Part 1: The Nightmare of Childhood

My head is killing me. I stayed up way too late last night. What can you do when you are a parent? Sleep is the currency of parenthood, and boy do I spend it. It doesn't help that I had a few drinks for the first time in a few months. I've never been a big drinker, but when I got the chance I took it.

What did I even do last night? Played the mandolin a bit. I'd picked it up a few years ago, and nothing really relaxed me like a little music and singing. The kids liked the songs as well. Lena, did too, but maybe not as much with the constant hustle and bustle. That's why at night I would play in my office, with the doors closed, to give her some time to herself. She always wanted time to herself, rarely choosing to spend time with me. Doing chores, or something else that brought her no satisfaction. Even when I helped out, she would always find other chores to do, and then complain about how she didn't get a night to herself. It drove me crazy.

The headache made me turn onto my side, refusing to get up. The strange thing was that normally I woke up incredibly stiff. I experienced a neck injury on a bicycle in my early twenties, falling on my neck, and making it feel like I could tear my neck muscles every morning if I barely turned my neck. Instead, I felt great. Loose. It was nice. That meant, I would for sure be going back to sleep. The stiff neck, and the joints of my shoulders were what usually got me up earlier in the morning. I could settle in and sleep until the kids woke up. What a wonderful feeling.

My sense of small must of suddenly turned on, because I was hit with the surprisingly delicious smell of something cooking. Well that's pretty rare. Usually I get up before Lena. Smelled like... Eggs for sure, though I'm pretty sure there was some sausage there too. It immediately pulled me back to a time when I was young, a teenager, and my mom would make breakfast burritos. Oh boy, if those were breakfast burritos then this day just got good. I loved breakfast burritos. The boys loved them too. Gio, the oldest really loved eggs, them being practically the only thing he would scarf down.

He'd always been like that. The skinny little spider monkey, all skin and bones, could hardly sit himself down for any meal, but he loved eggs. I used to make him three whole eggs when he was about two years old, and he would eat them all every time. Not sure if a two year old was supposed to eat that many eggs, but I sure loved seeing him enjoy them.

Caleb, the youngest, at a little over a year and half, really just ate whatever you put in front of him. He's our bruiser. Our chubby boy. Even thinking of those cute chubby cheeks, made even larger with an ever ready smile, made me smile and warm in my chest. If Lara was up, that meant they were up, and she usually didn't wait for me to get going, so I should get up if I wanted to eat breakfast with them.

I rub my eyes to get the sleep out of them. I must have slept very soundly, because man were they crusty. On second thought, hopefully I didn't have pink eye. Gio and I had been watching some Avatar the Last Airbender on my phone, and he cuddles up on my head. Last night he coughed into my face. Like, directly into my eye. Little stinker. Oh well, I could get some eye drops. I might have enough left over from a year or so ago, when he gave me pink eye.

I look around the room, and frown. I pop up out of the bed, hitting my head on the bunk above me.

"Shit!" I exclaim.

"Excuse me?" Came a voice from the other side of the door. It was my mother's voice. "What'd you just say, Leo?"

"Ah, ah, uh." I couldn't say anything, my mouth flapping uselessly. What the hell was going on? I hadn't had a bunkbed since I was younger than sixteen. I don't remember exactly when they took it off and out of my room. It was one of those that it was actually two twins that could be stacked on top of each other, or settled side by side, exact copies.

It was a useless thought.

I hadn't been in my childhood home in ten years. And, my mom longer than that.

"Leo, did you hear me?" My mom called, as she knocked on the door.

"Yes! Sorry. I hit my head. I... I am sorry mom." My voice squeaks, and cracks. I try to clear my throat. "Be... Right there." It doesn't help.

"that's alright. Just wanted to tell you that I made some breakfast burritos downstairs. Come get them now if you want them hot."

"Uh... Yeah. Thanks." I spare beckoning of food and mother no more thought, though my stomach growls, and frantically push the covers off of me, so that I can jump out of bed. I rush to my sink in my room, where there's a mirror, and I look at myself. My eyes grow wide. Hair. For. Days. Why is this my first thought? Because I am a bald man. I always shave what remains, but now I not only see a smooth face that could barely grow a whisker, but a curly mess of brown thick locks. I reach up and touch it tenderly.

I wish my mind could be convinced that even for a moment this was a dream, but it was real. All too real. The smells, the pain from my head, the feeling of the tips of my hair brushing against my palm. It just couldn't be. But, I knew it was. My heart sank all the way to the bottom of my stomach, filling me with a wash of despair like sal de uvas dissolving in a cup of water.

Even if this had been a dream, it wouldn't have been a good one. It would have been a nightmare.