Caitlin and the Heartbed
(This is a short story I wrote for my daughter when she was very young...)
Caitlin liked to play. It was the thing that she liked to do more than any other thing in the world. She liked it more than eating supper, even if supper was pizza or hot dogs, two of her very favorite foods. She liked it more than reading books, although reading books was a lot of fun. She even liked it more than talking on the telephone, although she loved to tell everyone what had happened to her during the day. No matter what else she could be doing, Caitlin liked to play.
She liked to play with her toys in her playroom, sometimes romping with the big elephant that she could ride on, sometimes cooking dinner all by herself in the stove that she got for her birthday, sometimes playing with her computers that buzzed and whirred and whistled and squeaked when the answer was right, sometimes watching as toy animals and people rode trains and cars around the playroom.
She liked to play with her paints and crayons, putting on her painting smock with its shiny red and white letters and splashing the paint on the paper standing on her easel, watching as the pictures appeared in swirls of color and swiftly changed shape and meaning, laughing as she wrote her name on the papers with large red letters.
She liked to play outside on her bike, racing against her friends from next door, riding over the bumps in the sidewalk, quickly sliding down the hill, feeling proud as she climbed back up.
And she liked to play with her friends, the many stuffed animals and dolls who lived with her, the unicorn and the teddy bear and the pony and the mice and the doggies and kittens and other friends who shared her small yellow room and who would help to keep her safe and happy when the lights were turned out in the evening.
Caitlin liked to play more than anything in the world. But she especially liked it more than going to bed.
Caitlin hated going to bed. No matter how tired she was, she always cried at bed time.
"Mommy, pleeeeeeease!" she would cry. "Pleeeeeease don't make me go to bed."
It was not actually the bed that Caitlin did not like. The bed itself was one of her very favorite things. She had been so proud of it when she first had moved into it: her own bed. A big-girl bed. A bed below the window where she could stand sometimes and watch the leaves blow on the tree outside and listen to the birds singing or the crickets chirping. A bed that was all hers. And a bed which was covered with the most wonderful thing of all.
Hearts.
Blue hearts, green hearts, yellow hearts, purple hearts, and of course red hearts. The bed had hearts everywhere. The sheets were covered with hearts. The pillows were smothered in hearts. The blankets were lined with hearts. Even the ruffles around the edges and the curtains on the window billowed with soft, friendly hearts, dancing brightly against the yellow of the walls in the room.
Caitlin loved her bed. She called it her heartbed. When she first had gotten it, she ran next door to tell her friends all about it. They had come running to see it, and had laughed and shouted and bounced all over it: everyone loved the heartbed.
But even the heartbed could not make Caitlin like going to sleep at bed time. In bed, of course, Caitlin could not play.
Every night, Caitlin followed the same routine. Her mommy or her daddy would take her upstairs, where she would brush her teeth, get into her nightgown, and pick a few books for them to read to her. But every night, after the books, when the lights went out and her mommy or daddy went back downstairs, Caitlin would scream and cry, pleading with them to come back up.
One day, when she was crying particularly loud and long, and her sobbing and screaming seemed as if it would last all night, her daddy did come back up.
"Caitlin," he said softly, "Why are you crying like this?"
Caitlin looked out through her glistening eyes, and answered, "Because I want you to be with me."
"Why?' her daddy asked.
"Because I don't like to be alone," she said.
Caitlin's daddy looked surprised. "Alone?" he asked. "But you aren't alone. You have all of your friends here with you to keep you company. Here is Teddy right here, and all the guys. And you have your heartbed, and he loves you."
Caitlin's tears had stopped for a few minutes; her daddy was there, and she thought maybe he would stay for awhile. "My heartbed?" she wondered.
"Of course," her daddy said. "And I don't know why you make such a fuss every night. You're going to hurt your heartbed's feelings, you know. He's going to think that you don't like him. And all he ever does is keep you cozy and warm and make you comfortable so you can sleep all night. And all you ever tell him is 'I don't want to go to bed.' I wonder why he even likes you at all."
Caitlin sat up on the soft heart cover, stretching her hands across the light, airy sheets, looking at the colors in the faded light from her nightlight, seeing the hearts swirling and flowing over the bed. The heart curtains blew out from the window. The heart pillows were lying there soft and pleasant.
"Now go to sleep," her daddy was saying, as he walked out of the room. "And don't you hurt your heartbed's feelings any more."
But as soon as he was out of the room, as soon as she could hear his footsteps retreating down the stairs, Caitlin started crying again. She cried and cried, even louder than before, but there was no sound from anywhere in the house.
"Daddy!," she called. "Daddy, say something."
From somewhere below her in the house, her daddy's voice called out. "Caitlin, go to bed!"
The heartbed didn't say a word. Its cottony soft sheets pulled tight over her, wrapping her in their warmth.
"Daddy! I want daddy!" she called into the night.
From somewhere in the house, her daddy's voice, a little louder, a little angrier, called back, "Caitlin, I told you to go to bed! It's very late. It's way too late for all of this fussing. And you're hurting the heartbed's feelings!"
The heartbed didn't say a word. Its thick, plush blankets wound over her, shielding her from the night, making her feel less frightened and alone.
"Daddy!" she called, weaker than before. "Daddy, please come here!"
"Caitlin!" was all the reply that floated up the stairs.
The heartbed didn't say a word. Its big, downy pillows touched Caitlin's head where she lay, cushioning her, holding her as she sank deeper and deeper into their softness.
Caitlin lay still in the night, cradled in her heartbed.
And she went to sleep, dreaming the warm, friendly dreams of dancing light and soft music and animals playing and pancakes and ice cream and bikes and trains and mommy and daddy and gardens of flowers in bright summery colors and flashes of red, green, yellow, blue, and purple and curtains billowing in the breeze and hearts and more hearts and even more hearts covering everything, making everything even happier than it already was.
And the dream-smile came onto her face. And she slept until morning, when she could play again.
These pages copyright Karen Kopriva 1997;
all rights are reserved