White Teeth and Blue-Blooded Boys

When Henry was ten and I was ten and a half we always thought monsters lived in the dark spaces of our bedrooms. I think it started sometime after we watched a horrible 80's horror movie in the darkness of mine or Henry's room - I don't remember. It was one of those movies made before special effects, before horror movies became that much more terrifying. But we watched it anyway, maybe just to spite our parents who said "absolutely not", maybe because we wanted to feel grown up before we actually had to be grown up. I don't even remember what movie it was, all I remember is that itching paranoia deep in my chest when the credits started rolling. It was quiet, Henry and I sitting side-by-side on the ground, not knowing what to say. Or maybe we were too afraid to speak.
That night we didn't fall asleep until the light seeped into the room, until we felt that the light would protect us from the monsters we were sure wanted to kill us.

And three weeks later it was still the same; I started leaving the lights on in my room when I went to sleep, Henry started turning on the hallway light and leaving his door wide open. There was one moment during this phase that I remember pretty well: Henry and I were having one of our usual sleepovers during a long break from school, popcorn and chips and other unhealthy shit you gorge on at a sleepover strewn across the bedroom floor. We did the usual; played video games in which I always won(I didn't tell Henry but I knew he always let me win), talked about things that mattered to ten year old boys and watched movies we'd probably seen a million times before.

When it was time for us to sleep, or when my mom came in the room and forced us into turning off the games, Henry and I stared at each other for a while, like we both knew without saying what we were silent for.

"I have to sleep with the light on," I said, my voice still squeaky and high-pitched.

"Me too," Henry whispered back and then we both chuckled, happy that we weren't the only ones being babies.

So I flicked on the light, closed the door, and by the time I changed into pajamas Henry was already in bed, facing the wall. I slipped in beside him, that first forlorn swell in my stomach, and turned so I was facing outwards. We slept for a while, I think, but soon I was being jolted awake by a loud banging against the window. And then I noticed that the light was out, and I was too paralyzed to get up and flick it back on(even though it wouldn't have worked because the power went out). There was more howling coming from outside the confines of the walls and my eyes started seeing shadows moving inside the dark of my closet, or the dark parts of the ceiling. Henry must have waken up, too, because before I could say anything skinny arms were around my waist, tight enough that I struggled to breath.

"Close your eyes, it helps."

I felt his words against the back of my neck and I didn't mean to but pulled him closer.

That was the end of our phase as ten year olds who were afraid of the dark, but also the phase of a boy who thought he liked other boys.