So. We had an ‘occurrence’ this week I feel worth mentioning.

Christopher and I finally finished “Breaking Bad” after a two year investment. A very emotional investment, I’ll add. With heavy hearts, we said good-bye to the White family, kissed, killed the lights, and went to bed. Well, he went to bed. I stayed downstairs with Sophia, though I couldn’t really sleep.

My mind churned. Half a block of cheese, two glasses of Pinot, and Walter’s demise sloshed around in my belly. I thought about how ridiculously well they cast the show, especially chicken man Gus, and how often I wanted to slap moisturizer on Walter. I thought about their clever use of music; how I used Badfinger’s “Baby Blue” in MINDER, too, though no one’d caught it yet. Plus Sophia had 104 temperature and slept like a starfish. I moved her hand off my face. It wasn’t exactly a recipe for golden slumbers. But eventually, I drifted.

Then something woke me up.

Footsteps. Loud enough to wake me. I opened my eyes . . . hours later, I could tell. Pitter patter in the foyer. In the dark.

“Hello?” I mumbled, regretting the cheese. That much dairy late at night is never a good idea. But damn it was good. Applewood smoked cheddar if anyone cares.

A light switch clicked somewhere. Pale yellow light seeped onto the walls. I put a hand on Sophia’s forehead. She was still burning hot.

“Hello?” I called again, belly-achy. I needed water. Lots of water. Poor Walter. And what was Jessie going to do now. Hopefully “Just Say No.” The pitter patter got closer. Now I was awake.

Harvey stood in the doorway, balling his fists.

“What’s wrong?” I squinted, pulling up on my elbow.

“There’s a little boy in my room,” he whimpered.

“What do you mean, there’s a little boy in your room?” I sat up, a bit more coherent.

“There’s a little boy in my room,” he repeated, the second half of his sentence melting into a cry. He was scared.

I held out my hand. “C’mon,” I said, not feeling super great. WAY too much cheese. Nasty taste in my mouth. Like the bottom of a birdcage.

He climbed in next to me, covered with chills.

“What’s he look like?” I rubbed his arm. His skin was freezing– a sharp contrast to radiator Sophia on my right. I moved her hand off my neck.

“He has a bowl haircut.”

“What’s he doing?”

“He’s standing still, staring at the door.”

(I shuddered at this image, but kept it to myself.)

“How’d you know he was there?”

“It got real cold.”

I held him close, listening as he accurately described what it’s like to be woken by spirit.

I chose my words carefully.

“Spirits are everywhere,” I explained. “Most people can’t see them, but you can. Mommy can. Lots of people can. And you shouldn’t feel scared, because guardian angels are always with you, no matter what. But if you do feel scared, pray,” I added. “That’s what Mommy does. Because God’s in charge. And I promise He knows what’s happening in your room.”

. . .though I couldn’t explain the cold part. Truthfully, that concerned me a bit. A sudden change in temperature is typical of spirit manifestation, but cold suggests lower energy. And one does NOT want lower energies loitering around their children in the middle of the night.

Sophia woke at this point, adding that she always saw a man by her closet. I listened quietly, believing every word. Because I’ve seen that guy, too.

Eventually, they fell asleep. Sophia sweating, Harvey still, and me squished between their opposite temperatures in some half-daze, grateful to be there, thirsty as hell.

Christopher, on the other hand, had a lovely night’s sleep.

Oh, well.
We do what we must.