I plop down on my bed after an intensive cramming session before a test. I let out a sigh. Not exactly the happy kind, more like the can-you-believe-this kind.
I hear humming. “Hush.” I tell the noise.
More humming. “Hush. I need quiet.”
A giggle escapes from somewhere in the room. I look around, but I don’t see anything.
Oh, perfect, I think. Now on top of a science test, I’ve got hallucinations to worry about!
Shuffling noises come from behind the bed. I get off the bed and approach the shuffle.
“Hola!”
“Aahh!” I yell.
Another giggle. It’s Andy.
(If you don’t remember Andy, read “Elijah, Andy, Moo-Chella, and Me”, a blog about the day I babysat him. (https://soallmayknow.org/elijah-andy-moo-chella-and-me/.)
“Le dijo, hola!” he says.
“Oh, uh, um,” I fumble.
I think I just had a heart attack at 13 years old.
Andy? In my house? In my room? For how long? And why?
There he was, playing with Legos, talking to himself, and scaring me to death.
The rest of the conversation was in Spanish, but I’ll write it here in English.
“You are in my house!” I accuse.
“I know that,” he replies calmly.
“Yeah, but why are you in my house?”
“I’m playing hide-and-seek,” He explains.
“Oh,” Relief flows into me. “Then where’s Elijah?”
“I’m not playing with Elijah, I’m playing with my sister,”
“You are? Then where’s she?” I ask. How many preschoolers are there, lurking in my home?
“She’s at my house. She’ll never find me here!” He brags.
I give a short yelp and pick him up.
I jog to Ms. Cecilia’s house. Oh, no…
She’s going to be mad. “–And I thought, what a great hiding spot!–”
She’s going to be mad. “–And, she’ll never, ever find me!–”
She’s going to be mad. “–Oh, look, my house!–”
We come to a halt in front of his house.
“Andy– I found you! You’re it!” says his sister, as she tags him.
“Andy! Where were you?” says Ms. Cecilia.
Rapid Spanish scoldings address Andy.
“Your house is a great hiding spot!” he shouts.
I smile.
-Madeline