I was a lonely child in the way one can feel alone in a crowd. There was always noise. And colour. And movement. I grew up in a kaleidoscope of someone else’s world. Many someones. Having nine siblings, there were many moments of trying to climb out of the cartoon fight cloud.
There are many sad and angry stories bottled up inside big families. But I don’t wish to cry on your shoulder because sometimes we forget bright spots in our childhoods.
I’m going to tell you about my reading/nap spots.
I could fall asleep anywhere. I still can. And I loved reading.
From the moment I could comfortably read around twelve years old, my constant companion was a book. If I could Velcro a book to my pants I would have. I would read at night, while I was walking, while I was running (I was late to everything), at the dinner table, behind my bible at church. Always reading some fantasy story or battle scene.
My family grew tired of this. My mum made designated no book zones and times. Like dinner time. But she was a busy lady. Much too busy to be checking on the child sitting quietly and covering her book in pasta sauce. Siblings hid my books or stole my library card. Many older siblings left “suggested” book titles because they believed my love of dragons would corrupt my brain and forget what logic looked like.
So, after knocking a few heads in frustration, I simply adapted.
I found hidden spots around the house. Behind couches, inside TV cabinets, behind the fridge. Under beds, behind doors, in the bathtub. There are many wonderful spots for a long, thin child to sneak into. Sometimes I would sleep in these spots, comforted by heroes and brave faced protagonists within my books. I would bring stolen snacks and curl into the confines of someone’s wardrobe to read or sleep.
Often this would lead to scaring the random relative who found me. Sisters would scream when they found me buried under their clothing. Brothers would jump when I unwound myself from the tight confines of a cupboard. I have a fond memory of waking to the sounds of my name, unwinding from my small space to the horrified curiosity written across my mother's face.
I was never called to chores because no one could find me. Or when they did, they would find me sleepy eyed crawling out from behind the couch.
More often than not, no one noticed.
To this day, I still sometimes curl into a small space for a nap. The coziness relights the memories of the books I consumed long ago.
However, now I have a husband hunting for me around the house. I look forward to his bemused smile as he coaxes his wild creature out with a cup of tea.
I may no longer be a child. But my reading spots know nothing of age. They are moments outside of time. May they never lose their shine.
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