All My Memories Keep You Near

There's always that time, just before you fall asleep, that you're surrounded in a dead silence, and everything is completely black. It's right before you fall into the deep, transparent dreamland that can change direction in any moment. It was like tumbling down a dark hole, and trying to claw your way back up it's walls.

I remember living in those moments every night, afraid to close my own eyes because of the dark that would envelop me, hold me too tight, make me choke and cry out until I had nothing left. At nine years old, I'd had the most frightening experience I can remember - an experience so exhilarating I could never forget.

♣ ♣ ♣

"Do you have to go?" I whispered, holding my father's hand a bit tighter. "You could stay, you know!"

"I can't stay," he whispered, kissing my forehead lightly and placing a comforting hand softly on my curly brown hair. "I'm afraid they'll miss me terribly if I don't go, MaryAnne," he added softly in a light tone, offering a small smile.

"Not as much as I'll miss you!" I argued persistently, puffing out my bottom lip with sad eyes. "I love you, daddy . . . Don't leave."

"It's only for a couple hours," he whispered. "When you wake up tomorrow morning, your mother will be making breakfast downstairs, and I'll be sitting right here, waiting for you to wake up."

"Pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise," he said, and wrapped his pinky around my smaller one.

"You can't break a pinky promise," I whispered, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"I never have before, have I?"

"Never."

I smiled as daddy began to stand up. He opened his mouth, ready to say something else, when mommy burst through the door, dressed up in a beautiful blue dress that went modestly down to her knees, and white heels that lifted her height by three inches to match her father's. "William!" she gasped, fixing one of her brunette curls to rest in front of her shoulder. "We are going to be late to the dinner party unless you hurry up!"

"I'm sorry, Jillian, dear, I was saying goodnight MaryAnne. Our daughter." Daddy said skeptically, raising an eyebrow to his wife.

"MaryAnne, dear, you're much too old for bedtime stories, don't you think?" Mommy said slowly. Honestly, I didn't think I would ever be too old for bedtime stories. I relied on them, they kept me out of the dark.

"Jillian!" Daddy hissed, and Mommy crossed her arms.

"I'm sorry - but we can't be late for this dinner, you'll lose your job," she insisted, and smiled briefly at her daughter.

"Good night, MaryAnne."

"Oh, Jillian," Daddy sighed, walking over to meet his wife. Before they walked out the door, Daddy turned around and winked at me. "I'll see you in the morning, MaryAnne, darling," were the last words he said before I was left alone.

In the dark.

I've always had a fear of the darkness closing inside of me, numbing my senses. But now that I was alone, everything was different. It was the fear of the darkness closing inside of me, stopping my breath altogether.

I sunk deeper under the light blue covers of my bed, pulling them up to my chin. My eyes stayed open, staring around my empty bedroom, when I heard a noise just outside of my door. It could have been just the water pipes.

But in my mind, I almost wanted it to be more. I wanted to hear

(I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date!)

something, anything.

I slid out of bed, my white nightgown rustling around my legs as I did so. I pointed my toes, trying to make as little noise as possible. When I got to my door and creaked it open, it was nothing but a black hole - nary a light or a

(rabbit in a waistcoat)

mouse. I took my first, silent step forward, and threw my arms around my head, ready for some monster to pop up and scream

(off with her head!)

Boo! When all was silent, I moved my arms from my eyes, and took another step forward, reaching out my hands blindly in front of me, feeling for something, anything. A sign of life. A sign of not being alone with the darkness. I took another few steps forward, and my hands came in contact with the wall straight across from my room. I turned down the familiar right corridor, reaching my hands out and leaning forward a little more, waiting for the boogey-man to come out and bite me. But nothing did. Being in the dark, where nothing was visible, and everything was possible, it was almost like a riddle

(why is a raven like a writing desk?)

that seemed unsolvable. But the answer was simple.

Turn. On. The. Lights.

"Hello?" My voice came out just below a whisper, whereas I'd been planning on calling out loudly and clear. It's funny how, when one is alone, it's almost far too dangerous to speak out loud, too dangerous to

(go down the rabbit hole)

talk to yourself. It made you feel crazy. It made me feel crazy. I took another step forward. Another. And another. Four steps was my charm - my hands came into contact with something cold, hard, and porcelain. Just seconds later, I ran my hands up the porcelain until my fingers came into contact with the switch that would turn on the lamp beneath my palms. When I flipped the switch, the light didn't turn on next to me, but far, far away. Looking down the dark hallway, the light was visible at what seemed to be miles away. I took an unsure step forward, reaching my small hands out towards that light, prepared to grasp on to the happiness that would come along with it.

Closer and closer I found myself walking towards the light, my eyebrows creasing in wonder.

What was the light doing there? Why wasn't it at the lamp? Is it . . . Safe?

Of course it was safe. It was always going to be safer than the darkness.

And suddenly, I was directly in front of the light's source. It was in the shape of a fifteen-feet tall crooked door looking down at me, mocking me with it's closed hinges. Behind the door was

(a fantastic garden in a strange world)

something happy, something that would sweep over me, push the dark's arms from around my throat. 'The light is coming from inside, MaryAnne,' I reasoned to myself silently. 'Open it.' I looked up the door, and a small brass doorknob smiled down at me, three feet higher than my head. I reached my arm up, and jumped, snatching the air with my fingers until it wrapped around the cool handle. I dropped back down to the floor, and my bare feet touched the ground just as the door swung open.

At first, all I could do was stare into what now looked like a white nothingness. I looked over my shoulder at the dark hallway once again, but quickly turned back to the white room, in fear that it would disappear if I took my eyes away from it. 'Here goes nothing.'

I put my right foot inside of the doorway, and when nothing happened, I threw myself inside, closing my eyes, prepared to take whatever came at me. When all was calm and quiet aside from my slow, steady breathing, I let my eyes open up slowly. When my mind oriented, and my eyes adjusted, my father's smiling gaze was looking down into my own, and his hand was squeezing mine.

"Good morning, MaryAnne," he whispered with a grin, and my eyes widened.

When did I fall asleep?

"You kept your promise!" I said happily, sitting up and throwing my arms around his neck.

"I told you," he laughed. "I never, ever break a pinky promise."

♣ ♣ ♣

I've always been afraid of the dark. Even after that night, where, to this day, I don't remember falling asleep. Only waking up.

But ever since you died, dad . . . I haven't seen that door, the light that saved me every night when I would go to sleep. Ever since you died, dad, nothing has been the same.