A Good Night's Sleep

There is something in that pillow-laden, slightly sagging, dimly lit top bunk in my mother’s house that never fails to give me a good night’s sleep. Whenever I spend the night, I immediately fall into a deep, uninterrupted slumber and wake up with the suspicion that my siblings must have again hidden the stairs that I use to climb down the bed, as they—full of playful mischief--often do. With disguised merriment, I anticipate those pranks they pull on me, just as much as I could count on that huge mug of taho (tofu yogurt) that my mother buys for me from the neighborhood vendor every time I’m there.  Whenever I sit in that sun-filled kitchen with the delicious smell of morning cooking wafting through the air, chatting with my mother and waiting for my siblings to wake up, I feel invigorated, as though I could take on the world. 

It must be the cool, fresh air blowing from the corn fields that lulls me to sleep; or the comforting tightness of the narrow bed weighed down by various stuffed animals and half a dozen pillows; or sheer tiredness from trying to stay awake and refusing to let a wonderful day to end; or it must be the soothing clasp of family that always makes for a good night’s sleep.