A Bed Just Right

The constant ticking of the clock on the wall only served to set me further on edge instead of lulling me to sleep, as I’m sure was one of the reasons behind its purchase. There were too many factors in that room working to keep my eyes from drifting closed, from the scratchy fabric rubbing against my toes to the fleeting shadows crossing my vision in the dark room. I heard footsteps padding up the stairs to my bedroom. Yellow light beamed in from the newly-formed crack in the doorway as I heard a soft voice calling out to me.

an image of the book cover
This is the book my cousin read to me to help me get to sleep when i was really young.

If the word “angelic” were personified, I think Elizabeth would have come pretty close to it. Her halo of blonde hair framed her face in wispy waves, and I felt the cotton sleeve of her blouse brush my knee where she attempted to arrange my covers around me. My cousin took great care to build my little cocoon of blankets and positioned herself on the edge of my bed with a book in hand. I listened to her recite the words from the book about a blonde little girl who couldn’t seem to find a bed her size or a bowl of porridge the right temperature. I listened to her soothing tone, not quite processing the story but still demanding her to reread it to me all the same. I could feel the warm tingles on the back of my head that told me sleep was approaching and before I realized it, my eyelids began to droop. 

 

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