Sharpened

We've all been sleeping in the same bed. Shea is afraid of slippery monsters. He has nightmares and wakes up terrified, screaming, "Bye!" Justin holds him. "You're safe, buddy, you're safe. You're right here with us."

My neighbors gather for a bonfire a few days after the election. There are children everywhere, chasing each other in the dark, pretending to be monsters. There is beer and a plate of rice and quinoa and a commotion inside the house. A group of children come tumbling out of the light into the darkness, "They're locked in! They can't get out!" Justin goes to investigate, somehow the doorknob came off and my 4-year-old and their 6-year-old are locked in together. I hear murmuring and it seems like they are sharpening pencils on the other side of the door. Justin gets out his pocket knife to see if he can use it as a screwdriver with a crowd of children watching, offering suggestions. One little girl pokes a stick through the lock. My son says, "Thank you," and takes the stick through to the other side. The little girl starts crying. She wants her stick back.

A screwdriver is found, success! The door is opened. The little girl rushes in to retrieve her stick. But it's sticking out of the pencil sharpener. There is real despair. She holds up her sharpened stick, half of it is missing, the end makes a deadly point. My son takes this in, then pushes past me, runs out and away from the scene, back into the night. "Look, Mommy," he says, hanging from the ropeswing in the dark. "I'm putting myself in danger to make you proud!" The little girl collapses into her mother's arms.

Later Justin will step in dog poop climbing over our fence to get back home, and Shea will cry for an hour when we don't let him watch TV before bed. For now though, there is the cold tips of our noses, the gathering supermoon, the grass, the smell of smoke, and a tumble of beautiful children.