“The Sleepover”
A micro memoir by Taylor Wiedenmann (9).
“No,” my mother said. She stood erect and her eyes pierced through my soul, shattering any dreams of freedom. As tempted as I was, I refrained from making an interjection. I knew from her tone that her mind was firmly set, like a rock, and that complaining or begging would be of no use.
Minutes before, I gazed out the window as the clouds shifted across the brilliant blue sky that transitioned into a rosy sunset. Ping! My thoughts were interrupted by a text message. Celine, my friend, had asked if I could come to her house for a sleepover. I dashed down the stairs, beaming with joy, and went to ask my mom for her permission.
After hearing her response, my jaw clenched shut and my muscles tightened. Although I didn’t object at that moment, a lump of bitterness formed in my heart. Why couldn’t I have this one thing? I never get to go to sleepovers. My frustration must have been apparent because my mom then mentioned my unfinished work that lay in a heap on my desk and the quiz that I had yet to study for. Her reasoning was good, but I still scowled and dragged myself upstairs.
Upon returning to my room I reluctantly began to review for an upcoming quiz. My resentment lingered, even as I became immersed in my work. My arms were tense and I pressed down hard with my pencil, leaving messy gray marks on my papers. Even with her reasoning, I felt the need to protest in my head. It's not fair. How could she deprive me of such joy and freedom?
When I finished my work I watched the sun emit its final golden rays and begin to hide behind the Earth. I walked downstairs to converse with my mom, who was seated on the living room couch. Her stature seemed smaller and she motioned for me to sit beside her. She made a proposition where I would receive her permission to go to sleepovers if I was more responsible with my time and amended my poor habits. I agreed and any fiery words that I had wanted to say dissolved. My anger, like the sun, faded as day became night. As I got into my bed, a smile crept across my face. I knew that I would be able to go to sleepovers and that I had secured freedom for the future.
With time and maturity, I came to fully understand my mother’s decision. Her intent was never to restrict my freedom, instead, she wanted me to be more responsible. She knew too well my habits of neglecting my duties, and if I had attended the sleepover, I would have slept later and studied less. I now recognize the importance of a good night’s rest, especially in one’s adolescent years. I no longer feel frustrated with her regarding this event because I may have felt unprepared during my quiz if I attended the sleepover.