My sister and I had bunk beds part of the time when we were growing up. Since my sister is older, she had first dibs on the upper bunk, but I know I slept up there at least once because I remember falling out of bed. My parents came into the room and my father picked me up to check for broken bones. I even remember dreaming that I was falling into an alligator pit.
My fear of alligators stemmed, I’m sure, from the fact that there was an alligator park in our downtown. City planners could have built a botanical garden, an amusement park, or a duck pond. Instead they built a pond full of alligators.
“Kids, get in the car and let’s go see Oscar and Sally, the alligators with the big, shiny teeth. Did you know that they can chase you down if you fall in and try to run away?”
Maybe you’re living in Florida where people have these as pets, or in Louisiana where people hit them over their heads for their shoes and then eat them. The alligators, not the shoes. But I’m talking El Paso, Texas out in the middle of the desert. And all that separated little you from big them was a short “protective” fence.
But back to sleeping arrangements.
My sister and I also shared a double bed at one point. Since my parents couldn’t find a bed with a built-in wall down the middle, my sister drew an imaginary line to keep me from entering her territory.
Honoring the line was easy in daylight, but not at night. I was petrified of the dark. After alligators, my biggest fear was that my sister would turn into a witch. Perhaps because I had bonked myself silly, I believed that if I touched her, she would remain my sister, and I would save her from witchiness. So, I would dutifully remain on my side, waiting for her to fall asleep and then would slowly slide my hand or foot across the no-fly zone to touch her. And, of course, she would always be awake and yell, “Mom, she’s touching me!”
The sliding, the touching, and yelling would happen several times each night until one or the other of us fell asleep. It was exhausting.
In private, when my sister and I share these memories, I always say, “See what happened. You should have let me touch you.”
But I never say that in public.
(The picture is from:
and you can build one yourself.)
12 thoughts on “The imaginary line”
Wow, I wish we had alligator parks here! That would be so cool, I love alligators. It’s so cruel that people flush them down the toilet (is that true? I doubt they’d fit). You’re very sweet to try and save your sister from becoming a witch ahah :> I used to have a bunk bed (it was actually just a top bunk with shelves and stuff underneath). I actually had it until about a year and a half ago; my biggest fear once I’d turned off the light was that while climbing the ladder, some creature would grab my ankle and pull me down, later devouring me alive. The fears we have as children (or young adults) are strange ahahah :>
I’ve heard that before about flushing alligators down the toilet, but it’s probably just an urban myth. The dark holds fear for people of all ages. I like my night light here and there, just in case. : )
Until I left home for college, my younger sister and I shared a double bed too. We would help each other fall asleep by scratching each other’s backs. So neither of us turned into witches and we stayed warm and cozy in nordern Minnesoda eh?
See how nice you were to scratch each other’s backs. I did some scratching, too, but not in a nice way. : ) My sister has all kinds of stories she could tell. I’m so glad she hasn’t started a blog yet.
That’s funny. I used to be terrified of alligators too. I always though they would crawl in my bed. In Pennsylvania you really don’t see them outside of reptile parks and we don’t have any reptile parks. Must have been some weird cartoon I watched.
It must be all those big, shiny teeth and the way they seem to be grinning.
So does this mean that I can blame you for being a witch now? Really, little sis, I’m beginning to feel defamed. Surely you can tell all these nice people a happy story about me?
You know that I love you. And yes, I have some witchery about me. I will tell a sweet story tomorrow.
Based on these comments, I am now grateful for spending most of my childhood without a bed. I’m not going for pity here, I’m truly feeling grateful; can you imagine me having to worry about alligators, witches, and children-eating creatures?
Sometimes the imagination can be worse than reality. But I also know that we cannot imagine how awful reality is for some people.
I am very thankful that an ocean separates me from an alligator park. I love the humour in this post and look forward to reading your sister’s blog should she ever start to writhe one!
She is supposed to write a post for this blog. She is smart and funny, but I still like her.