Cries in the night are never welcomed. Especially on the second night. Especially when they are not easily pacified by back rubs, naps in our bed, soothing words. No. Isaac wants to sit in the blackness of the living room, illuminated unnaturally by the LCD lights of the wireless router, the rise and fall white, glowing hum of the iBook charging and the moon, in its tireless shining through the blinds. He wants to remain quiet, possessed by the night, awake and alive in its aura. He never sits on the couch; he does at night. We sat there for awhile last night. He couldn't and wouldn't sleep, neither could I with him awake and alive with unrest and the evening coffee still in my blood and breath. So we sat there on the folds of the couch, quiet, silent, encouraging each other in our nocturnicity.
I blinked first, I had to get him to sleep. I offered him juice to no avail. I changed his diaper to the chagrin and mocking of the darkness. I tired more quickly, I was more languid, I was the one who needed a warm blanket to shield myself from the open window blowing cool air. Isaac stared at the natural and unnatural lights. We looked through the windows on the door, at the A.M. night of our street: the star lights on the fence and in the sky, the trash cans like black monsters coated with the effervescence of the moon, the stillness of it. He was curious, bending his head between the window slats, between the recesses of glass that opened the night to his eyes. He would not go easily into this good night.
Finally I offered him food, unfinished yogurt from breakfast. I would not yield and fill the room with lamplight, the LCD display, blinking, was enough. I returned from the kitchen in the black hallway, hearing a movement, not seeing a thing. I almost ran into him, his stealth and invisibility his greatest strength; he was able to escape. I saw him scatter away, scuttle across the carpet, short and quick, awake and fast in his steps. He ran past the light spilling in from the door, past the pulsating hum of the computer I saw him again, I heard his matching footfalls, bursts of speed falling like rain drops. He cut the light from the router and I saw his full form, scurrying full tilt to the couch and in one step leaping upon it. Like a little Gremlin, hiding in the open, in the shadow of a darkness battling with the light he sat upright quickly.
I carry the rhythm of those footfalls today, those harbingers of insomnia, treading quickly across in the Bible-black night. My little Gremlin, my little creature of the night, illusive, almost illusory save for my unnatural lights. I caught the Gremlin, put him to bed, but I still see him there, scurrying quickly, seeing me before I see him. Alive in the night, eyes open, a creature of the quiet and cool, camping in my lap with blankets and lights and darkness all around us. It was the stillest Isaac has ever been, the most fragile, the most contingent and independent and daring and wondrous he has ever been. The night does not frighten him. The darkness does not frighten him.
My little Gremlin.
I blinked first, I had to get him to sleep. I offered him juice to no avail. I changed his diaper to the chagrin and mocking of the darkness. I tired more quickly, I was more languid, I was the one who needed a warm blanket to shield myself from the open window blowing cool air. Isaac stared at the natural and unnatural lights. We looked through the windows on the door, at the A.M. night of our street: the star lights on the fence and in the sky, the trash cans like black monsters coated with the effervescence of the moon, the stillness of it. He was curious, bending his head between the window slats, between the recesses of glass that opened the night to his eyes. He would not go easily into this good night.
Finally I offered him food, unfinished yogurt from breakfast. I would not yield and fill the room with lamplight, the LCD display, blinking, was enough. I returned from the kitchen in the black hallway, hearing a movement, not seeing a thing. I almost ran into him, his stealth and invisibility his greatest strength; he was able to escape. I saw him scatter away, scuttle across the carpet, short and quick, awake and fast in his steps. He ran past the light spilling in from the door, past the pulsating hum of the computer I saw him again, I heard his matching footfalls, bursts of speed falling like rain drops. He cut the light from the router and I saw his full form, scurrying full tilt to the couch and in one step leaping upon it. Like a little Gremlin, hiding in the open, in the shadow of a darkness battling with the light he sat upright quickly.
I carry the rhythm of those footfalls today, those harbingers of insomnia, treading quickly across in the Bible-black night. My little Gremlin, my little creature of the night, illusive, almost illusory save for my unnatural lights. I caught the Gremlin, put him to bed, but I still see him there, scurrying quickly, seeing me before I see him. Alive in the night, eyes open, a creature of the quiet and cool, camping in my lap with blankets and lights and darkness all around us. It was the stillest Isaac has ever been, the most fragile, the most contingent and independent and daring and wondrous he has ever been. The night does not frighten him. The darkness does not frighten him.
My little Gremlin.
2 comments:
The hall was dimly lit as we made our way to the small lounge with its outdated TV and 1970's furniture. No one else was around to see our routine that had been going on for nearly one month. Our neighbors were fast asleep and didn't need to be awoken by the giggles and inquisitive self-talk as our son looked into the shadoes of the night, mesmerized by the lights, both natural and unnatural, diffusing through the blinds. It was as if he was talking to the maker of the lights, but the language was foreign to us. In the night, we sat down in the plastic cushion couch and turned on the TV, 12:30am, to watch Star Trek. Ou little 'trekker' gazed at the picture as USS NG1701 warped through space to its next adventure, with all the cheap props and non-even close stand-ins. It didn't matter, the 'trekker' watched in amazement, and, in time, well past the time when the star ship pulled away into the deepness of space, we both dreamnt of adventures into our future. Adventures that for the 'trekker' now include the Little Gremlin. Live long and prosper 'trekker.'
At least Isaac sits and enjoys the dark not like a little one who us to get up in the middle of the night and planks himself on the floor by the back door, and when we get up in the morning that is where we find him. Of course this certain little on might not remember doing this but we do.
A Love One
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