My family knows I startle easily. Round any corner of my home to find me on the other side, you'll find me hair-raised, jumping out of my skin, sucking all the air out of the room.
Growing up, there was a hallway. The dinner hour ended, and I was coaxed into mounting the staircase alone for bedtime. Energy-conscious folks today would be proud because the lights were switched off every single time inviting the shadowy darkness to swallow me whole. One step. Then another. My parents' familiar voices at the table became ever fainter.
On the last short flight, I could see the switch as my eyes adjusted to the dark. If only I could just make it there, I could shine a light on the toothbrushes in the jar, my nightgown hanging on a hook, and some books at my bedside. Quietly, I crept closer...
Then, two arms reached out from the dark of the hallway nook. They clamped down on my shoulders and a desperate shriek screamed for mercy, my body folding beneath the monster in a protective cocoon.
Of course, I knew it was my brother every single time, but somehow, my brain succumbed to this disquieting routine.
This year, the month of March seems to have been hiding in an alcove waiting to flex its familial claws. I've been stepping through the dark of February but writing this slice, I am most certainly not alone.
Bravo for getting in the early post! Having been in many a home of Arlington I can picture that dark staircase. I have two brothers- why did they always think scaring sisters was part of their job description?
ReplyDeleteBoo! Loved how you weaved the past with the present. This slice has certainly heightened my senses, especially around corners.
ReplyDelete