Sardines

Sardines

Two little boys refuse to sleep in their beds, again. In late July, 9 O’clock sunsets keep neurons firing away. We read three books to each, scrub teeth with Life Saber brushes, refill their glasses of milk and water. “Rock me again,” they say, “Just a little bit longer.” We try to slip away but tonight they cry in unison, “We are afraid!” “OF WHAT?” we insist back. “You slept fine here before!” Is this all because of one silly joke about a rubber snake on the floor, made mistakenly, just before the lights went out? Their cries persist, they grip our shirts. We smooth their hair and kiss their heads. One more time, we whisper: “It is time we must go”. But, still they call out, in desperation, “Please, stay!!!” We holler back, “Noooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!” All patience, dissipated. I look at my partner, he at me. We too, are desperate for a single hour, on a Friday night, to weave our worlds together. The slobbery, hiccupy cries drown out the movie and we throw our hands up. “Fine, stay up” we stammer back to them. “Just leave us alone.”  They won, we lost. We hear them bustle with jangling cargo between bedrooms. We huddle over bowls of ice cream to muffle the sound of shuffling feet. At midnight, we decide, better check on them. They are found collapsed with lights ablaze on our bed. Two little boys are linked head to toe by a baby blue blanket and stuffed animals. We flick off the light and find refuge in a twin bed, in their room, like the one we shared in college.