UPSTAIRS

I sleep around. Around our house, that is. Except for the bathrooms, I've slept in every nook and cranny of this house. I've slept in beds, on pallets, air beds, the floor, the couch, chairs, love seat, stacks of quilts, mattresses, cushions. I have also been awake all night in all these places. Many nights awake, reading, worrying, hurting, thinking, writing, eating, bleeding, coughing, wheezing, holding my breath, pacing, grieving, talking, laughing, crying.
Since we moved a bed downstairs when Mama was here sick, I have slept in her bed most of the time. It is a good place to read, the room is full of books. The heated mattress pad keeps me warm, the fan keeps me cool. I've moved the toddler bed down for Leah or Olivia to use when they are here. I pull it close to my bed and they sleep all night. They both are happy to be with the books too, there are shelves full of children's books. They love to read in the toddler bed while I read in my bed.
John Wayne could always go to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, wanted the room dark and quiet. I am just the opposite. It takes me an eternity to go to sleep, I like music and lighted computer screens. I like to read all night on occasion. So my sleeping around began.
When the children were young I didn't want to be downstairs because I was afraid I wouldn't hear them if they needed me. So I made myself a pallet room in the hall. I had several different kinds of beds there, mattresses, a folding chair, foam. The one consistent thing about my sleeping arrangements in the hall was my feet extending across Susan's door. I didn't plan it that way, it was just the best place for me to sleep. (She might tell it differently.)
I had a nice situation there, a reading light, pencils, paper, books, radio, tape player, phone, a place for my coke and Hershey bar, kleenex, cough medicine, and most importantly, a fan.
There is no telling how many nights I spent in the hall on the floor, how many books I read there, how much worrying I did there.
Some nights I would get in bed with somebody else or they would come and sleep with me for a while. If Susan or John Michael were gone for the night, I might sleep in their bed or sleep with John Wayne if I found myself able to sleep. That was always my best sleep.
Since I've been sleeping downstairs, I've noticed I feel differently about the upstairs. I love being up there but it's almost like I don't live there. The rooms feel strange and mysterious. I know that things have happened to me there but I can't seem to remember what. If I could just think a little more clearly I would know. Yet it doesn't seem to matter. There are old things up there, old beds, old quilts, old books, old clothes, old tables, old pictures, old stories, old ghosts.
I need to be with those old things so I'm going to sleep upstairs tonight. I'll sleep in Susan's bed. The old bed is around 200 years old. I slept in it when I was a little girl. I wrapped my fingers around the spools. I still like to do that. It's such a comfort.
I'm looking forward to reestablishing my relationship with the upstairs. I think it wants me back.