Meet Little Loren

As a little girl, I am afraid of the dark. I'm one of those kids who doesn't like to go to bed at night, to my parents' dismay. As soon as the nightlight goes on I cry for mommy, only stopping to listen intently to my parents verbal struggle over what to do about me. If the verdict is to ignore me, then I resume crying, louder. I do this because I'm sure monsters live in my pillow. They have shaggy orange fur, (it's the '70's). I can't let my arm or foot dangle over the side of the bed, even on the hottest summer nights, because an "ugly breen witch" waits to grab me from beneath it! An open window is a bad idea, a gargoyle could climb through it and take me to his cave where his blue brothers will roast me. I dare not look at the open closet door; the ghost hiding in my hanging clothes might see that I am still awake.

On the whole, night time is bad and scary for little Loren. Besides, I'm not tired. Sometimes, after a nightmare, I stay frozen in my bed, the covers up to my eyes, until I can muster enough courage up to run into my parents' room and climb into bed with them. After a few minutes there, I'm ready to face the horrors of my own bedroom again. Sleeping next to dad is not comfortable. His big body cooks me, and his snore is louder that any imagined creature that might visit me in the darkness just beyond my own bed covers. Like a soldier running through open gunfire, I scamper back to my own bed and jump under the covers. As I start to feel sleepy, I ask my little self: How could mom sleep next to such a loud, sweaty person?