I was probably about eleven or twelve, I'm guessing.
Based on what I was wearing and what I did that day and what my damned problem was in the first place.

I was probably about eleven or twelve, and it was the middle of the night.
My brother and I upstairs in our shared room at mom's house.
The white postage stamp of a Cape Cod on Hudson.
We had the peaked second floor.
It was almost big, but you couldn't run around much because you would hit your head on the textured ceiling if you got too close to the north and south walls.
East to west you'd be fine.
I had the top bunk, Brian the bottom. There were surely fights about that.
I don't remember.

There was no heat up there, just the kerosene unit.
Stealing my rest.
I assumed it would be responsible for my death.
We piled ourselves with old blankets that smelled of my grandfather's linen closet.
My favorite smell.
I still know how to taste that smell in the back of my throat if I close my eyes and press my tongue to my teeth.
I can fill my lungs and mouth with the cotton and years that sat on those shelves.

My mother snuck up to check on us, to talk to us while we were sleeping.
Pretended to be sleeping.
It was a rough day between us.
I was tempted to tell her I was awake, but let her speak instead.

I let her explain herself.
Her life.
My life.

I've always been one to feign sleep.
You can avoid a lot of life if you keep perfectly still.
You can learn a lot of life if you lie quietly and listen to the things people are talking about when they think that you can't hear.
My favorite childhood game.

I was suffering a question, tempted to ask but didn't know how.
How do you know if a boy likes you? And if you should like him back? And if it's worth your time and your tears and your heart because you might end up hating each other in six days, six months, six years, sixty.
Because you might not and you might end up happy. And then what?
I already knew what it was like to lose happiness.

Twenty years later and I got my answer.
In the middle of the night, at my child's bedside while he slept.
While I explained myself.
My life.
His life.