Timmy's Bedtime

An old man named Jon followed his grandson to the kid's bedroom. Jon had peppered hair and specs of white stubble matted his chin. He was frumpy, but he always thought frumpy was a good thing, because he got to the point in life where he was allowed to be frumpy. He didn't have to worry about impressing anyone anymore. Not even his wife.

His grandson, Timmy, had a room when he stayed here each summer. His blanket's had dinosaurs on them. Some had open wings flying across the cover, others had giant teeth, and some had spikes flowing down their spines.

Timmy laid down on open covers until Jon rolled the blankets back over the child's body. He used both hands to push the dino's under Timmy back, making him a nice tight cocoon with only his neck and head sticking out.

"Not so tight, Papa. What if I gotta go to the bathroom?" Asked Timmy, his legs shaking under the covers.

"Just kick the covers, they'll come loose." Jon laughed.

"Okay, but maybe make it a lil looser. Just to be safe." Timmy said. Jon tugged on the blankets slightly making it a little less snug, until Timmy nodded in satisfactory. A skill Jon's wife had not yet taught him.

Jon gave Timmy a kiss on the forehead, he heard the scratch as his stubbled rubbed on the skin. He walked to the door and flicked the switch. "Goodnight." He added.

"Wait!" Timmy called out.

"What's wrong?" Jon pushed up the switch again.

"What is this? I'm supposed to get a story!" Timmy was pouting, even with his body covered Jon could tell the boy was mentally crossing his arms.

"Oh, I'm sorry Tim. You know I don't know the nighttime routine yet. You'll have to help me out a bit more." The old man walked across the room to the wooden bookshelf and picked up a story off the top. He walked back to the chair next to Timmy's bed and took a seat. The chair shifted underneath him, letting out a loud squeak. Jon pulled his glasses out of his shirt pocket, unfolded the temples and slid them over his ears. The bridge resting on the tip of his nose.

The man breathed from his mouth as if his nose were clogged, taking huffs every movement he made. Unfolding his glasses, opening the book, pushing his glasses up his nose before they slid back down. Deep breaths through each one.

"Let's see here. Uhhh. . ." He exhaled. "This one's called the Tree Who Loved." He licked the pad of his thumb before pulling the cardboard cover open.

"No, no, no." The crossing arms came back. "Those books are from last year. I need new stories, papa. I'm a big kid now!"

"New story, eh?" He put his thick thumb to his chin, rubbing it. The sound was like he was rubbing sandpaper on wood. "You're a big kid?"

Timmy nodded profusely, so vigorously the sheets under his chin loosened. Jon fixed that real quick and then tic. The light from the small lamp next to his bed came on. Jon turned off the room light. A small halo of orange circled half the bed and the other half on the floor. Orange swam over Timmy's face, the left side of his face hidden in darkness.

"We don't need so much light then. Because this story won't be read."

"Won't be read? Then how do you know it, Papa?"

"Because it's mine, son. A long time ago, when I was a boy myself. I remember I was sixteen and just joined the musical theater at school off a dare. I was supposed to join and audition for some dumb character, but I got the main part.

"I looked over at my buddies before I went on. They gave me a thumbs up from the balcony." Timmy's face twisted in confusion. "Um. . .They were sitting in chairs real far away, but I could still see their thumbs up."

"They were sitting far? Like so far?" He asked.

"Yes. Very far." Jon laughed.

"Why were they sitting so far?"

"Well, boy. Just let me tell the story and you'll find out." Timmy's eyes were wide, the whites of them were replaced with orange as he stared back at Jon.

"I went on the stage without a worry. I acted out the part, I thought I was making a total fool of muh-self!" Jon's smile was big. Reliving this memory for the first time, in a long time. "I was dancing and trying to act. I knew I must've been awful. But I knew I could sing, so when it came to sing Alone at the Drive-In in front of everyone, I wasn't nervous. I stood there and I sang."

"Sing some now?" The old man barked a laugh and sang a verse of the song in his hushed tone. Taking deep breaths between each line. "Yayyy!" Timmy cheered when Jon told him that was all for the night.

"I walked up to the call back list to see my name next to Danny Zuko. you don't know who that is, but he's the most cool kid around. He had a leather jacket, and all the pretty girls, and really cool hair!"

"You had hair?" Timmy giggled.

Jon felt at the top of his head; it was receding quite a bit. He had more of a seven-head now rather than a forehead. "Hey! I still got some! My hair looks nice." Timmy giggled some more.

"We rehearsed a lot."

"-What" Timmy interrupted.

"Sorry kiddo. We practiced. We played pretend every day, trying our best to make sure it was perfect. Every night was bad, it got worse every night."

"Why?"

"Well, sometimes when you try hard at something every day it just doesn't get to be the best. You got to keep trying until it's the best. So, we did. We kept trying and trying. At first, I hated it, because it was a dare. It was something we thought was stupid."

"You used a bad word." Timmy whispered.

"Sorry." Jon held his hand up, "We thought it was not fun. but as time went on, it got more and more fun. Then the night came for us to act in front of people."

"You played pretend in front of people?" Timmy was now sitting up, his blanket of dinosaurs around his waist. His small fist was up his shirt scratching something in there, Jon found it better not to ask.

"I did. In front of, like, 100 people!" Timmy's eyes shot wide again, and a small gasp of "wow" slid out.

"The lights went down; me and Sandy went to the stage. Sorry-Sandy was the name of the girl character in the play."

"Your girl-freyyndd." Timmy teased.

"No, I hadn't known her yet. She was in a couple of my classes, she was cute. But she was quiet. She didn't talk to me or anybody else. Even during auditions, she barely sang.

"But during the play was great. She was singing loud enough that the crowd could hear her. People whistled at my singing. The crowd laughed all night. And then, when the crowd got quiet Sandy struck.

"She walked to the center of the stage and sat next to the kiddie pool, pushing her hand slowly through the water. Like this." Jon showed a demonstration, his hand gliding through the air.

"Music started, and then she sang. 'Guess mine is not the first heart broken'" Jon sand a couple lines before stopping and looking back at his grandson. "Shoot. I thought I was a good singer, nothing like her. I remember standing off to the side in my leather jacket, looking and thinking 'Wow. That girl's so beautiful.' She was under a spotlight, but even if she wasn't she would've been the only girl I'd see in the room. I made your grandma sing that song to me on our anniversary for the next twenty years."

"Grandma?" Timmy asked.

"Yes, grandma. That's how we met. I asked her out that night if she wanted to get a milkshake with me. She said yes, and the rest is history."

Timmys eyes were heavy. He was sitting forward but his chin was tucked into his chest. He started to breathe deeply, almost as much as his grandpa. The breaths came in from a rhythm that sang of sleep.

Jon stood up, put his arm behind the boy's head and gently laid him down onto his pillow. Kissed the top of his before tussling his hair, the turned back to the lamp. Deciding to keep it on, he left the room and cracked the door.

In the living room he was by himself as he played a song from his computer. Hopelessly devoted to you.