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Midnight Shadows
I’ve never liked light very much. Darkness has always been so much simpler, much more peaceful. In darkness you can hide,
possibly disappear forever. But light, light awakens you, pulls you in by the grasp of its sprightly handshake. It pours over
you, illuminating that which was hidden in the absence of the glow. Crevices, nooks, crannies; they all spring to life at
the luminescence of a light bulb.
For me, reading has always been an act overlooked by midnight shadows. Just outside my flicker of candlelight, these imaginary
dancing figures poise over me, threateningly, infringing and ready to pounce on the island of my safety.
Nonetheless, I read avidly, feverishly, devouring numerous succinct titles, some of splendor, some more insignificant scraps
of paper bound by a cover.
Now and then, I become entwined and enthralled in the rapture of two novels at once. Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code and Antonia
Fraser’s Marie Antoinette collide in the depths of my mind. Their make-believe surrounds my reality. I hastily read a chapter
in one book, hurriedly return to the other, and so on. Nothing can shake me from their enchanting grip.
Suddenly, footsteps approach. The gentle pitter-patter of slippers on a wooden floor, definitely not the sound Robert Langdon’s
hurried pace or Marie Antoinette’s exorbitant slippers. Someone takes a breath; the candle’s light fades away, plucking me
out of my trance. For a flicker of a moment, darkness washes over me. Swiftly, a light is turned on.
Out of the darkness, two figures emerge, transitioning me back into the world. I glance at the clock: 6:44 a.m. Mom and Dad
are awake.
I close the book in my hand.
“Welcome back.” They smile in unison.
I get up from my bed to hug them, and I grin, too, for no longer am I lost in the translation of my imagination.
Rebecca Temerario
16-years-old daughter of Debra (Fischer) Temerario ’73, Journalism
Lorain, Ohio
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