The night before


The room is dark, save for a nightlight burning an alien-green on the dresser, and we are about to settle into our bedtime routine on the spacious King-sized bed where we can roll about freely without bumping into our sleeping partner.

In my head, I am going over the scenes of the day and making a mental list of things to do tomorrow. I glance over at my daughter beside me. In the dark, I can make out the soft features of her face and the curls laid out on her pillow.

She looks peaceful. "What are you doing, Liz?"

"Shifting," she says simply, her voice absolutely serene.

I raise a brow, curious. "You mean you're trying to be a werewolf or something?"

"No. Just shifting myself to Hogwarts."

"Oh, it's a Harry Potter thing."

"Shhhh..." she shushes me.

I stay quiet for a while afraid to disturb her process. After a few moments, I hear her give a big sigh next to me.

"Huh...it didn't work this time," she says, disappointment in her voice.

"And it worked before?"

"Yeah...I mean it's a process...sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't."

"And what process is this?"

And she launches into a detailed explanation about how her shifting works. It sounds hocus pocus to me, but she seems very convinced about it. Something involving visualisation, saying affirmations to herself, then counting backwards from 100.

I start to chuckle to myself, only to earn an indignant look thrown my way. I shrink inwardly. My daughter is only 10, but sometimes, she makes me feel more like a child than a mum.

"One day, mum, you'll wake up on this bed and you won't find me next to you anymore."

"Okay..."

"When that happens, you don't have to worry about me. That means I'm at Hogwarts with all my friends."

"Alright, darling...I'll remember that."

++++++

I remember now our conversation last night as I sit in bed staring at the rumpled bedsheet next to me in the shape of my daughter. Draco Malfoy had better be taking good care of her there.

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