Monsters be here

Rob and I went out Saturday night.

We needed it.

There has been no work for film and television workers in our city since the writers’ strike last winter and there is little on the horizon. It has been a bitter last several months for a million and one reasons and occasional nights out help keep our spirits up.

Rob's mom called just as we sat down to dinner.

Graham had thrown up and his nose was running – did I know where his cold medicine was?

There was no need to come home, she assured us. He was going back to sleep. He would be fine.

We didn’t need much convincing, to be honest and so we stayed and enjoyed a lovely, if rushed, meal. We called again as we settled up, hoping to get the all-clear to catch the first set of a band at a local bar.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “He hasn't gone to sleep. He’s really miserable and calling for his mother.”

We rushed right home of course. And I burst through the door and swept up my tired, whimpering boy into my arms and into our spare room where we settled. He clung to me even as I shimmied out of my funky dress and kicked off my heels.

It was 10:15 p.m. I wasn’t the least bit tired. I was in full makeup and my earrings dug in as I struggled to get comfortable with him sprawled across my chest. It was going to be a long night.

We lay together like that for long while. Gradually Graham’s whimpering subsided and his breathing grew more and more rhythmic.

But similar relaxation eluded me. There in the dark it wasn’t long before the worries I had been hoping to avoid that evening began to crowd my mind and fill my chest with a familiar heaviness: the unpaid bills, the stress, the future viability of our livelihood.

And then Graham suddenly awoke with a start.

“Monsters mama!” he cried, his voice thick with sleep and fear. “They scary! They scary monsters mama!”

I pulled him close to me and rubbed his back.

“No, no sweetie, there are no monsters here,” I said, pressing my lips to his head and tasting his salty dampness. “Mama is here and she’s stronger than any monster in the world.”

I felt him relax slightly. “Monsters?” he whimpered.

“No Graham. There are no monsters here, your mama is here.”

He sighed, flopped over with a contented gurgle and promptly fell back asleep.

But I lay there awake late into the night, listening to the rise and fall of his breath and the ticking of the clock. And as the darkness deepened I couldn't help but contemplate life and fear and whether I was indeed strong enough to keep the monsters at bay.