Handle With Care

I... Miss(Trust) Them(You)

Sometime the next day, I was browsing the library by myself. My long period of sleep, of course, did not go without another nightmare, but Elric was there, and he consoled me as he had the last time.

It was a rough nightmare, a mixture of a memory of me and my little brother playing by the creek, and the horror of seeing his poor mangled body inside that house. The place I could no longer call my home.

I wanted to get my mind off of it, and Elric suggested finding a good book to read. So, here I was, strolling slowly along the shelves of books, my eyes scanning the various titles and spines.

I had come across a few I recognized. Bridge To Terabithia was one, another was The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane. The latter I had read just before the horrible incident that impacted my life. It was a story about a rabbit and the journey he went on when he was separated from the little girl who owned him. I would have re-read that, but I remembered how it made me feel sad, as the rabbit had more downs than ups in his journey. Not only that, but it was a bit of a reminder of my trauma. The other book was a definite no, as it involved death.

Moving along, I came across others that I recognized from movies, such as all seven of the Harry Potter books, Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, and The Princess Bride. I hadn't seen all the Harry Potter movies, only the first four. I wasn't even sure anyone had finished making those books into movies, but I was certain someone had. It was incredibly popular, after all.

None of the books I came across, though, were ones that appealed to me. They either contained death, something akin to death, a depressing storyline, or it just sounded plain boring. I did have to say, though, that Elric had quite a taste in books.

Just when I was about to give up, and risk tearing up while re-reading The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, I came across another book that was incredibly familiar to me.

It was small, and on the lowest shelf, towards the back of the room. I didn't blame its position, for I recognized it as a children's book. My breath hitched when I caught the red cover on its spine, and the capitalized yellow letters that made the title.

Goodnight Moon.

I didn't have to re-read the book about the rabbit and his journey to tear up, because I had teared up instantly right then and there.

My mother used to read me that book. Every night, when I was much, much younger, I believe, even before Jami had been born, she had read that book to me to help me sleep. I remembered how I used to be fixated on the theory that objects could move on their own, or could be possessed by evil spirits, and she would read me that book to help me feel better.

She would read it in such a soft whispering tone. I always marvelled at how she could make her voice sound so motherly, so loving, and so comforting. It fit in perfectly with the moonlight casting into my room through the curtains, and the low glow of the lamp she used to read the book with.

The book was a sort of mixture between a lullaby, and a poem. It spoke of a room, and all that laid inside. I remembered there were mittens, and kittens, and socks, and clocks, and a bowl full of mush, and an old lady whispering 'hush'.

And then it spoke of saying goodnight to all those things, and more. Goodnight to the kittens, to the old lady, to the stars, and to the air, and to the noises everywhere. Goodnight to the room, and goodnight to the moon.

And as my mother closed the book, and kissed me on the forehead, and turned my lamp off, she would whisper, 'goodnight, Ryder. May your rest be ever nigher'.