Tuesday, February 16, 2016

Sunday Scribblings 2: Prompt 111 - Screech

The feeling of being startled awake only to awaken into complete silence is disturbing. I lay there for a moment wondering what really just woke me up. Was it really a sound or just my dream that sent my eyes snapping open and my heart racing? I strain to hear a sound, any sound when I hear it, the district sound of heavy furniture being moved over wood floors. It’s a dull screech in short bursts as whatever piece she is currently moving is too heavy for her to easily maneuver.

I swing my legs out of bed, fumble on my nightstand for my glasses and shuffle my way into my mother’s room. There she stands in the middle of the room, hands on her hips, clad in only in her nightgown staring at the chair that used to be on the other side of the room.

“Mom.” I say it quietly, I don’t want to startle her.

“I didn’t like it over there in the corner, I think it works better by the window, but now I can’t get around to my side of the bed and I can’t sleep on your father’s side of the bed that just wouldn’t be right.”

“Let’s move the chair back to the corner and we’ll refigure the room,” I look at her nightstand to see the readout on her clock, “later today. After lunch, we’ll rearrange everything for you.”

I move from the doorway and make my way over to my mother. I take a deep breath before guiding her over to the bed, she sits on my father’s side of the bed. My father who has been gone nearly 15 years and whose night stand hasn’t changed since the day he died. I return to the middle of the room and move the chair back to the corner. While I have an easier time, the dull screech follows me across the room.  The sound seems to startle my mother who stands up and watches me.

“Okay, time to go back to bed.” I watch her as she moves around the bed and climbs back under the covers. Only her side of the bed had been disturbed by her late night desire to rearrange her bedroom. The room, like my father’s nightstand, hasn’t changed since my parents bought this furniture 20 some years ago, she won’t want to change it in the morning.


Once she’s in bed I walk over, kiss her forehead and turn of her bedside light. I walk softly to the hallway and stand just outside her door for a few minutes. Once I’m sure she won’t be waking up again I head back to my room. I pick my phone and text my brother, I shouldn’t be the only one awake tonight worrying about Mom.

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