"Dead of Midnight"

by Monica Petter

An excerpt from her book "The Lost and Found"


It’s twelve o’clock and I hear a train whistle in the northerly breezes. My eyes awake from anxiety, anticipation, but of what?


You lie beside me breathing your dreams in and out of each nostril. They seem labored, hairy. My mind begins to race into deep waters I know I shouldn’t wade. The current swift if you stick your toes in to test the temperature. Before I know it, I am treading in a pool of uncertainty.


God is the only one who hears me in these moments. He eases me by just listening. The face, the frame I carry gets tired, weak at times and only in the wee hours of midnight’s loneliness do I release my fears.


Like a cat in a bag, they fight in my chest, tearing and gnashing for freedom. Only in the blackest moments do they shriek, exiting through my fingertips and into the night. Then, the voices of guilt and vulnerability are free to burden someone else. There is silence. I open my eyes as my pulse begins to steady.


I reach over and touch you lightly on the forearm stroking with my fingers. I am so lucky, so blessed. I realize in those seconds that my character is shaped, my compassion richer, and my will fiery. I don’t turn the page too quickly for I may miss the details. The grains of sand that slip through the hourglass fall to form a mountain of memories. I see your dark profile highlighted by the nightlight. I know I will never forget the way you sleep, this moment, this test.


For in our darkest nights where adversity pulls at our bedclothes, we find the true fibers inside to hold onto the small tastes of heaven we are given from time to time. They remind us of the people we strive to be. The person inside us is always struggling to get out one step at a time. One day, we will evolve like the mighty redwoods beautiful, steadfast. In our older bodies, we will carry the thick skin of experience, the silken blood of love, and the lines of faith and hope we wear as our crown. Uncertainties will turn into flowers, the gifts we bring to share. 

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