Death Calls For Me

I think one of the funniest creepers was the time I cared for a five year old boy. He used to be in my two year old class and, after I ran into his mother, I started caring for him. Bubba had a morbid curiosity with death and the afterlife; perhaps it was because of his movie interests, like “Beetlejuice.” We would discuss death and dying. He would ask me if “you could run from death” and of course I told him “no, but death won’t come for you until you’re tired of life…which is a LONG time from now.”

Another thing Bubba was notorious for was procrastinating before bedtime; the more you tried to get him in bed…the more he procrastinated and tried to push bedtime back. He could come up with the craziest ideas, like, “I never ate dinner. I have to eat dinner before bedtime.” We would do the entire checklist…

Dinner…Check

Snack…Check

Potty…Check

Teeth…Check

Story…Check

Nightlight…Check

Lights…Check

Sleep…Umm…

There are times I think he cannot come up with any zanier ideas. I shouldn’t doubt him.

We were getting ready for bedtime and I had just finished reading his preferred nighttime storybooks – two to be precise – one on Volcanoes and the other on The Human Body System. Have I already mentioned he’s five? As usual, we go through the checklist – before story time and after story time. Then, with adult discretion, I give him an opportunity to choose which lights he wants on. I avoid giving him the obvious choice, which is the main light that brightens the room more than the sun brightens the day, but I provide a choice for what he wants. This prevents him creating yet another excuse regarding it being too dark or too light. As I’m getting ready to walk out, he eerily whispers, “Shh. Listen.”

I listen to whatever he’s wanting me to hear. I can hear the train whistle blowing. The dogs are howling in tune to the train. The air conditioner getting set up to start its cooling cycle.

“What are we listening for?” I ask.

“Shh. Do you hear it?” He says as he slowly points to nowhere.

“What is it, Bubba?” I ask, again.

In the most quiet, unnerving tone…he responds, “It’s Death.”

“Bubba, it is not Death.”

“Yeah, it is. He is coming for me.”

“Bubba, Death is not coming for you.”

“No. I can’t sleep. He is going to come get me. I need to stay awake.”

“I’ll stand guard and, if I see Death, I’ll take him down.”

“You can’t do that.” He tells me with his eyes wide open.

“I can do a lot of things. You’re safe here. Now, go to bed.”

He cradles the covers in his arms and lets out a grunt, “Okay, fine.”

Yes, there are times I think he cannot come up with any zanier ideas and he surprises me.

…cheat death and join me for April Fool’s Day.