A clank from the outside woke her up. She checked
the time. It was past midnight and she was instantly irritated that her
seven-year-old son, John, had again snuck out to the porch to gaze through the eyes
of his telescope.
The pristine air, the open fields and the heavy
woods of the country had had the expected calming effect on the rat race crazy
city life that had brought her to the edge of a breakdown. And she was grateful
for this nothingness. Through the window of the hall she saw him peering
through the lens intently and she burst, Come in at once! Without breaking the gaze,
he said, Can I have a glass of milk, please.
She decided to go his room and wait to tuck him into
bed. As she cracked open the door, the moonlight fell on the bed and she saw
John sleeping soundly, tucked into his blanket. She felt the goosebumps in the
back of her neck and blood drain from her veins. When she found her nerve, she
turned- only to find herself alone. Through the window in John’s room she looked
out. His telescope was covered in mist except where it was adjusted. Next to it
stood the empty glass of milk.
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