Underground_Network
June 25th, 2009, 03:52 PM
Prelude
The little boy, who stands just over four feet and can’t be more than seven years old peers out into the darkness. His dark brown pupils expand as he stares in bewilderment at the stars scattered across the midnight sky. His jaw drops and he is visibly excited. But then he notices something is not quite right. He converts from a sitting position in the black, lounge chair by his windowsill, and, haphazardly he kneels on the chair, peering deeper into the darkness. He pushes his lengthy, dusty brown hair out of his eyes and looks as hard as he possibly can. He finally figures out what is wrong, and darts out of his room, into his father’s room. He pokes his dad, who is lying on his bed with a lamp on, reading To Kill a Mockingbird, in the ribcage and, on his tiptoes, with his eyes glistening in the darkness, whispers, “There’s no moon tonight daddy, why is that?”
His dad rubs his eyes, takes a moment to take in what his son just said, and replies, “The moon follows a cycle Jimmy. Sometimes it’s full, sometimes you see just a part of it, and sometimes it’s not there at all.”
“But why?” little Jimmy asks, clamping his hands behind his back, as he wrinkles his tiny, pale white nose, as if attempting to prevent a sneeze.
“Umm, Jimmy, I’m not exactly sure. You’ll learn about it in school one day,” his dad says and then yawns, extending both arms, his left hand still clutching onto the book he was reading, toward the bland, white ceiling, which happens to be the same color as all of the walls in the house, except for Jimmy’s, which is covered in Spongebob wallpaper.
“But I want to know now, daddy!” Jimmy shouts while leaning onto his dad’s bed, wide-eyed and scrunching his cheeks.
“Jimmy, just go to sleep, its late.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“Jimmy, please, go to sleep.”
“But how can I sleep if there’s no moon out?”
“What?”
“The moon. I need the moon to sleep.”
“Why? You’ve slept without the moon before.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know it wasn’t there.”
“Jimmy, please, just go to sleep,” his dad exclaims while flailing his right arm toward the ceiling, and blinking both eyes in secession, repeatedly.
“Okay. But I’m scared.”
“Scared of what Jimmy? I’ve already explained to you that there are no monsters in your closet.”
“I’m scared that they’ll get me,” Jimmy shouts, as his voice breaks, and his eyes display an intense fear.
His dad doesn’t notice his son’s eyes, as he’s too busy trying to go back to reading his book, and is facing the opposite direction of his son. “There is no ‘they’ Jimmy. Please, just go to sleep.”
“Okay. But I heard them outside last night, and I knows it was the moonlight that scared them away! I swear!” Jimmy exclaims in a serious tone, trying to sound precocious.
“Okay, okay. If you desperately want to, Jimmy, sleep with me tonight.” His father pulls the brown and white striped covers off of him, stands up, picks up his son, and places him on the bed where his beautiful, brown-haired, hazel-eyed wife of thirteen years used to sleep. He gets back into bed as well. He puts To Kill a Mockingbird on his nightstand where the lamp, various medications, and other miscellaneous items are scattered. He whispers, “Goodnight” to his son, turns off the lamp, lays on his right side, and closes his eyes.
The little boy, who stands just over four feet and can’t be more than seven years old peers out into the darkness. His dark brown pupils expand as he stares in bewilderment at the stars scattered across the midnight sky. His jaw drops and he is visibly excited. But then he notices something is not quite right. He converts from a sitting position in the black, lounge chair by his windowsill, and, haphazardly he kneels on the chair, peering deeper into the darkness. He pushes his lengthy, dusty brown hair out of his eyes and looks as hard as he possibly can. He finally figures out what is wrong, and darts out of his room, into his father’s room. He pokes his dad, who is lying on his bed with a lamp on, reading To Kill a Mockingbird, in the ribcage and, on his tiptoes, with his eyes glistening in the darkness, whispers, “There’s no moon tonight daddy, why is that?”
His dad rubs his eyes, takes a moment to take in what his son just said, and replies, “The moon follows a cycle Jimmy. Sometimes it’s full, sometimes you see just a part of it, and sometimes it’s not there at all.”
“But why?” little Jimmy asks, clamping his hands behind his back, as he wrinkles his tiny, pale white nose, as if attempting to prevent a sneeze.
“Umm, Jimmy, I’m not exactly sure. You’ll learn about it in school one day,” his dad says and then yawns, extending both arms, his left hand still clutching onto the book he was reading, toward the bland, white ceiling, which happens to be the same color as all of the walls in the house, except for Jimmy’s, which is covered in Spongebob wallpaper.
“But I want to know now, daddy!” Jimmy shouts while leaning onto his dad’s bed, wide-eyed and scrunching his cheeks.
“Jimmy, just go to sleep, its late.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“Jimmy, please, go to sleep.”
“But how can I sleep if there’s no moon out?”
“What?”
“The moon. I need the moon to sleep.”
“Why? You’ve slept without the moon before.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know it wasn’t there.”
“Jimmy, please, just go to sleep,” his dad exclaims while flailing his right arm toward the ceiling, and blinking both eyes in secession, repeatedly.
“Okay. But I’m scared.”
“Scared of what Jimmy? I’ve already explained to you that there are no monsters in your closet.”
“I’m scared that they’ll get me,” Jimmy shouts, as his voice breaks, and his eyes display an intense fear.
His dad doesn’t notice his son’s eyes, as he’s too busy trying to go back to reading his book, and is facing the opposite direction of his son. “There is no ‘they’ Jimmy. Please, just go to sleep.”
“Okay. But I heard them outside last night, and I knows it was the moonlight that scared them away! I swear!” Jimmy exclaims in a serious tone, trying to sound precocious.
“Okay, okay. If you desperately want to, Jimmy, sleep with me tonight.” His father pulls the brown and white striped covers off of him, stands up, picks up his son, and places him on the bed where his beautiful, brown-haired, hazel-eyed wife of thirteen years used to sleep. He gets back into bed as well. He puts To Kill a Mockingbird on his nightstand where the lamp, various medications, and other miscellaneous items are scattered. He whispers, “Goodnight” to his son, turns off the lamp, lays on his right side, and closes his eyes.