Around Eight-Thirty

I am never unfascinated when Ellie reads me a book. Every night, the red hen has wet legs. Or the hot dog plays with a bat. And every night I stare at a tiny face that is too young to comprehend but too smart to ignore. She finishes her books, and I start mine. The wild rumpus lays out over 3 whole pages and we growl and whoop and tear and claw and bang our knees like drums. We chase the wild things to bed. Then we lay down our own heads and say a prayer. She is thankful for daddy mommy grandma gretchen buela nana jesus. She asks for nothing. In the name of Jesus Christ. I kiss her on the forehead and close my eyes. She politely reminds me to kiss Tia the Lioness goodnight too. I kiss Tia. And Al. And Eleanor. And Giraffi. And Ellie one more time. She closes her eyes and races to sleep with an impossible grin on her face. Ellie’s face. The universe.