Unspoken 

Sleep is so nice. So, sooooo niiiiiice.

I can sleep forever. I can keep my head buried in my pillow, while I float away, float away, I have no idea where, it doesn’t matter, except that annoying beep — what’s beeping?

It’s kids. Kids singing, warbling, The wheels on the bus go beep, beep, beep.

But now they’re not singing. They’re crying. And hey, is that Shiri? Shiri, working as a playgroup morah, not an assistant, and I need to know whose brilliant idea it was to ask Shiri to cover for the absent                                                         . Shiri’s my sister — my 26-year-old baby sister — and I love her, despite, or maybe even because of, her special needs, and I know she needs to learn independence, but not real independence, we’ve discussed this a hundred times; she only needs to feel like she’s an adult, and let me tell you something — is anyone listening?  — finding yourself on your own with twelve screaming toddlers does not make you feel good, it makes you feel like an epic failure, and I bet Shiri will never agree to go help the regular playgroup morah cut all those craft projects again like she always loved doing, so what was the point? There’s pushing and there’s pushing too hard, and it’s Chavi, it’s always Chavi, pushing too hard, like if she’ll push Shiri hard enough, she’ll force her to stop having special needs. And also, aaaaaargh, I’m going to be sick. Gaaah. Glurp. Ggggg….

A flash of dull beige streaked with shapes that I think outlines the form of a chair — and maybe a person sitting in it? — fills my vision. I try discerning what I’m seeing, but then all I see is Shiri surrounded by twelve screaming toddlers, Chavi shoving more babies into the mayhem, cheering wildly, and… Ah. My head. This is nice. Sooo nice… gwooooaaaallllllllll….