studs. Everything went swirling away into chaos at that point.

Snap….back into now. I have been rambling, huh?

Anyway, I say, “I’m right here, son, c’mere.” His footie-pajama clad feet make their way to my bedside and upon arriving he flings himself onto the edge. I heave his little relieved frame upward next to mine and encircle him. “You’re okay”, I coo.

We lie there for a bit, allowing him to recover his baby wits, before I shift him to the middle between mom and dad. Once he is comfortable, he turns to me and asks, “Ahwite?”

“Yeah, I’m alright, are you alright?” I ask back. “Wight.” he says matter-of-factly, and I nuzzle him until I hear his breathing go shallow and regular.

Then I ease my arm from beneath his warm frame, because now I can’t sleep.

Nobody worked it out »

Don´t be shy. Lay it on me.

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