Bedtime Story

My eyes awakened to the dark shadows of my bedroom; it’s too early to get up for school. No, the alarm that woke me is of a more internal nature. My bladder was full and needed draining, and yet despite its urgency, I refrain from getting out of bed for one simple reason: there is a monster living under my bed. Laugh if you must, but I know with absolute certainty that he’s there. Have I seen him? Well…no. But I don’t have to see the wind to know when it is trying to wrestle my kite away from me. The same holds true of the monster. I can feel him under there, and there have been times when I’ll see a shadow move out of the corner of my eye that I know is him.

Even though he’ll try to get me if I get up, eventually my need to urinate proves to be too strong. I’d rather brave a kid-hungry monster than have to tell my mother that I wet the bed. I throw off the covers with a single sweep of my arm and hot the ground running. I’m in the bathroom as soon as my feet hit the cold wood floor; a journey of fifty feet is traveled in a literal blink of an eye. I should probably be studied by scientists in an effort to revolutionize the transport industry. I turn on the bathroom light (light after all is the one thing that monsters hate) and proceed to relieve myself. The wave of euphoria that floods over me banishes my anxiety, and for a few brief moments, my life is simple, happy, and free of monsters.

Alas, all things must come to an end, and once the toilet flushed, I was faced with the reality of my return trip to bed. I shut off the light and tiptoe back to my room, avoiding the creaky floor boards so that he can’t hear me coming. I stop just short of the doorframe to my room. This is it; the home stretch. It’s also the most dangerous part of the journey, because this is his domain. If he is going to get me, this is when he’ll do it. I hate this part. I’m not athletic. I’m just a fat kid with anxiety issues. God did not create me to co-habitat with bed monsters. I’m a lover, not a fighter. Monsters don’t feel love though. They live to lurk and to torture little kids like me. They want to get me. I don’t know what they’ll do after that, but I have zero interest in finding out. I won’t let him get that far.

The time is now or never. It’s either make it to bed and sleep until morning, or fail and suffer the slings and arrows of the demon beneath. It’s a scant eight feet to my bed, so I close my eyes, hold my breath, and take off running. One step, two steps, three steps, four…then with both legs, I leap for all I’m worth. The jump is the most important part. If your feet aren’t in the air for those last few feet, there is a 70% increase in the chances of the monster grabbing your ankles. I swing my arms to gain momentum, because falling short is not an option. My eyes are sealed shut because should I fail, I don’t want to see what will happen to me. They are jerked open however when my face smacks into the mattress with some force. Having outfoxed the beast yet again, I curl up under my covers and slowly drift off to sleep. I win this round, but the funny thing about urination is that I’ll have to go again sometime.