Young Writers Society

Two simple raps on the door wake her up. She stirs in the bed, blinking away the sleep from her eyes and silencing a yawn. The room remains dark, the blinds only letting in enough moonlight for her to see the silhouette of the pillows and covers. The emptiness on the left side of the bed informs her that her husband has already left for work, which must mean it is sometime after midnight. Her hand closes around the sheets and she pulls them up to her body, tightening them around her to trap the warmth and coziness she wants to slip back into. Another rap at the door prevents her from doing just that.

She sits up, pulling the rustling sheets with her. “Yeah, sweetie?” she calls out to the emptiness of the room. The door slowly swings open, washing the room with bright yellow light. Her pupils contract too quickly and she raises her arm up to shield her eyes, cringing away from the light. She lowers her hand and, after a pause, looks up again, only able to see the outline of her daughter as she stands in the doorway with the light shining behind her. The child holds a stuffed bear in her left hand while her right hand remains on the doorknob.

“I can’t sleep,” she whimpers in a small and light voice. She shuffles into the room, closing the door behind her so that the room is once again enveloped in darkness. She climbs onto the bed with some difficulty, tossing the bear up first so that she can use both of her hands to pull herself up afterwards. She crawls over to her mother and folds herself into her arms, wedging the bear in between their bodies. Her mother reaches back to the nightstand and feels her way around the base of a lamp before she finds the knob and twists it, turning on the single bulb and giving the room a warm, orange glow.

Pulling the sheets up, she covers them both and holds her daughter closer to her chest, pushing back her hair and resting her forehead on hers. The girl pouts and makes herself smaller by bringing up her knees and remaining in the fetal position.

“Did you have a nightmare, Maggie?” her mother asks. Maggie nods, her lower lip jutting out unnecessarily. She wants to laugh at the expressions Maggie makes, but she knows that she shouldn’t. Instead, she bites her lip and holds her tongue, waiting for Maggie to tell her what happened in her nightmare.

“Daddy was gone,” she explains, “and I went to find him. But I couldn’t find him anywhere. So I went home and you were crying. But then you stopped and you smiled at me and then Daddy showed up. Then we went for ice cream but you left me there. And I didn’t know what to do. And I started crying. And I was all alone and nobody would take me home. And then I woke up.” Maggie looks about to cry again so her mother tightens her grip on her and kisses the top of her head.

“Daddy and I would never leave you,” she murmurs against her hair, “You’re going to stay here at home with me forever.” Maggie sighs against her mother’s skin, letting her guard down and noticeably relaxing in her arms.

“I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you, too, baby girl,” she replies, “Now we should get some sleep. Tomorrow is a big day. We have to unpack all the boxes and get you ready for Kindergarten.”

“I don’t wanna go to Kindergarten,” Maggie refuses, “I wanna stay here with you.”

“Well, you have to go to school, sweetie, how else are you gonna turn into a big girl?”

“I am a big girl,” Maggie claims as if some big injustice has been done to her. Her mother can’t help but laugh.

“Of course you are, but big girls go to kindergarten, so that means you have to go, too,” she reasons. Maggie pouts again, sighing heavily.

“Okay,” she relents, “But if I don’t like it, I won’t go back.”

“Deal. Now go to sleep.”

Maggie rests against her mother, whispering a soft “goodnight” mere moments before her lids drop and she falls asleep. Her mother remains still, listening to the intake and outtake of Maggie’s soft breath, watching her body rise and fall, feeling the strong, rhythmic beat from her heart. Then she feels it. Her own heart constricts as her mind wanders into a place she taught herself to veer away from.

One day, Maggie will have a life of her own. She will sleep in a big bed that she bought with whomever she married, be awoken in the middle of the night by her very own daughter or son, and deal with her child’s nightmares. She’ll hug her daughter to calm her down or rock her son back and forth to convince him there’s no such thing as monsters. She’ll get up the next morning and make them breakfast, running out the door at the last possible minute to drive her kids to school and get herself to work. One day, Maggie will take the place her mother is currently in. One day, Maggie won’t need her mother anymore.

And with that thought, she wakes up.

It’s the fifth time that week that Margaret has that same dream. She lies in bed, trying to calm herself down from the memory turned nightmare. It’s the morning of that day, when Maggie will no longer be her little girl. The light of dawn seeps through the age old blinds, washing the room in blue, making her reality much more surreal than her dream had been. Margaret’s hand wanders to the left side of the bed, which has been permanently empty for a few years. Her hand clenches around the sheets, trying to summon up the memory of her baby girl knocking on her door in the middle of the night because she had a nightmare. The memory starts to slip away.

Two quick raps on the door catch her attention. Maggie doesn’t wait for Margaret to answer, pushing the door open and lifting her head in to look into the room. She smiles at her mother and walks in, pushing the door behind her and leaning on it to close it completely. Her hair is mussed up from sleep and she’s wearing an old t-shirt and some shorts that she’s been using as pajamas. One of her eyes looks darker than the other due to her laziness to remove her eye makeup before she goes to sleep. Her teeth gleam when she smiles, perfectly straight after two years of braces.

“Mom?” she asks. Margaret clears her throat.

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“I had a nightmare,” Maggie admits, looking embarrassed and sheepish. Margaret chuckles and pats the bed for her. Maggie climbs onto the bed, sliding in next to her mother and slipping her hand into her mother’s. “I couldn’t go back to sleep and I didn’t really wanna wake up anybody by turning on the television or starting breakfast.”

“What was your nightmare about?” Margaret asks. Maggie laughs to herself, her voice strong and confident.

“That I forgot to sign the lease papers and when I showed up at the apartment there was already somebody else living there and then I tried to come back here and you had moved away without telling me and I couldn’t reach anyone and became a hobo and lived my life in misery,” she says all in one breath. They both laugh at her incredulity.

“Well, you did sign those papers. I was there, I saw,” Margaret says, giving Maggie’s hand a reassuring squeeze, “and I would never move away without telling you. And even if you couldn’t reach anyone, why would you become a hobo? Just get another apartment. Duh.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Maggie says, “Now you’ve made me feel incompetent with your mockery.” Margaret laughs again.

“I’m sorry, baby, but all problems have a solution.”

“Yeah, but I’m going to be all alone. What if I can’t solve my problems?” Maggie asks, moaning unnecessarily, “Who’s gonna be there to tell me my nightmares make no sense and let me sleep in their bed when I’m too stubborn to believe them?”

“You can always call me,” Margaret replies, “I will always be there for you.”

“You know, there’s a certain point in life when people need to stop depending on their mothers to make all the bad things go away,” she says.

“Think of me as reassurance. Like a backup plan in case things go horribly awry.”

“Well, that’s great, I’m sure things will go horribly awry now that you’ve said it. I need some wood.” Maggie pulls herself up, twisting around and knocking twice on the headboard. Margaret laughs again, pushing Maggie away from her and sitting up.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says between laughs.

“I learned everything I know from you,” Maggie says with a smile. Margaret reaches up and pushes her daughter’s hair back, earning herself an exasperated moan from Maggie. “My hair is perfectly fine,” she says, “There’s no need for you to keep doing that.”

“Well, I’m going to miss my baby girl,” Margaret says, “I think at least today of all days, you can indulge me and my little quirks.” Maggie sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes and throwing her head back.

“Fine,” she moans, “Although I don’t see why it’s such a big deal seeing as I’m only moving like, three blocks from here.”

“That’s still three blocks more than a single hallway,” Margaret counters. Maggie calms then, crossing her legs and staring down at her hands. She twists the fingers on one hand with the other until they crack in rapid succession, moving on to the other hand. Reaching out, Margaret places her own hand on her daughter’s, impairing her from cracking her joints any further. “That is a bad habit that you need to stop,” she warns, “It can cause—”

“Arthritis,” Maggie finishes for her, “I know.” She leans back on the headboard, slipping her hands underneath her to keep the temptation of cracking her knuckles at bay. “I’m kinda scared,” she whispers.

“Well, moving out on your own is scary,” her mother says, crossing her own legs and leaning back on the headboard. They stare at each other, mirrors from past and present. Maggie bites her bottom lip, her eyes shifting to the bed.

“I really need to finish packing up my boxes,” she admits regretfully. Margaret laughs.

“Yeah, we have a big day ahead of us,” she says, “Your brothers aren’t going to want to help get those boxes packed and onto the moving truck.”

“They suck.”

“You’re gonna miss them.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t suck,” Maggie explains. They both laugh.

The door bursts open and a teenage boy walks in, yawning, giving Maggie a look of disgust which she reciprocates. He doesn’t bother closing the door before he climbs onto the bed and wedges himself between Maggie and Margaret, making Maggie roll her eyes and Margaret smile and sigh happily.

“Why are you guys awake so early?” he asks, stifling another yawn. Maggie pushes him off of her and leans forward to get away from him.

“We’re talking,” she answers, “Having a mother-daughter moment that you wouldn’t understand.”

“Why aren’t you gone yet?” he asks.

“Don’t be so mean to your sister,” Margaret snaps, “You’re gonna miss her once she leaves.”

“Not in a million years,” he says at the same time that Maggie says, “You’re gonna bawl like a baby when I’m gone.”

“We should get up and finish packing,” Margaret says. Maggie pushes her brother one more time before jumping off the bed and rushing to the door. Her brother goes after her, slipping on the covers and falling face down on the floor. Margaret leans over to make sure he’s not hurt, but he jumps up on his feet and disappears into the hallway before she has the chance.

Slowly, she eases herself off the bed, stretching out her legs and working out the cricks in her neck. On the other side of the house, she hears Maggie squealing with laughter and her son threatening her, then the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. The house remains silent for a couple of seconds, then Maggie’s voice, loud and clear, “You are in so much trouble.”

Then down the hall, a door opens and a younger voice, a boy barely grazing puberty, says, “I’m telling Mom.” And Margaret has to squeeze her eyes shut tight to prevent any tears from escaping her eyes and brimming over to her cheeks. She brings her hand up to her mouth and quiets a cry. She takes in a deep and slow breath, one that makes her heart feel like it’s swelling up to the size of a balloon in her chest. And she pretends nothing’s wrong with her because her youngest son is at her door, recounting the incident that just occurred in the kitchen.

She lets him take her hand as he leads her down the hallway, explaining the great trouble that his brother and sister are, and making himself seem like a triumphant keeper of the peace.

This is the beginning of what, she feels, is the end of motherhood. This may just be the last time she ever intervenes on her children’s battles while they are all still under her own care. This will be the last time that all three of her children live under the same roof, in the same household, held together by memories and blood and a mother that would give everything to keep them forever. But time is her enemy and her heart constricts once again, the tell-tale sign that life moves on.