My First Memory

 

  I was lying in bed, although I was fairly certain it was a crib. It was dark and I remember thinking I should be asleep. I could hear the sounds of the house creaking, settling down for the night. I was afraid of the sounds, but not the darkness.
  I could hear the blood pounding in my ears, and I imagined it was the sound of soldiers marching across the floor, coming to get me. I knew about soldiers because my dad was one. I knew we lived in England because my mom mentioned it often. I knew my brother Scott was asleep in the same room. I wondered if he could hear the soldiers marching.
  I pulled the covers over my head and tried to shut out the noise, but it did little to muffle my runaway imagination.
  I've always had an imagination, coupled with insomnia. I've always heard the house creak at night. It was particularly bothersome years later when we lived in a Victorian white elephant that creaked all the time, day and night. I didn't have a decent night's sleep until I went away to college. The dorm was quieter than the house.
  I have many memories of sleepless nights, my ears perked up to note every creak, snore, or meow. I've written novels in my mind during those sleepless nights, so the time was never wasted.