Within Close Range: Strange Bedfellows

I once woke to find Mia tucked snugly beside me in my twin bed, with most of the covers and most of the space. When I tapped her on the shoulder to point this out, she rolled over (our noses nearly touching), blinked, and groaned, “Anne, what are you doing here?”

“You’re in MY room.”

Looking around briefly, she rolled over again (taking the remainder of the covers with her) and, giving me a swift backward kick, sent me to the floor; where I lay, bewildered, but slightly in awe of her sleep-walking pluck.

We never really know when or what to expect from Mia’s nocturnal wanderings.

And so, returning home late one night, noticing that the light is still on in the den…

“Crap,” I mumble into the open fridge, that must mean Dad’s waiting up.

I begin to formulate one-word responses to his inevitable interrogation. With munchies in hand and alibis at the tip of my tongue, I open the door to the den, only to find Mia on the pumpkin orange sofa, sitting up and staring at the paneled wall ahead.

“Hey.”

No reply.

“Meem, it’s late. Coming up to bed?”

Nothing. Not even a blink. So, I shrug and turn for the stairs.

“Where’s my friend?” I hear from behind.

Turning back around, I ask, ”What friend?”

“My FRIEND!” she replies sharply.

“What friend, Mia? I don’t who you’re talking about.”

“My FRIEND!” she repeats for the third time.

“Look, maybe if I knew what friend you’re talking ab-“

“Shut up, Anne.”

“All-righty, then,” I say as I head toward the stairs and bed.

Passing the boy’s room, I notice that the television is blaring and Mark is still lying on the sofa, face down, with a cat on his shirtless back and a dog at his feet. I turn the T.V. off and gently tap him on the shoulder.

“Kid, you should head to bed,” I whisper, and then start for my own.

Mark raises his head suddenly and calls out, “Anne-Anne-Anne… Would-you, would-you, would-you…open-the-open-the-open-the-open-the-“

Then nothing. He simply collapses back onto his belly and into his dreams.

“Open the WHAT?” I scream from the inside, fearing that if I turn around I’ll likely see Rod Serling, cigarette in hand, furrowing his thick, dark eyebrows as he begins to explain the strange tale of the my sudden plunge into madness.

“I’m way too stoned,” I mumble as I head to the comfort of my room.

Before I get there, however, I notice the lights on in Mia’s bedroom and feel compelled to investigate.

Damn you, Rod Serling.

I find Mia sitting on her bed, doused in light, with a drawing pad in her lap and a peculiar look on her face.

But what I find even more disconcerting is how quickly and stealthily she made her way from the den to her bedroom – up the creaky stairs and down the equally creaky hallway, just feet from where I was in the boys’ room – without my noticing.

I glance up to the mirror above Mia’s desk, where I find instant comfort in seeing both our reflections, and enough cool to ask Mia about her missing friend.

She looks up, but says nothing.

“Your friend,” I’m tortured to press. “The one you were looking for earlier?”

She scrunches her face and tilts her head, slightly.

“Where’s my pink purse?” are the next words out of Mia’s mouth.

I don’t know how to respond. We just glare at one another.

“What?!”

“My pink purse!” she repeats unhappily.

“Okay… now you’re looking for a friend whose name you don’t know AND a purse that’s pink… Am I getting this right?”

“Shut up, Anne.” is all she has to say. And all I can take for one night.

The following morning, both Mia and Mark deny any knowledge of the previous night’s events.

But we know the truth, don’t we, Rod?

Author: Anne Celano Frohna

I have been writing for as long as I could hold a pencil in hand and would not feel complete without it. And I actually made a meager living at it (and as an editor) for 25 years. I worked for newspapers and magazines, in graphic arts and advertising, and wrote several local history books. But I have also taught English in Japan, been a Nanny in Italy, worked in and for museums, and was an Airbnb Superhost for four years. After moving to Arizona with my family in 2010, I completed a series of different writing projects, including two books of creative non-fiction: Just West of the Midwest: a comedy (Based on journals I kept during my two years as an English teacher in rural Japan.) Within Close Range: short stories of an American Childhood (Short stories and poems about growing up as the middle of five children in suburban Chicago.) I've also written children's stories and continue to write short fiction, but have recently found my voice in poetry. And when I'm not moved to write, or research a large piece of fiction I'm formulating, I focus much of my energies on running my Etsy shop, ChannelingNonna (channelingnonnavintage.com), where I sell vintage clothing, folk art, books, and a trove of other items I have found and continue to bring home from thrift stores, barn sales, yard sales, estate sales, etc., whereever I roam. This blog, however, is where my greatest passion comes alive. Thus, this blog, where I post my creative non-fiction, short stories, a couple of illustrated children's stories and a comedy I wrote about two years I spent teaching English in rural Japan (NOT a story for a child.). I am also a mother of two wonderful girls, Eva (23) and Sophia (21) and wife to one wonderful husband, Kurt.

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