We decide, Nora and I, that we will set up the tent in the backyard for a sleepover and our parents agree. We think we have been granted permission to travel abroad, alone. Two 10 year olds, brave and wise enough to face the adventure. Pillows and blankets stuffed under our arms.
Dad sets up the tent and Mom runs the Radio Shack intercom out to the the tent with the orange outdoor extension cord. We check several times if they can hear us.
As it gets darker, we organize the tent: pillows, stuffed animals, sleeping bags laid side by side. We brought crackers with us and get crumbs all over. We have books and flashlights, but we don’t want to read. We dare each other to run around in the dark alone. We catch fireflies and watch them glow between our fingers.
 |
| Add caption |
Finally, I have to go inside to the bathroom. I’m shocked as I pass by the living room and they are all there, watching Baretta. They look so comfortable laying on the couch, all the modern conveniences of electricity and television, empty ice cream bowls on the coffee table.
For a minute, I want to stay inside. I see my pink canopy bed and know exactly how it feels. The house is considerably cooler than the tent. They don’t even seem to miss us or wonder if we are ok. We could be gone forever and they would still be watching TV and eating ice cream.
But Nora is waiting for me to come back outside and I have promised we would do this. I can’t chicken out. I don’t know the word ambivalent yet, but I feel it as I open the backdoor to join her. The cicadas sing louder now in the dark. The sound is haunting and irresistible. Not pretty, but beautiful. A sweet and terrifying lullabye.
No comments:
Post a Comment