The People Upstairs

When I was younger, I used to fantasize about people living in my family's attic. I guess this is right along the lines of believing your stuffed animals held conversations and danced around when you were out of your room. (Which I still sometimes wonder about...)

Most kids would be terrified by this idea, but I was obsessed about it for a little while, thinking maybe this homeless man lived in my attic where all my old clothes, toys, and our Christmas tree rested. It would be hot up there in the summers, and with us home from school during the day with my school teacher mother, how would he be able to come down and take a break from the heat? Surely he would pass out during the noon hour. Of course he would have plenty of clothing to snuggle in when the winters came, but our winters never really call for heavy coats anyway.

And what did he do up there all day anyway? What grown man plays with kids old toys? Then I'd remember that my parents had encyclopedias up there. With all that knowledge, why didn't he just go out and impress some bigwig and get a job, then he wouldn't have to live in my attic anymore. But I really didn't mind...

The point of this rambling -- I had the most restless night last night. I woke up once and heard this fast walking coming from above. Ever wake up but your eyes are still closed? I tend to do that often and its kinda freaky. (Now I got you thinking about whether you have or not, right?) Anyway, I was suddenly displaced and back at my parents house and that was the first thing I thought of. If there were a man living in my attic when I was younger, that's exactly what it would sound like.