Falling Headfirst

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?