On the subject of fear

On Saturday night, Flannery and I stayed up late goofing around on the computer and rereading a book respectively. At about a quarter 'til two, we hear wump, wump, wump. Kid feet running through the house. In a moment, the door from the kitchen swings open and Lucy, age five, steps out into the Lodge where we are seated and she is crying great big salty tears. She is dressed in undies, a T-shirt, and is holding a blue stuffed rabbit. "Are you okay honey?" Flannery asks, "Did you have a bad dream?"

Lucy looks at Flannery and her eyes don't seem to register her. Lucy looks at me and it is as if she looks right through me. Then like a shot, Lucy bolts for the back door and runs out into the night as fast as her little legs will carry her. She rounds the house and runs down the driveway and almost makes it to the street before quick-footed Flannery can scoop her up. Flannery carries her back inside and tucks her into our bed where she promtly goes right back to sleep.

The whole time, she never said a word, or wimpered, or cried out. Not once. The next day, Lucy didn't remember any of it. She was sleepwalking and had dashed into the dark to escape from a bad dream.

The really scary thing is that I don't know if she has ever done this before or if she will ever do it again, but I haven't slept well since.

Happy Cinco de Mayo,
Doc