My mother stood in the doorway of my bedroom.

“Call me if you need anything, Toby,” she said. “The night light isn’t really that bright. Will you be, okay?”

“Please shut the door, Mama.”

She reluctantly shut the door. I’m twelve years old and she worries about me. I’m not afraid of the dark. The night light is enough. Besides, I know what’s what. I didn’t fall asleep. I laid back on my pillow and waited.

At 1:30 a.m. on my digital clock, there was something moving between my toes. The white light had turned into many colors. It looked like I saw them through a screen. I’m color blind but there were many colors anyway.

I was no longer tired. The footsteps came. Not last night. The night before. Now this night. The steps moved along my right side starting at my toes. I couldn’t see the thing.  Yet the steps walked like a small deliberate sparrow.

A thrill of fear ran through me. It came from the closet. The folded shirts and pants on hangers danced in a breeze. I saw shadows and went with the flow. The steps stopped at my hip. I lay there and panted. Everything stopped. The white light appeared. I yawned and fell asleep.

~ ~ ~

“Toby, did you sleep well last night?” My mother asked at the breakfast table. She drank coffee while I ate cereal and drank orange juice.

“Enough. “

She shook her head of gray hair done up in a bun.

“Well, go to bed early tonight. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said.  I finished my cereal.

Her eyes became moist. She reached out and padded my hand.

“I saw the X on the calendar,” She whispered. “Daddy really loved you, Toby. I want you to know that.”

“What did Daddy die of,” I asked.

“He was in a car accident. The car hit a tree in a rainstorm. The casket was closed.”

“Really?”

“You keep forgetting. You’ll ask me again.”

I took my hand away and slid out of my chair.

“I gotta go to school, Mama.”

“Yes,” she said and wiped her eyes. “Don’t forget your lunch. We’ll have meat loaf tonight.”

I got my homework and lunch. She opened the door and let me out. The day was sunny and warm. I saw other kids. They turned away from me.

The kids and I reached the school building. I entered the six-grade room and put my lunch away. I felt tired. In the back of the room there was a small cardboard house we used for social studies. I got behind it and curled up on the floor.

Later, someone pulled my ear. I woke up and saw the teacher bent over me. She didn’t smile.

“Toby, go to your desk. You can sleep at home.”

I struggled to get up. She helped me. The rest of the class laughed.

Soon after that I did a book report verbatim in front of the class. The teacher applauded. As I sat down my stomach began to ache. It also happened when I check-marked the calendar this morning. I felt like hurling. The day moved slowly. I missed my mother.

~ ~ ~

Mother stood at my bedroom door.

“Do you have stomach pains now?”

“No. Shut the door, Mama. I don’t feel like talking about it.”

“Is it Daddy?”

“At school I was just hungry. I told you that,” I said.

I turned to the wall. She sighed, and softly closed the door.

I felt a tickling at my toes. It changed this time. The movement became a solid ring around my right leg. It wrapped around my foot and slowly advanced upwards like static electricity. It didn’t hurt. A throbbing came from it, in rhythm. I counted. 1,2, 3-4! 1,2, 3-4! It held my attention. My breathing slowed. The colors from the closet took over the white light. I did see blue. The clothes swung in a breeze. I could feel the hair on my head stand up. 1, 2, 3-4! The throbbing stopped at my hip. My throat felt dry. It was 2:30 a.m. I turned to the door. There was a light under the crack. I wondered if my mother was waiting just beyond the door. The light disappeared. I couldn’t tell her about my nightly visitor. It’s my secret.

My bed is too big for me. It’s queen size. I fell asleep anyway.

~ ~ ~

It was Saturday morning. We ate our breakfast of eggs and bacon and toast. I tried not to yawn. My mother stopped eating and raised her head.

“You’re having problems sleeping at night, don’t you?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Toby, you have bags under your eyes.”

I yawed and finished my breakfast. I didn’t look up.

“Do you need to see someone?”

“I don’t know. I’m just tired all the time,” I said.

“Do you want to take a nap today? “

“I guess,” I said. I raised my head and looked at her.

“Your eyes are bloodshot. I will call someone. Just to ask a few questions. I’ll do Laundry today.” She patted my hand. “Please get some sleep, okay? This has been going on for some time.”

“I will,” I said and headed upstairs. I climbed onto the bed, then looked toward the closet. Nothing there. Probably tonight. My eyes closed.

~  ~  ~

I rolled over and saw my mother hanging clean clothes in the closet. She stopped and backed away. “What…?” She turned to me.

Somehow, I felt guilty.

“Toby, what’s with your closet? It feels cold?”

“It’s like that sometimes. It doesn’t bother me.”

She looked at me with a frown and shook her head.

“Well, what-ever. I called our primary care and left a message. I’ll call her Monday, see what is bothering you. She sat on the bed beside me and sighed.

“I can’t tell you.” I turned away. She rustled my blond hair.

“Are you tired now?”

“No.”

“Do you want supper? It’s late. You slept four hours.”

“’Yes. I am hungry.” I got up.

“I’ll start it after I put your clothes away. That closet is cold.  It felt like a goose walked over my grave.”

~ ~ ~

I ate a lot of hot dogs and hamburgers at supper. It pleased Mother. I went to bed early. Mostly because I was impatient to see what would happen this time.

It was the noise in my right ear. Like a whoosh for half a second. I could make the noise myself. That’s how I could communicate with it. A whoosh meant ‘yes’. Silence meant ‘no.’ I talked with it. Earlier I found it could read my mind. I asked it questions again.

‘Is my mother worried about me?’ Whoosh. ‘Can you help me?’ Silence. ‘Who did my mother talk to?’ Silence. ‘Do you like me?’ Whoosh. ‘Do you do the things to me?’ Silence. ‘Do you love me?’

Silence.

To talk it must be quiet so I can hear it in my ear. That’s why I don’t make much noise. I talk at supper, in my head. This time I talked out loud with the bedroom door closed. I waited.

The digital clock read 2:45 a.m.  It was late this time.

The bedroom door opened. In walked Mother. Her eyes were opened wide. She faced me.

“Who were you talking to, Toby?” she asked.

“Logan,” I blurted out. Mother gasped.

“Logan!” she cried. “Who is this, Logan?”

“It’s who I talk with. I’m sleepy.”

“I’m going to call our primary and get a referral to a specialist. Is this all you do? Tell me, Toby. I only want to help you.”

“Other stuff. I’m tired Mama.”

She leaned down and kissed me on the cheek.

“I love you, Dear.” She left but kept the door open.

I didn’t feel bad afterwards. I closed my eyes.

The night light was white again.

~ ~ ~

“I’ve found a doctor, Toby. We’ll see her on Friday morning. You can skip school. Okay?”

We were at the kitchen table. I was eating cereal.

“Who is this, Logan?” Mother asked.

“A friend,” I said.

“Do you love, him?”

“I don’t know.”

She sighed.

“This doctor is very empathic. She is one you can tell anything you feel like. It’ll be good for you. Please tell her about Logan.”

I finished my cereal and slid out of my chair.

“I gotta go to school,” I said.

“I’ll walk you to school this time.”

“Okay.”

~ ~ ~

There were names beside the door. Mother pointed at one of them.

“That’s her. Megan Brooks.”

She opened the door. We entered. People sat in chairs. Mothers and kids and one man. We went to a front desk where two women sat in white uniforms. One spoke into a phone. The other looked up and smiled.

“Name?” she asked.

“Toby Turner,” my mother said. “I’m his mother, Betty. My son has an appointment for 11:00 with Doctor Brooks?”

“Sure,” the nurse said. “Have a seat and she’ll be right with you.”

We found two seats beside each other. I looked around.

There were picture frames of sailboats and oaks. I got up to look at them.

“Mama, “I said. “What are these?”

“They look like personal pictures someone took and enlarged.”

I sat back down.

“Are you going in with me?”

“She sees everyone alone. For privacy. I’ll wait out here.”

I could tell the others were listening.  I stopped talking. We waited.

The office door opened, and a girl came out. Her mother took her hand and they left. The door closed. We all waited. A few minutes later a doctor poked his head out.

“Tammy?” he asked. A girl stood up. She looked nervous. Her mother nodded. She walked in followed by the doctor who shut the door.

“We have to wait,” Mother whispered.

“It’s taking a while,” I said.

“Our primary care referred her to me. I talked on the phone with Dr. Brooks Wednesday. We had a nice chat. “

“Oh,” I said.

We waited. Mother picked up a magazine from a stand and began flipping through it. I felt nervous.

“What is she?” I asked again.

“She’s a child psychiatrist.”

My stomach hurt. I seemed to grow dizzy. My mouth was dry.

“You’re not coming in?” I asked.

She put the magazine down.

“It’s okay, Toby. It’s just that you need to be alone with her. I’ll be right here until you’re done.”

“My stomach hurts,” I said.

She rubbed my hand. It didn’t help me this time.

“She has a family, too. She’s doing this to help kids, like her own.”

I felt like hurling. The door opened and the girl came out. Her mother stood.

“Let’s go home,” the mother said. The girl looked relieved. They left. A doctor poked her head out.

“Tommy?” she asked.

A boy stood. He was wearing blue dungarees.

“All right!” he said. His father gave him a thumbs up. The boy entered the room. The doctor shut the door.

We waited. Eventually the boy came out. The father patted his son on the shoulder, and they left.

My mother leaned toward me.

“The kids have other doctors. We’ll be seen soon enough.”

The door opened and the doctor poked her head out. It was her. She looked at me. Her hair was in a bun and had gray streaks in it. Like Mother’s.

“Toby?” she smiled.

I stood up. My stomach churned. I felt faint.

She opened the door wide.

“Come on in, Toby. We are all friends here. We’ll just talk for a while.”

I entered the room, my legs stiff. She shut the door softly.

“You can sit here,” she said, pointing to a brown easy chair.

I sat down. She sat on a padded chair in front of her desk. Her desk was neat. Papers and books stacked along the sides. Pens and pencils were in a deep coffee cup. The pencils were unsharpened.

“And how are you, Toby?”

“I’m okay.”

“That’s good. Are you nervous?” she asked.

“Yeah.  I guess.”

“It’s intimidating the first time to see someone like me. I have a boy a bit older than you. Do you play baseball?”

“No. I don’t play anything.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m alone most of the time,” I said.

“Do you have friends at school?”

“Not anymore.”

“Humm. Some kids are alone a lot. They have other things to think about.”

I didn’t answer.

“Do you sleep okay?”

“Sometimes.” I squirmed in my chair.

“Toby, you look tired,” She crossed her legs. She was wearing a short skirt.

“Yes.” I looked up at her. Her eyes were intently on me.

“Your mother loves you.”

I shrugged my shoulders and looked down at my sneakers.

“She sleeps on a full bed,” the doctor said. “You have a queen size.”

I couldn’t look up at her.

“She does it for you.”

“Yeah.”

She cleared her throat.

“What happens when you are in bed? Late at night?”

I could not resist and told her everything.

“That is why you’re tired all the time.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Who’s Logan?”

I didn’t say.

“Is that a secret?”

I didn’t say.

“Hmm,” she said.

My stomach ached. I swallowed again. I looked up at her.

“Does your stomach hurt?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“It’s hard to have trouble that affects us. That’s why you’re seeing me.

“Do you want a soda? I have a small refrigerator with liquids,” she said.

“Do you have a coke?”

“Yes, I do.” She got up and opened the refrigerator behind her desk. She took out a coke and opened it and gave it to me.

“Thank you.” I took a sip.

“That’s good,” she said and sat down. “Let’s talk about Logan.”

I froze in mid-sip.

“Do you have a relationship with Logan?”

I didn’t know what to say.  She smiled at me.

“That’s important. Things change. We think a lot, then over time something hides the original thoughts.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Hmm,” she said. “Do you remember the car accident?”

“No. What accident?”

“Your father’s car hit an oak tree during a rainstorm. It was a closed casket.”

“Really?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes. You can’t remember. Events happen when we experience a shock to the system. Our memory changes to what seems like anything that helps us get through another day without emotional pain.

“It’s denial. I believe you might resolve issues if you admit to yourself the truth of what happened and is still happening. I know this seems complicated.

“Do you know that Logan is your father’s name?”

“What?”

“Logan is your father’s name.”

“What?”

“He died in a car accident.”

“He did?”

“Yes. He loved you very much.”

I just looked at her.

“I talked with your mother.”

“What did my father die of?” I asked.

“A car accident. It rained. The car skidded and hit an oak tree. It was a closed casket funeral.”

“I don’t remember. What did my father die of?”

“Repeat these words. A car accident. It rained. The car skidded and hit an oak tree. It was a closed casket funeral.”

“He hit an oak tree. It rained. A closed casket.”

‘Yes. Go after these words. Repeat them.”

“He hit an oak tree. A closed casket. It rained.”

“Just remember those words.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” She said and stood.

“We’re done for today. I’ll see you in a month. And I can write a script for Olanzapine. A low dose. It will help with your nighttime visitors.

“Remember the words. It’ll give you closure.”

“My father died in a car accident. It rained. A closed casket.” I stood up and shook her hand.

“Okay, Toby. See you in a month.” She walked me to the door and opened it.

I saw my mother and smiled. We left the building after we made another appointment.

When we got in the car, we sat silently for some minutes. Then I turned to her and said:

“My father died in a car accident. It rained. A closed casket.”

My mother looked startled.

“My father’s name is Logan.” My sight became blurred. I began to cry.

She hugged me.

“You’re crying!”

I love my daddy.