Day #5, Sleep Over – by Amber Averay
I wait in the bedroom for my friends, wondering what can be taking them so long. I’m impatient, unable to contain my excitement. I’ve been looking forward to this for so long! I hope they’re looking forward to it as much as I am.
At last I hear their footsteps pounding up the staircase, hear their exuberant voices chattering as they reach the landing. Nearly here! In no time at all – while it also seems they take forever – they reach the door and burst through it.
‘You’re here!’ I grin at them, clapping my hands. I don’t bother adding, you’re late, because what good would it do? They’re here now, and we’re together, and we can play.
First Liam and Jake get into their pyjamas, giggling and chattering and throwing jokes around. Then they sit on the floor with me, and we play with the figurines I’d set out while waiting for them. They’re my favourites, and I like to share them with my friends.
Everything is going well, until Jake picks up Captain Overshire and examines him closely. ‘Why are your toys so old?’
Hurt and indignation stabs at me. ‘They’re not. Mama got them for me for my birthday.’
‘They’re pretty beat up,’ agreed Liam, gaping when I snatch Marshall Travers from his hand. ‘I was just saying!’
‘Well, you can stop saying it. They’re not old. They’re not!’
The bedroom door swings open as I throw some of the soldiers across the room, barely missing my friends’ mother. She flinches, then stares into the room, eyes darting about before settling on Liam and Jake. ‘Boys, get to bed. I told you, no messing about tonight! You’re both in trouble for what you did at school.’
‘What did they do?’ I ask eagerly, but she ignores me and hustles the boys into their beds, crunching carelessly over my toys in her stupid high-heeled shoes.
‘Don’t do that!’ I yell, throwing a Lego cube at her head. It connects, and she spins around, her mean eyes roving around again. I forgot how much I dislike their mother. She’s always mean to me, doesn’t like her beloved sons playing with me or my toys. But they’re in my bedroom, in my home. She has no right to say who can play with whom!
‘Boys,’ she says, half turning back to Liam without actually looking at him, ‘stop leaving your toys around the place – and where did you get these crusty old soldiers from?’ She picks one up, upper lip curling in disdain, and my anger builds even more. ‘They look like they’ve been through the wringer – and they’re cheap plastic, too. Did you find them here?’ She opens her fingers and casually drops Chief Panda Bear to the floor, and I see red.
‘Stop saying horrible things about my toys!’ I scream, and a wave of small objects from the shelf fling themselves toward Mrs Warren. ‘They’re mine! My Mama gave them to me. They’re mine, they’re mine, they’re mine!’
One of the shelves ripped from the wall and hurtled toward the mean woman’s head. Ducking, she cried out and fell onto Jake’s bed, the plank barely missing her. ‘Boys, boys, come on. Get out of here! Come with me.’
Liam and Jake scramble from their beds, looking worriedly from their screeching mother to me. ‘Stop it!’ shrieks Liam as Mrs Warren grabs his hand and hauls him toward the door.
‘Who are you talking to?’ she demands, squawking when it slammed shut before she could reach it.
‘Peter,’ says Jake, pointing at me. I’m standing in the middle of the room, my toys shivering and shaking on every surface. I’m so angry, I can’t help it. My mama is a good person, a good mama – nobody makes fun of her or the wonderful things she brings home! They’ve got no right saying horrible things about her.
Kneeling before Jake, Mrs Warren grabs him by the shoulders and stares into his face. ‘Enough of this “Peter” business! This is why you are in trouble at school. Talking about a little boy who lives in the wardrobe and plays soldiers with you all night…’ She trails off, her eyes taking in every small figurine and the wardrobe door that is always ajar. Her face pales, and slowly, slowly, she rises to her feet, one hand holding each of her son’s. She’s nervous, and she keeps shuffling back toward the door. ‘Um, P…Peter? Is that your name?’
I nod, glowering at the mean woman. She’s only pretending to be nice. I know who she really is.
‘Oh, dear,’ she breathes. ‘I remember now… I heard the real estate agent telling your father something when we signed the papers for the house.’
‘Heard what, Ma?’ asked Liam curiously.
Looking about the room, she went on, ‘Peter, sweetheart, I’m sorry about…everything. I am. But honey, you don’t belong here.’
‘This is my bedroom!’ I shout at her, but she carries on as if she can’t hear me.
‘Sweetie, there was a…a problem a few years ago. The heater malfunctioned. It stopped working properly. And you…you died. Carbon monoxide poisoning. Your mama tried to save you, but she was too late.’
‘No!’ I scream, as tears burn at my eyes and the nightlight on the wall shatters. ‘I’m not dead! I’m not. My mama is here, she’s just at work, and we’re both ok! We’re not dead. I’m not dead!’ And I fall to the floor, howling my rage, confusion, hurt. Why is she lying? Why is she so mean?
I curl into a ball, not listening as the door bursts open and Mr Warren scoops his wife and children together and hurries them from the room.
I don’t know how much time passes, but I don’t see Liam and Jake again. They just disappear. I worry for a while, hoping they’re ok, but it bugs me that they never come back and I decide I don’t need them. I have my soldiers. I have my space.
And Mama will be home soon.
Scribble City: Write Now 