I'm two.
I just woke up. It's naptime dark. Tara's in her crib, not side-by-side-touching. Across a long way. I see her. She's awake. I stand, because in the crib, I can.
I hang onto the bars of my crib and rock. It makes Tara go close-far-close-far-close-far... I like doing close-far.
I always do it.
But then there is no crib. Because I'm falling. Down, down, down, far. I land, CRASH on my head, on the floor. My head landed in a bowl. A funny hat but not.
Nothing on me hurts because I'm too scared, that's why.
I cry because inside me is so scared. The biggest scared ever.
Someone comes.
Picks me up.
Says, "Are you okay?"
Says, "It's okay."
Walks me. Step-step-step-step-step-step-step-step-step-step.
Wait. Tara.
No.
I want her.
In the living room means no more "okays" to me.
Means that's all done
"Here, Toni, play with the ball."
Like I didn't just fall from the highest ever.
Like, nothing even happened at all.
But my scared is too big. Freezing my whole self. I take the ball. My favorite Care Bear rubber ball. But everything feels scary and I-don't-care-y.
(Balls won't help. Balls are nothing.)
I don't want it.
I don't want anything.
Where's my stop button?
