Mimi

Mimi

Fourth floor

“What’s going on out there? Maman?” After everything I have learned the word still feels strange, painful.

“Shh,” she says, stroking my hair. “Shh, ma petite.”

I’m crouched on the bed, trembling. She came down to check on me. I’ve allowed her to sit beside me, to put an arm around my shoulders.

“Look,” she says. “Just stay in here, yes? I’m going to go out there and see what’s going on.”

I grab hold of her wrist. “No—please don’t leave me.” I hate the neediness in my voice, my need for her, but I can’t help it. “Please,” I say. “Maman.”

“Just for a couple of minutes,” she says. “I just have to make sure—”

“No. Please—don’t leave me here.”

“Mimi,” she says, sharply. “Let go of my arm, please.”

But I keep hanging onto her. In spite of everything I don’t want her to leave me. Because then I’d be left alone with my thoughts—like a little girl afraid of the monsters under the bed.