Life, actually…

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AN ARMORY OF HAND-MADE QUILTS

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A childhood memory…

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I am as safe and snug as any kid could ever be.

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I know I am safe and secure because my body weighs twice as much as normal at this moment.

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My body is so heavy because it is covered with massively layered hand-made quilts and coverlets and sheets and blankets. I am immobile beneath these sweet-smelling shields, lying atop a padded mattress in the small bedroom of youth.

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The night is icy cold, but I am safe. That’s about all that matters at the moment.

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I have been lovingly hugged and tucked in, a Woody Woodpecker night light secures the perimeter, a Treasure Island comic book hides beneath the mattress next to a camouflage-green Boy Scout flashlight. In case of insomnia, be prepared.

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I feel cozy and burrowed. I take for granted the care and nurturing of family. I assume tonight is going to spawn forever nights like this. I presume immortality.

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This cocooned moment makes me feel nothing bad can possibly happen. It’s as though the universe is wrapped around me, making its limits clear. There is no way I can fall out of bed, blow away in a storm, no way I can become untethered.

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Now and then, throughout life, I recall this momentary feeling. If only I could carry this assuredness, this bravery, with me. I could strut with confidence, brush aside doubts and demons, pass along this bluster to others, become some kind of kindly example.

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I hold fast to memories like this because sometimes they are the only grab bars I can depend on.

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I need to be prepared for days when I forget how safe I felt that night beneath the gentle armor of love and quilting

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 © Jim Reed 2024 A.D.

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