by Dan Dillard
*****
Homework is rare for a six-year-old, but we always have reading time after school, followed by dinner, bath, and some snuggling before it’s off to dreamland.
“Time for bed, monkey.”
“No mommy!”
Her eyes well up instantly with tears. What a drama queen—although taught by the best. I play along.
“Well, why ever not?”
“You said we were gonna call Daddy,” she replies, and I feel like an asshole for a moment. Stroking her soft hair I say, “I did, didn’t I? Bring me the phone.”
The tears dry up magically, she bounces from the living room couch grinning, and grabs the telephone from the kitchen counter. Before she is back beside me, she is punching buttons and looking for his name on the contacts list. It’s ringing as she sits down next to me. Her joy makes me warm inside, but that slight resentment is also there.
“Hi Daddy!”
I can hear the low pitched mumbling of his voice through the headset.
“Uh-huh,” she says to more mumbles.
She plays with her hair, kicks her feet and wiggles her toes as he talks on, and then she purses her lips and looks at the ceiling as if her next response is written up there.
“Mommy’s right here,” she says, followed by, “Ok, daddy. I will. I love you.”
She drops the phone in my lap and runs upstairs, presumably to brush her teeth. She always does what he asks. I pick up the phone and sigh.
“Hi babe,” I say.
“How’s your day?” he asks.
“Busy. Running on fumes, here.”
“She not sleeping?”
“She had a nightmare the other night. Something about a ‘pig man’. I guess I just haven’t caught up, and I never sleep well when you’re gone. You know that.”
“I know. I’ll be home soon.” No one speaks for a few moments and I zone out. Upstairs I hear the sound of a toilet flush and then footsteps down the staircase.
“Hey,” he says.
“Yeah? I’m here, sorry.”
“I love you, baby.”
The words bring a familiar smile to my face. The smile only he can bring. Even though he’s a bastard eating restaurant food and going to cities I’ve never seen. I know it isn’t his fault.
“I love you, too. See you soon.” As soon as I hang up, there’s a little girl attached to me like an infant primate and I lug her upstairs and tuck her in. I read for a while, until I hear the dog snoring and have to give him a gentle nudge with my foot. He rolls over and his breathing is quiet…for now. I put my book on the nightstand, a ridiculous paperback full of naughty moments between servant girls and their well-endowed masters. Moments after I turn off the lamp, I’m in love with my pillow and drifting off.
“Mommy?”
I sit straight up in bed this time thinking something terrible has happened. I just closed my eyes, didn’t I? I snap the lamp on and my eyes adjust slowly. She’s standing beside the bed at my hip and there aren’t any tears, so nothing’s broken. The dog quits snoring and wags his tail sleepily, and then stretches and licks her outstretched hand. The clock reads 02:46am at a glance.
“Are you okay?” I ask, and put my hands on her shoulders.
She sits next to me on the bed.
“I’m fine. I just wanted to tell you the pig-man is downstairs again. I saw him when I got up to go to the bathroom.”
My heart sinks and I reach for logic. It has to be a dream. “Stay right here,” I whisper. I walk to the doorway and stop. Nothing sounds out of the ordinary. No shuffling of feet and no breathing. No oinking. No squealing. Nothing.
Walking down the hall to the stairs, I muster all my courage and look down. I hope to see a shadow from outside with pointy ears and a snout that might resemble a pig-person standing there.
There’s nothing but moonlight in the window. The stretching beams of headlights as a car is driven by. I flip the light switch and head down the stairs. In between each step, I listen for sounds of an intruder making its escape, for sounds of the flapping dog door. Silence.
I turn the corner at the bottom of the steps and flip on another light and look around. Nada.
I check the doors and windows. All closed and locked—everything is secure. “3 AM and all is well,” I say with a triumphant smirk.
I leave the lights on as I walk back upstairs. They might stay on until honey gets home. Bastard. Back in the room my baby is snuggled up and sleeping next to Ruffles. Worthless fucking dog. I pat him on the head and whisper to him some instructions. “If there’s a pig faced dude stalking us from the staircase, do me the courtesy of a bark, will ya?”
He looks at me, sighs and goes back to sleep, if he was ever really awake. I let the baby and the dog sleep with me out of laziness, also because it’s comforting to have someone else there. Tomorrow I’m looking up pig-man on the internet. Maybe it’s a common dream.
