Z) He Crept Down The Stairs.

I heard the almost imperceptible click as he turned the handle of
his bedroom door. I wasn't asleep. I was merely lying there
waiting.

I had become attuned to it you see, that little click.

The door eased open silently, he kept it well oiled, I knew this
because there were two little stains on his bedroom carpet where the
lubricant had dripped down from the hinges.

I heard his weight on the stairs. The first three treads took him
without complaint, keeping his secret. The fourth step groaned as he
put his left foot on it and followed with his body weight. I knew it
was his left foot, because he would naturally lead with his right and
therefore he stepped less heavily with his left foot.

The next stair sighed, perhaps it disapproved, or maybe it was just
tired of being trodden on day and night.

Why did I never go and intervene?

Stop him before he went too far, steer him off in the direction of the
bathroom instead. I could accuse him of sleepwalking, this son of mine
in his American Hero boxer shorts. We'd laugh about it tomorrow morning
over coffee and boiled eggs. He'd go slightly red and lose his temper.
He was at that age where he couldn't take teasing if it was at his
expense. He loved to dish it out to his younger sister though. They
were close and only three years separated them. She thrived under his
merciless torment.

I can imagine him creeping down the stairs, he's just outside my
bedroom door now, his skinny legs with too-big feet trying so hard not
to be clumsy. The newly discovered hairs sprouting from his fifteen
year old armpits. The stubble on his spotty chin only serving to make
him look more gangly and scruffy. How I wish he'd come in, tell me that
he couldn't sleep. Need three-a.m. comfort regarding some disaster of
adolescence, some teenage heartbreak.

How I'd love to make room for him on the bed and shush him so as not to
wake his father. It's years since he'd come to her for a cuddle in the
night. Of course he was too old for that kind of stuff now, it wouldn't
be natural. But Oh God how I yearn to return to those pure years of
childhood.

Why did he have to grow up Lord?

What would his Father say?

I don't even have to move from my warm cocoon, I could shout out "Are
you all right love?" Dennis wouldn't stir nothing ever wakes him
up.

He'd have to turn around then, or maybe hide behind the excuse of
thirst. I could go down and make him hot chocolate, encourage him to
talk, get it all out in the open. I could assure him it was just a
phase, nothing that couldn't be worked out. As long as it stopped now.
Oh please stop it now baby.

Later I'll hear him sneaking back, like a night beast returning to his
lair, it'll be too late then. It has to be now or never.

I don't want to hear it again.

I pull the duvet up around my chin and sigh. Maybe next time.

I lie still, not moving my body stiff listening for every movement,
every noise.

And there it is; the click as he opens his sister's bedroom door.