Settling in for the Night

In a quiet house, on a quiet street, in a quiet suburb (near the noisy city), lived Jeffy. A boy of eight, he'd spent his entire life in this quiet house, on this quiet street, in this quiet suburb, dreaming of cacophony but unable to translate it successfully.  

The trouble with Jeffy, what is often the trouble with children, is that he was taught the names of clouds much too early, and as such wasted little time on deciphering their transforming shapes. While other children watched the constantly shifting canvas above with wide-eyed wonder, he saw nothing more than cumulus, stratus, and cumulonimbus. He longed for the desire to roam among the clouds with the other children, but knew it had no productive value. When his eyes gazed skyward, they were more often than not transfixed on the static white ceiling above his bed.

#

His house, a “spacious brick colonial” with a “sunny kitchen” and a “lovely yard,” had been pieced together years before he was, and so he knew it only as the sum total of its parts. There was plenty of room for more siblings but they had never come. Play dates were tried but, without the latest, (or any), video game system, trips to his house by other children became nonexistent.  

That is, with the exception of Eloisa. Her relations with her peers were also nonexistent. That is, with the exception of Jeffy.

Eloisa’s family, forced to move because of work, came to the neighborhood the previous summer, on the day the quiet street was being resurfaced. Eloisa, constantly underfoot, was instructed to “go out and make friends.” Riding in the backseat for 2,100 miles over the previous three days, she wanted nothing more than her bed and stuffed animals, but they were still somewhere on the truck. Wandering about, she came upon Jeffy, sitting on the curb outside of her home, quiet and content.  

Earlier in the day, when Jeffy conveyed his intention of watching the road work being done, his mother, glancing to make sure they were alone, handed him a brown paper bag filled with his favorite fruit-flavored candy. Now, about to place the final strawberry piece into his mouth, he noticed a bear approaching on its hind legs. On further inspection it turned out to be a girl in a bear suit. It was her favorite, 95° be damned!  

She stood beside him, silent, taking deep inhales of the hot, sticky tar used to patch cracks in the asphalt. A few fluorescent vests still poked about, but in essence the boy and the bear owned the street. Jeffy held out pink-stained fingers.

“Strawberry? he asked.

“I only like banana,” the bear replied.  

Placing the strawberry onto his tongue with the reverence of the Eucharist, he handed her the crumpled bag. At his insistence she looked inside and saw a pile of candy, all banana. From then on they were inseparable. Jeffy enjoyed nothing more than roaming her home for hours. She often found him inspecting corners and closets in minute detail but never asked questions, for as long as she donned the bear suit and he strained to see what was just out of reach, no words were necessary.  

Through their relationship their mothers unavoidably became acquainted, teetering on the precipice of friendship, but never able to wholly relax in each other's company. Jeffy adored his mother and it was because of Eloisa that he learned she was an amazing cook. On weekdays the mothers took turns making lunch for the children. What began as peanut butter and jelly sandwiches turned increasingly elaborate and soon Jeffy’s mom needed the help of both children to cart the ingredients across the street. The results were nothing less than incredible. When she prepared food at their house, however, even some of the exact same dishes, they were bland and tasteless.  

Those were the best days. The worst were when his mother would run out of the house. At these moments he'd find his father praying or cursing or both. When she returned, as she always did, she told Jeffy, “When I'm laying on the floor you at least step over me, no one else even notices if I'm there at all.”

#

On days when there was no bear around, Jeffy would most often be found within the confines of his bedroom. The sky blue walls were covered from floor to ceiling with sports stars permanently frozen in action, but he was more interested in the patterns that existed in the forest green carpeting, along with those that he could create himself. This preoccupation began one winter day when a nightmare caused him to fall out of bed. Believing himself paralyzed, he stared at the carpet until a series of knights emerged in the green hues, engaged in battle. The knights had since disappeared, leaving Jeffy to float through the passing hours by picking out the small pieces of fuzz and debris which came from nowhere and returned to nowhere.

#

It was the beginning of another summer. Jeffy, mashing his palms against the bedroom window, examined the foundation for a home that sat on the other side of the street. Untouched throughout the winter, what began as curiosity turned into obsession. Whenever he went missing, Jeffy's mother knew he'd be standing at the construction site, all but catatonic, with his head slightly cocked to the left. Lost in its depth, he was glad whenever she appeared.

Before the earth had been excavated and replaced with concrete, the lot had been an overgrown grassy field, replete with rabbits, squirrels, and Canadian geese. Jeffy could not count himself among the endless children who'd spent endless days engaged in the nothingness that only children can embrace. Watching from his window he saw their blithe contentment morph to sheer bliss, none of which made any sense.

While the field offered nothing of interest, the foundation was pure fascination.

For months yellow caution tape affixed to flimsy wooden stakes kept him at bay. Then came the magical day when Eloisa taught him that if he held his breath until his body had fully passed under the watchful gaze of the warnings he could breach it without alarm.  

Breaking the rules with him was exciting, but Eloisa could not fathom why the concrete had such a hold on her friend. After having escorted him to the snow-covered site several times, she abandoned the project. The silence that overtook him left her longing for her bear suit.

Following these trips, Jeffy, in the closet of his bedroom, began to build. Unable (or unwilling) to share in his wonder, he decided against bringing Eloisa into his confidence. He wanted it to be perfect and that meant returning to the unguarded site time and time again. It was the kind of opportunity that came once in a lifetime and he wasn't about to waste it.

#

Jeffy worked in his closet long after his bedtime. Although no real estate agent in the world would have listed it as a “walk-in,” to a young boy it was an entire world. It was also the one place in his room he knew his father would never look.

The walls of the closet were crayon yellow, the same color as the rest of the room before his father repainted. During the process Jeffy snuck some of the blue paint and attempted to draw clouds on the closet ceiling. He also stole his mother's lipstick to draw hearts. The entire panoply was illuminated by a 40 watt bulb, with a string long enough for a child to reach. A foot below that jutted out a single shelf, covered with priceless trinkets bathed in a layer of dust, including unique rocks from the garden and dried blobs of Silly String. Below that hung his clothes, along with a few of his mother’s old dresses. Below that sat Jeffy, making trails in the carpet with his fingers. Beside him on the floor was a Fisher-Price record player, a gift from his aunt. Uncomfortable with the reactions it produced in his son, his father threw it in the garbage. Rescued by his mother, it stayed here, hidden from sight. Whenever the needle wore down, Jeffy knew he only had to find the right pocket in his mother’s white dress, and there would be a new one.

Thus was his workspace. It was on the fourth night of attempting to re-create the foundation that he got caught.

Unlike most children, Jeffy was never afraid of the dark. If anything he preferred it. What he was terrified of, however, was his clock. Most nights he fell asleep staring at the digital face, enthralled by the 8s hiding right below the surface. To make an 8 took all seven possible lines. Whenever it was any other number’s turn, he knew the other lines remained, lurking, waiting. While it raised a mix of diverse emotions, he went with the safest option—abject fear. 

It simply didn’t make sense that zero was the beginning of something new. At first glance it appeared to be whole and complete, but in reality one line remained unlit. Wholeness only came with the number 8, but, while each of the four digits held the promise of true completeness, it never happened, something Jeffy often pondered until falling asleep. His alarm would always be set to a time that ended in an 8.  

And so he slept soundly, having no idea that for years his mother would sneak out of her own bed late at night, just to watch him sleep. His peaceful portrait brought her an unbearable sense of comfort, one that she clung to during the long days.

On the night in question, she followed her normal routine, only this time she was met by an empty bed. Her heart stopped, her mind raced, her body stood stark still. Through the silent terror came what sounded like very faint hammering from the closet. Treading as softly as possible, she slid the door open.  

In one corner was Jeffy, a look of frustration wrinkling his face. Surrounding him was a myriad of toy parts and other indecipherable pieces, which he was attempting to fashion into the foundation. In the other corner, turned to the lowest volume, was the record player.

Turning, he met her eyes. Her hand silenced his scream, but it couldn’t stop him from wetting his pajamas.  

After everyone had regained homeostasis, she offered her assistance—and a new pair of pajamas—both of which Jeffy gladly accepted. Construction, it was agreed, would begin the next evening. For now he promised to go to sleep. Once tucked in, he drifted off with ease on the promise of tomorrow.  

#

Eloisa was long used to Jeffy's quiet ways but she'd had enough. The relationship had fractured but she had no idea why. Stamping her feet, she declared that he was no fun and told him to go back to the stupid hole he was in love with. Which he promptly did.  

With his mother's involvement, perfection was more necessary than ever. He needed to be able to describe every last inch of it in bright detail and that meant many more visits. When he arrived at the site, however, his jaw dropped. There were men, tons of them, hard at work. He watched in horror, keeping far enough distance to avoid being noticed.  

The day lasted an eternity. When the time came for his parents to say goodnight, he began to relax. Knowing it wouldn’t be long, he laid in bed, cradling an enormous smile. 

After his father began snoring, Jeffy’s mom appeared as promised. In one hand she carried his father’s old erector set—the steel would make an excellent foundation. In the other she had a container of plaster, wooden dowel rods, and a bag of art supplies.  

His smile grew larger still.  

Her life had been spent voluntarily surrounded with the noise and chaos of creation. Romantic dreams of an artistic existence filled her days. Making it into a reality, however, proved near impossible. She took dead-end jobs in order to have time for her art, but when no one wanted it, she found herself trapped. Watching her peers fall one by one to marriage and children, she became convinced of the need to be saved. It was then He appeared. Then appeared control and control brought stability, but with overwhelming comfort came self-censure, paranoia, and fear. Breathing became difficult, colors muted, and she hated Him for it, as well as herself. By that time, however, she had Jeffy.

They worked for several hours that evening, with her leaving from time to time to make sure He was sleeping. But she needn’t worry, as long as money was fine, and he was satisfied, he was dead to the world.

In no time it was done. With the foundation settling, Jeffy and his mother returned to their beds. Happiness and contentment, courtesy of the new secret they shared, filled the house.

#

Days were spent keeping careful watch on the progress across the street, nights busy with construction. In order to never spend too much time away from Him, they settled into a routine of working every other night. In all the years they were married He never once discovered she'd left the bed, but there was always the chance.

Jeffy began spending time with Eloisa again. They took up exactly where they left off before she had had enough of him. This is not to say their relationship was unchanged, for he never shared his secret, and the times became fewer and farther between that she would find him staring into the corners of her home.

#

As the summer progressed, Jeffy's relationships with Eloisa and his mother stayed on a happy track, while communication between him and his father became nonexistent. Although he kept trying, his father never wanted to play catch anymore, never wanted to teach him a new defensive move or battle tactic.

The strain it put on his mother was palpable, but when it was the two of them working late into the night, she never showed it. For Jeffy, once the closet door was closed and work began, nothing but blackness existed on the other side.

And he was glad.

The few hours he slept each night were normally spent inside the home in progress. Whenever his eyes would begin to falter, his mother would draw the evening to a close and tuck him into bed. As soon as she left, however, he'd crawl back to the closet. No matter how late they worked or how early he rose, dreams were always pleasant, his body always rested.  

#

Autumn began to inch over the horizon, and with it the house across the street, as well as their recreation of it, neared completion. His father, meanwhile, grew increasingly distant and tense, sleeping little for the first time in his life. This, naturally, meant Jeffy's mother was unable to safely help him at night. She continued to inspect his work and give suggestions, but knew they were no longer necessary.

#

One Saturday morning screaming ripped through the house, causing Jeffy to shoot up from a dead sleep and damage part of the roof in the process. Although a normal part of the household, the cadence of the screaming was different. Jeffy closed the closet door behind him and crept closer to the hallway. It was the electricity bill this time. The screaming continued long after his mother slammed the front door.

Jeffy scanned his room, noting how many things used electricity. In a panic he unplugged his lamp, television, air purifier, humidifier, and clock. He sat on his bed and rocked back and forth, waiting for the moment when he would be yelled at for things he played no role in, by words he did not understand. But it never came.  

Neither did the call for dinner. Afraid to leave his room he scavenged, unearthing half-melted candy hidden in pants pockets and broken crackers from the bottom of his school bag. An hour later, with still no word, he tried to sleep but it was useless. The image of the model home pounded in his head. If left unfinished he knew he would never sleep, his father would never stop screaming, and his mother would never return.

It had to be done. Jeffy crept to his dresser and opened the drawer containing his baby things. After rooting around he found a single white candle in a fancy box. It appeared to have only been lit once and hadn't burned for long. 

Shutting the closet tightly behind him, he struck a match, sending the model home into the soft light of dusk. Shadows cast an entirely new scene and for the first time the home became real. Flaws that he knew intimately disappeared and warmth radiated from within. He looked into the windows and heard laughter.  

Like a boy possessed, he worked with a single-mindedness he'd never known before. Fighting to keep his eyes from falling and hands from faltering he affixed the four digit street number—8888. The final piece of the puzzle, he could rest at last. But first, to admire the work just a little longer, take in the incredible detail that was bound to impress even the toughest critics. The room at once felt as if it were expanding and contracting at the same time. In an instant his joy morphed to lightheadedness. There was plenty of wax left to burn but the flame had grown small. He repositioned it at an angle to try to give it more life. Looking at it, he fell asleep.  

#

His mother had been asleep in her car a block away.

She got out and smelled the damp air, heavy with the scent of drying leaves.

And then she ran for her boy.

Lights flashed, sirens wailed.

But she heard only silence.

And so did he.

Light swept over the neighborhood and, with a gasp, her hearing returned. His home, their home, had brought every ounce of this noise. It cut through the walls, through the eye masks and white noise machines, through the alcohol and melatonin, yanking residents from their warm beds to face head-on a part of the night they pretended away.

She created a silhouette against the light, with that of a bear beside her.

She knew her boy would be okay.

She knew they all would be okay.