Sleep Overs
I hear someone outside my window. I am asleep in my Grandparents’ spare bedroom. My Grandmother sleeps two doors down and my Grandpa the next room over. They haven’t slept in the same room for as long as I remember. I hear someone whisper my name, like a boyfriend sneaking up to my window. A flashlight shines through Grandma’s curtains. I pretend I’m asleep, knowing someone is outside — looking at me through the window.
Grandpa?
I’ve always been close to my Grandparents, seeing them daily since I was nine. I’m twelve now and spend more time here because Grandma has cancer. I clean the house, do the dishes, and whatever she needs. I stay all weekend. Grandma is very good at making things. I can’t find the focus, like her, to finish all the projects we start. But she will complete them for me and tell everyone that I did it by myself.
I’m in the sixth grade.
I like sleeping at Grandma’s. I sleep in the spare room which is small and plainly decorated, and has room for my imagination. Sometimes I make believe that I’m living in my own apartment, or I imagine that I’m on a vacation, in a hotel.
But now, I must be imaging that Grandpa is just outside my window, shining his flashlight onto me. What is he doing outside my window watching me sleep?Maybe, just drunk.
My bedroom door scratches over the hardwood, sticks at one spot, then opens into my room. My stomach hurts. The mattress sinks. “Grandpa?” I say. He tightens the sheets. “Be quiet…you don’t want to wake up your Grandma — you will ruin the family.”
I smell that smell of Listerine and Redman on his breath — as he slips his tongue between my teeth. I whisper “Grandpa stop!” — still afraid to wake-up Grandma.
