Midnight Waking
We’ve repeated this every night for 6 months now.
We live in a fairly boring neighbourhood — suburban houses, mostly young families. A large open field across the street is traced by trails and pockmarked with parks.
I’ll sit in the feeding chair looking outside, waiting for my husband to bring baby’s warmed food. Being up at 2 every night, you start living vicariously through the world beyond the glass. It’s not unusual to see cars with deeply tinted windows on the street, people and dogs out for midnight walks, or teenagers laughing harder than they should be.
Sometimes, though, there’s nothing.
Tonight, I expected nothing. Life was on pause. Rain that started during the day had saturated the landscape and a heavy pillow of fog covered the ground. It beckoned adventurers and tired heads. I was at least one of those.
Do you see that? Someone’s being a hero!
My husband’s reaction snapped me out of my trance. I stopped mid-diaper change and looked outside. Sure enough, someone was out there. They were walking along the main path that cut through the park, a tall figure taking big strides that seemed both effortless and deliberate. Despite the wet air, their sheet-like clothing billowed in all directions. I couldn’t see any feet.
Man, lockdown must really be messing with people’s SPIRITS! Haha! I’ll go get the food ready.
As he went downstairs, my gaze lingered for a second. Despite the fabric flying and obscuring the face, I felt…seen. I looked away and finished changing my baby, who was now cold, wet, and upset.
I managed to get everything under control and sat down, waiting to hear my husband’s steps on the stairs. When I heard the thuds by the bedroom door, I reflexively stuck out my hand.
A chill ran through my body as the freezing cold bottle hit my palm.
In the corner of my eye, white fabric fluttered.
