Hush
“Wahhhhhh,” wails Grendel.
“Hush sweet baby, hush it’s okay.”
“Wahhhhhhhhhh,” he echoes back again at an outlandish frequency.
“It was only a nightmare baby boy. It was only a bad dream. Please, please, stop crying. You’re awake now; I scarred the dream away. Look at me. I saw you trembling and I just took this big stick (holds up stick), sharp as a needle, and popped the dark dream bubble floating over your head.”
“Wah wah wah wah,” Grendel continues to sob, resisting all of my attempts to pacify him.
“Grendel you’re awake. No one can hurt you here with me.” I prop up on all fours and puff out my chest to prove myself a worthy protector. I contemplate roaring but decide against it. “Let the Sandman dare to send any more bad dreams your way.”
I pull Grendel close to my chest, blanketing him under my fur. Slowly rocking back and forth, I stroke in small circles along his spine. He purrs with the vibration of the chills. He is convinced.
“Now tell me what this dream was all about.”

Grendel ruffles his mop in stern refusal.
“You don’t want to talk about it? Well you don’t have to right now. You must be starving after such a fright.”

I roll onto my side and position his head on my chest to suckle. His lips soon swell around one of my teats. The sweet sticky liquid streams out a steady pace. Sip-sip—swallow-sip-sip—swallow. I savor the rhythm, beating time on Grendel’s side. Each gulp fills his stomach and clears his disgruntled mind. Nothing like mama’s milk.

Though my words and my milk help Grendel forget—this moment is one I must remember.
It’s not until later that night that baby Grendel shares his nightmare. Still cuddling, our eyelids flutter open and shut. They beat quickly at first, but then the seconds between blinks stretch—longer and longer still. We almost drift off back to dreamland. Suddenly he shakes awake. Black pupils dilate.

“What is it baby? You were almost asleep”
“Mom, Old man with bow. Kept strumming. Wouldn’t stop. Hurt my ears. OWWWWW hurt Grendel’s ears. Open mouth but no sing” he struggles to explain.

Unsure of what he means I stroke the small circles again. “There, there, Grendel. It’s okay. You’re not making any sense. Let’s just go to bed.”

“I hear it again Mama,” he pleads.
“Hear what?”
“The strings.”
I listen— perfect silence—only interrupted by the synchronized beating of our hearts.
“Hush, baby there’s nothing,” I coo.

And fast asleep we fall.
**************

The strumming. Now I hear it.
Loud and Clear.
AnAngel’swingsscrapingstrings.

OneHandstrums
otherreaches.
Alm

ost touch.

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he sings.