The Nap That Wasn't

It was a dark, rainy, and deliciously sleepy afternoon, cold enough to curl up under a blanket, but not so cold that it made one shiver. The house should have been quiet and still. The children were snuggled down and fast asleep in their own little corners, when through the door came my aunt. After ushering Grandma and her guest into the front room, I tucked myself onto the couch along with my own bedroom pillow.

The elderly women in the other room attempted conversation, but really only one was initiating any kind of talk at all. "Have you seen the Pilato boy is in the paper?" asked my aunt, but Grandma didn't answer. "Does Martha know about it?" my aunt asked again. I closed my eyes and tried to shut out the voices. The sisters found the newspaper and read parts of the article aloud. I groaned and pretended to be asleep.

The phone rang in the other room but I didn't budge. "The phone is ringing," said my aunt to my mother. I watched Hannah pick it up out in the computer room, look at the caller ID, and set it back down again. I shut my eyes and made another attempt at a nap.

Somewhere along the line I actually fell asleep, but it must have been just a moment or two, because the voices in the other room jolted me awake. I can't recall exactly what the conversation was. It could have been Grandma's lack of writing utensils, or the photos my aunt had brought along.

At some point the conversation returned to the local news and the article in the paper. It was more my aunt urging conversation than my mother. I found myself somewhat relieved in Mom's disinterest, and also somewhat surprised. I'm sure her normal self would have had plenty to say. Other times I've told her I didn't want to hear anything about it, this time I said nothing and neither did she.

As I struggled to sleep, my aunt rummaged through my mother's room looking for pens. She came out to ask Hannah for one, and then continued to look around in Mom's room. On Mom's table lay a handful of dried out pens and a few pencils. Her sister was quite certain my mother should have pens to work her puzzle books with.

The deliciously, dark day dragged on. It was the kind of afternoon I'd dreamed of on other sleepy days, perfect for an afternoon nap. The rain drizzled and dripped, the sun buried in a thick bank of clouds...

The mail truck stopped outside at the street. "Oh, there's the mailman," announced my aunt. She was bringing to attention all those little things I've often secretly wished my mother wouldn't notice; telephones, mailmen, certain news articles... Most visits aren't like this, but today, with Mom reluctance at conversation, my aunt was trying extra hard to engage her.

Sleep was obviously elusive on this serene and sleepy day. My mothers hearing aides squeaked and my bladder complained. The afternoon nap I'd so desired would never be. I got up and headed for the bathroom. On my return tot he kitchen my aunt held up the newspaper. "Have you read about the Pilato boy?" she asked.

In all honesty, although I thought a rainy afternoon nap sounded yummy, the whole thing was rather amusing.