A History
By Elizabeth Smith “Come lie down for a nap,” Mom said, patting the bed. The sun peeked through the gap between the thick drapes. Who would want to lie in bed on such an afternoon? To my little mind, a nap was a sentence to prison. But with all my siblings still studying at school or living independently, Mom probably didn’t want me to wander off to the creek or creep around the house looking for her hidden stash of chocolate while she was resting. So we would lie on top of the comforter on her ocean of a bed so that we wouldn’t jumble the sheets. “Can we play now?” I asked after five minutes. “Not yet,” she whispered and placed her large, soft hand on top of mine. Soon her mouth would relax, and her breath would slow. I knew she was really out when she exhaled through her lips, a puffing noise. Then I slipped my hand out from underneath hers and ran off to check the dining room cupboards for chocolate. A breath of sleep smooths the skin. It brushes through thoughts tangled in the mind...
