Rituals (1)

 
My brother had a weird way of falling asleep every night as a child. He would curl up into a ball, but in a fetus like position and bounce his head over and over on his pillow. As he continued his soothing process, he would hum or moan the same tune, the exact pitch. The only difference would be whenever his head bounced off his pillow like a trampoline, it was as if he was desperately trying to take-off through the roof. Maybe that's what he was doing? He would bounce so hard, his small curled up boy body would shoot up like a rocket through his stick on stars ceiling and fly straight up to the unknown night sky. And eventually the stars would grab him and stick him in the sky.  Then every night we would gaze up at the night sky and find him amongst the stars. The most dazzling one, because he is the newer star, the youngest in the bunch. We will wonder, why did he have to bounce his head so much on his pillow?

It was a ritual. Every night I'd lie awake listening to my brother's ritual of sleep. Over and over again. Like the sound of a clock ticking its hand. Only this was more soothing. Even for me. I smiled in the darkness. Just like my brother. Our separate bedrooms had to be in utter darkness. Any kind of light kept me up for hours. Night lights were never an option. They became hazardous for nightmares because of the unknown shadows casting up and down the walls. Like it was there all along, but only seen with night vision. As he performed his nightly ritual of sleep, I had my own ritual of sleep. One that I was always used to. I would see light. In fact, many light would manifest itself right before my naked eyes. It would reach out and surround my bed these tiny lights of different colors. In actuality, I wouldn't sleep. The excitement of light that paraded around me kept me up for what felt like hours. But, somehow, I would always wake up restful every morning.

I wondered what my parents thought about my brother's sleeping ritual and my visitors that awakened themselves in my presence? the night is a very ritualistic event. Unseen by the outside world. At night, we each have our own individual world. Only we see. Nobody else knows. But I must admit, these lights never gave me any nightmares. They emitted a different kind of light. A light of being. A light not of this sometimes ugly world.

Sometimes I would reach my hand towards them and try to feel what this light might feel like. Nothing. At least not physically. I always wondered why I saw this light. Like if a brick wall stood before you and only you can see the invisibleness on the other side. And no matter how many times the person next to you tried to see what you saw, it was thoroughly impossible.  But nothing truly is impossible. My brother would bounce his head and hum until he finally exasperated himself and sleep raptured him like a thief. That was his goal after all. Then there was me, just five or so feet away, gazing at all the lights filling up my bedroom, as if it were the hang out place for other worldly beings to relax. They felt most comfortable to reveal their true selves. Their true colors in my bedroom. And I so happen to be there. Just curiously watching.

Morning would peak through the curtains of eyelids and life would begin in its normal routine. Breakfast. School. Lunchtime. More school. And finally a long walk home. Dreadful homework. Dinner and family time.
 
The worst part of school was fighting through the crowds of bullies. They say it's just a phase. These bullies. And some say it's survival of the fittest. I say it's character building. Yes, roll your eyes. Get angry. through it all, the typical name calling, being made fun of over stupid things; always being left out because you're too tall, short, pimples, bad hair style, too slow, weird, whatever... For me I was too tall apparently and I walked too darn fast, had green eyes (technically they're gray) and being slow minded. And God forbid if I had a ton of acne that week or two or three. Which I did (all the time) and I hated it. Instead of covering my face with make-up, I'd diligently applied the medicated cream, because I thought make-up looked funny on me. Plus, my mother would make me wear the cream. The stuff would dry up my face like a rock. And I'd go throughout the day feeling trapped within this tight bind as if it were the only thing keeping me together. On the way home, I'd fall apart, slowly crumble down the road as my 'so called friends' tormented me with their hissing remarks, shouting insults thrown at me like jagged stones. Mothers are so cruel. Why must I wear this drying  face cream? But they aren't making fun of me for the acne medication this time, (which anybody can tell that it stiffened my face). This time it's because, well honestly, I don't know. Even at that moment I couldn't understand why. I just felt myself falling apart, but don't worry, I made it in time to crawl atop my boxes and hide in my bedroom closet. My dresses and dance recital outfits covered my tears.

One sunny afternoon, I arrived home, once again in tears. I opened my bedroom door and there he was. Just waiting for me as a friend should wait for another friend. Smiling, he outstretched his hand in a gentle greeting, but I turned back around and walked out. How could this be? Was he truly standing in my room? I opened the door once again and saw him and I could tell he was the main one of the beings. Only this time it is broad daylight. Dressed in a valiant armor, I could tell he has fought many unknown battles. The peace that radiated from him never ceased. He calmed my soul.

In some stories and legends, they make the night out like it is when all evil happens. What is invisible is feared and not understood...but whenever night came I knew I'd be filled with this unexplainable sense of peace. Naturally, they sought me only when the house was calm and the events of the day were being thought. Sometimes their is that one who steps out into the light.