Save Her Life

The weight of my eyelids is nothing compared to how heavy my thoughts are. I toss and turn on the mattress, but there’s no comfort to be found. Squeezing my eyes tight, I attempt to will myself into a peaceful dreamscape. No such luck.

I feel the tug of an invisible force that begs me to follow it. It’s as if a bungee exists between my body and the room down the hall. It wants me to go, but I refuse to follow. At any moment, my efforts to pull against the feeling could falter, and I would end up exactly back where it wants me.

My phone sits atop the nightstand, and I reach for it. Maybe playing some games or scrolling mindlessly will help me release my brain from the clutches it’s held by. My finger swipes across pages of apps before I find the one I’m looking for. I bite my fingernails as I wait for the game to begin. It’s the perfect blend of mindlessness with a mix of strategy, but I could do without the numerous pop-ups that flood the screen as soon as it opens.

Piles of cards appear on my phone screen in a random pattern, and I glance to see which one I hold. It’s the four of diamonds, but it can’t be combined with any of the cards available to me. I flip the next card, hoping for a potential match, but there are no pairs to be made. Frustration builds inside me as the unfortunate pattern continues. Finally, the ace of hearts appears, and I connect it to the king of diamonds. Then the queen of spades. Then from the deck again. The game becomes boring quickly. I close my eyes but am instantly fighting the invisible force again. It’s no use. My legs are moving before I can even comprehend what’s happening. I have to check on Hazel.

The doorknob is cold to the touch when I open my daughter’s door. Her bed stands in the corner of the room about four feet off the ground, with a small ladder pointing toward me as I walk in. I remember the day we got these new beds for the kids. She had wanted a loft bed so badly and was insistent it had a clear entry point for down below. Obviously that space was to be here evil lair. In her brothers room was a similar set up, yet the danger is only present in hers. His room is not positioned on the main road.

I approach the bed and see Hazel sleeping peacefully. Hair covers half her face while the rest of her body remains warm under the blankets that come up to her chin. Careful not to disturb her, I flip her body so that her head is closest to the ladder. I guess it’s possible that she could fall off the bed due to the ladder opening, but I’ll take that risk. This way if a car comes barreling through the house, it will be her legs that take the damage instead of her irreplaceable brain.

I don’t immediately return to bed. Since I’m up, I may as well have a snack. I open the fridge and reach for the tub of edible cookie dough that I keep for times like this. The times when I need something sweet to provide me with the hit of dopamine my brain conveniently forgets to fire off. I’m enjoying the grainy crunch of the chocolate chips in my mouth when I hear it. A car flys past the house with a swoosh. Suddenly, I find myself squeezing my fists and shrinking inward, bracing myself for impact, but it never comes.

My shrinking is a direct result of the accident that occurred just outside my window this morning. I was standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes when I heard a loud boom. Peeking out the window blinds, I saw a black sedan had made contact with an Amazon truck. Immediately, I dialed 911 without a single clue regarding the extent of anyone’s injuries. I just knew that no one would be dying on my front lawn today. And honestly, the accident was just at the corner of our house, not on the lawn. But if this could happen in broad daylight, then surely that serves as evidence that in the middle of the night, someone might lose control of their vehicle and end up right in my daughter’s room.

I’m already out of bed, so it’s not a big deal if I just go and check on her one more time. Better to be safe than sorry, right? Plus, it’s not like I’m hurting anyone. It’s quite the opposite. In fact, as a mother it is my duty to protect my child to the best of my ability. Not checking on her would make me a failure. The floorboards creak as I return down the hall and open her door once again. She’s managed to migrate back to the other side of the bed. It’s a good thing I came to look then, because now I can move her head away from the wall. All of this just proves that I was right to listen to the feeling in my gut. It very well might’ve just saved her life.

It turns out, I’m not ready to go to bed. I exit Hazel’s room and make my way into the living area. I cocoon myself with blankets on the sofa and begin scrolling on my phone. At this point in my life, the algorithm has decided all I need to see are theories about my favorite books. It’s amazing the things that other readers come up with, and sometimes I wonder if we’re even talking about the same text. I’ve probably read about thirty different dragon theories by the time I realize how late it is.

My body is so tired by this point, there’s no way I could make it down the hall. I know that Hazel likes to squirm around in bed but what are the odds, actually? Keeping the blankets wrapped around me, I stumble the ten feet to my bedroom and drop into bed. Within minutes, I slip into a weird in-between state. Not fully awake, but not fully asleep. Unable to move my body while my brain continues to move at the speed of light.

I need to check on my daughter, but my body is so tired it no longer feels like my own. I have zero control over it anymore. I can’t get to her. I know with one hundred percent certainty that if I don’t go check on her right now, it will be the reason a car comes through the house and takes her away forever. Panic sets in, but I am paralyzed. My body shuts down, and I know my brain will follow shortly. I just hope that when I wake in the morning, I have no regrets.