I woke up staring at my bedroom ceiling while I was screaming my head off to a dream I don’t remember. It was dark and cold in my room, even with my 2 blankets wrapped around me. I rushed to get up and run into my older brother’s room. I ran and hugged him as I always did when I had a nightmare. But this time he was awake, he asked me “What’s wrong” I told him about how I had a nightmare. What I was used to happening every time I had a nightmare was sleeping in the same bed as him. Although today wasn’t normal, my parents who normally worked until 9 and got home at 10 had to stay late. The snow wasn’t helping either to get home quicker. We were used to staying at home alone, it was something we always did. But everyday we would go to sleep with our parents in the next room. Today was the outlier and because it was it had created a rift in our schedule. As I went to sit in his warm bed I was instantly comforted by the difference. That warm feeling when you know whoever has left or came into your life, that person will always be there no matter what. As I stared at the giant cars pillow behind me I was broken out of my trance of staring at the eyes of the cars. As he told me to go and pick up a book from the shelf outside. I picked The Very Hungry Caterpillar, my favorite book in the whole world at that time. We sat together as we turned to the first page. Crumpled with all of the times my hands turned the page. My brother started off the book like every other time we read together. “In the light of the moon a little egg lay on the leaf” and ofcourse the next page was mine as I sounded out the long word caterpillar in my stuttering voice while my brother just listened.”One sunday morning the warm sun…”

My brother was the reason for my love of reading, to me loving reading was a way to show my appreciation to him. We are 4 years apart so the idea of a 10 year old wanting to be with a 6 year old when their friends are right there is not always positive. Reading to him has always been something difficult that he never seemed to grasp. Although that would never turn him away from reading to me. The idea of reading to me seemed less and less appealing as I went to school. I was said to be “advanced” at reading, at school it was something I was proud of. The way my parents and teachers praised me for having given it a new meaning at school. Though the second I got home it was wanted. I had always wanted to keep academic and home life separate as a child. If I was praised at school the idea of telling my family chipped me away. It wasn’t that I was not proud of it but going home and telling my family when I would see my brother struggling was something I enjoyed doing. It ended up being a type of punishment to myself at home. 

Slowly as the fascination of reading dwindled at home, so did the one at school. Reading wasn’t fun at school like it used to be. There were no story times or books that you could pick out anymore. I started only reading the books that were said to be in the curriculum of the class. My vision on reading turned from fun, exciting to a type of restrictive manner. It ended up feeling like a chore at the end of the day. Something you would do just to get it over with. 

To this day the feeling that reading gives me isn’t always like what it did as a kid. That will probably never reset back to that original position. Although there are times when I will be fixated on one book and finish it in one day. When that happens I think of younger me and how she would have loved it if I stayed like that. In the moment of happiness.