The Watcher pulls the covers to my shoulders and strokes the hair from my face.
“I’ll be in the other room if you need anything. Sleep well.”
“Will you stay?”
She pulls an old throw over her legs and sits in the chair that should have been tossed several years back. I can’t bring myself to do it though. There’s something soothing about that big old brown chair with kitty cat claw marks, coffee stains and other age spots. So I keep it, right there in the corner of the room. Sturdy, aged and proud, it sits beside a brass floor lamp that illuminates its precious position. And now my Watcher has positioned herself comfortably in it, for the night will be long and certainly difficult.
Every inch of my being says to keep my eyes open but tonight I am tired. Weariness claims victory as I roll to my side and hide my face. I can hear the Watcher shift with concern but she does not stand to attend to this toss and turn. No, instead, she hums a song I’ve never heard. She hums so softly I can barely hear her. I must quiet the agony, silence past screams to hear the present and fall asleep.
I need this. I need her song to wrap around my tired soul and hold it, rock it, comfort and cure it. I need this song to pat my back and show my heart a new way to beat. She sings a soft melody and tears fall. They fall to an old pillow that no longer complains for he is accustomed to condensation’s pain. Softly and even softer she hums a tune I do not know until fast asleep I am in a blanket of woven love and trust.
F. Magdalene Austin
© Copyright 2009 Sundrip Journals All rights reserved
I Will Watch Over You
Friday January 16th, 2009 – 3:29AM EST
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