author's note: i've been starting to get back into writing original stuff again. i don't want to tell you to expect more from me soon but...expect more from me soon. title is from death cab for cutie.
Every night when I was young I would make sure to close the door before going to sleep.
My father would always laugh at me when I'd peek out from behind the doorjamb to mumble goodnight every evening; Geez, Cass, you must be the only kid on the face of the planet who isn't afraid of the dark. I'd just shake my head and repeat my goodnight before closing the door and flooding my bedroom with inky black night.
There was something so intensely fascinating about the darkness to my eight-year-old mind, the way it would blanket me and the room almost softly. One would expect the dark to be sharp, to have teeth and claws that would sink into you once the black became absolute, but I knew that it wasn't that way. The dark is gentle, all smudged edges and soft whispers, a cloak as smooth as suede.
My older sister asked me once if I was afraid of the dark and I told her that I couldn't be afraid of something that was my friend. She stared at me strangely for a long while and shook her head. You sure are weird, Cassie.
I remember staying awake for hours at night, listening to the sounds of nighttime and imagining I could see through the pitch of midnight on nights with no moon. Sometimes I would creep out from under my sheets and tiptoe across the floor before slowly pushing my door open and watching the darkness retreat into the far corners of my room.
People say that the world is different in the dark, and this is true. My House isn't truly My House at night, it's foreign and strange and exciting. It's a new place to explore; there are new things to see.
Sometimes I could hear two voices coming from my sister's bedroom. The higher voice, my sister's, would sound actually, really happy for once. One time she opened the door, flooding the hallway with light from yellow fluorescent bulbs and almost started crying when she saw me. Please don't tell dad, Cassie, she had pleaded with me once I saw the boy sitting on her bed, half-clothed and mussed-looking, Please don't, I'll buy you ice cream tomorrow if you don't, okay? I had never planned on telling dad in the first place, but I never said so. I just smiled and nodded, and my sister visibly relaxed. She rubbed my head, I owe you one, sis, and closed the door again.
I like to think about how that boy could make my sister so happy. It made me wonder if I'll ever meet someone who will make me happy too.
Being in the dark makes me feel safe and warm and happy. Maybe someday I'll find a person who can do that for me too.
(We can sit in the dark together.)