Morning

SHADOWS

 

From my bedroom window I can barely see the houses across the man-made lake. Dawn is just beginning to show its gray face. The drapes in the corner house are tightly closed but someone is awake. A light comes on. A man's shadow waves its arms. He looks like a rabbit. I smile, turn away, see morning rubbing its eyes, chase away the rabbit. I am awake but my mind is not. I cannot remember the name of the family across the lake. The shadow of Mrs. Whoever moves back and forth across the room. Whatever she is doing, she is in a hurry. I am not.

 

More lights come on, shadows fade. The Venetian blinds in my room are at half mast so I can see the orange ball rise in the eastern sky, kiss the still water until it gleams and ripples. Red roofed houses stand on their heads. A young banyan tree, its thin branches, hanging low, casts a witchlike shadow clear across the water. It touches my side of the lake and slowly, ever so slowly, creeps to my building. I can feel it climbing the wall, aiming at my window.  Quickly I lower the Venetian blinds, make sure they are tight so no sun fades the carpet.

 

The shadow wavers from side to side, trying to get me. I switch on the ceiling light, floor lamp and night table lamps. The floor lamp shadow stands straight except the globe is missing. On my bed there is a large shadow that looks to me like a person curled into a ball. I am getting frightened. It takes a bit of doing but I manage to get hold of myself and pull the blanket back from the bed. Nobody, nothing is there except the shadow. What is causing the shadow?

 

My vision dims. A ghostlike apparition glides past me. I try to touch it but there is nothing to touch. At the door it turns and comes back. It hums the song I used to sing to my baby, 'Go to sleep, Little Baby, when you wake, you'll patty patty cake and ride a happy little pony.' A weakness overtakes me, forces me to sit on the side of my bed, but away from the shadow that still stays there. I gag, am overcome and vomit on the carpet. The shadow of the banyan branches have edged thru a crack in the window frame. It glides towards me. There are new sounds, crying, loud crying. The ghostly thing is now white, starched and white. There is nothing I can do but let it touch me, shake me. It speaks softly, gently, 'Mrs. Abrams, open your eyes. You have been asleep long enough. Look what I have for you.'

 

Barely getting my eyes open, I can make out a normal looking person, a nurse holding a beautiful baby, my baby. I take her from the nurse, bend to kiss her tiny head and my shadow covers her, keeps the sunlight away.