Brenda slept on the couch that night, the first night of summer, June 21st.  This couch was the couch in the front room, on the first floor, across from her parents’ bedroom, where her Beagle slept, next to the hall, where the doorbell chimes where embedded into the wall, two on each side of a larger.  To her side was a large window, and it was open.  The blinds were pulled up, the moonlight fell on her Pillow Pal that was on top of her chest.  Her arms were across Myrtle, like a seatbelt.  She guarded the turtle and it guarded her. 

She lay on her back, eyes wide shut to the ceiling that had no color.  Her toes stuck out from under the pink and teal quilt that she yanked out of the linen closet as she passed her parents’ bedroom, after she left her downstairs bedroom in restlessness and curiosity, of what life was like in medianoche on the first floor of the house.  The clicking sound of the furnace filled the room.  She grew unsatisfied in her position and flipped on her back, and when she did, Myrtle fell to the ground.  Even though Brenda’s movement was subtle, Myrtle fell a good six feet away from her, towards the windows and her feet.  She realized that any attempt to retrieve the Pillow Pal would take up much energy, and in any other situation she would breath heavily in defeat, but she realized that the rest of the house was asleep, and she didn’t want to wake anyone up, so instead, she lay there, anticipating what to do next.  She looked down to Myrtle.  Myrtle was lying on its side, so that its shell and tail was facing her.  With the light of the moon she could trace a faint green color of the sophisticated stuffed animal.

Brenda lay there for several minutes, gathering her strength.  Finally she rose, from the torso up, and gently lifted off the quilt.  She didn’t want to step on the hardwood floors, because she didn’t want to take the chance that they would creak, so she gathered herself to the very end of the couch, projected two-thirds of her body over the armrest, and lunged herself as much as she could forward, and tried to fetch the Pillow Pal.  In this attempt, she fell off of the couch, resulting in a moderately loud crashing noise.

Brenda sat frozen on the floor, in an awkward position, wincing, hoping that she had not woken her parents.  When the appropriate amount of time had passed and there was no one woken, she stood up, with Myrtle clutched in both her hands.  She was about to turn around and lie on the couch again, to meet a deep, dream-filled sleep, but her gaze caught a path of moonlight that fell over her street.  She stood in front of the window and watched as the wind met the leaves of the trees that lined her street.  She put her hand up against the screen and felt the cool of the summer night, and at that very moment, she felt like she had to be part of it. 

Brenda walked to the back door and continued to walk out to the back porch, locking the door behind her.  Her flip flops met the gravel of the sidewalk, and her bare arms met the cool breeze of the night.  Something told her she needed to be part of it, that being cooped inside of her house on the first real night of summer would haunt her for the rest of the summer.  She needed to be with someone.  She needed to hold hands with a guy, to walk down a beach listening to the crashing waves with him, to walk around her neighborhood with him and tell him what was really going on. 

There were so many places she could go, so many things she could do.  She decided to walk down the main street and catch whatever thrill may come her way.  It was in the dead of the night, and she was in her pajamas.  The streetlights leaned over her, along with the occasional car passing by.  She felt like she was in it all for herself, because she knew if her parents found out she went on this escapade, she would be in trouble, but some part of her told her that she needed it.  She needed to know what it was like to be on her own, at a time when she wasn’t supposed to be at all.

She was about to pass the local school when a car was about to pass her by.  She turned her head to see who was in the car, and noticed that it was a convertible, filled with boys a little younger than her, of maybe around fifteen or sixteen years of age.  They all had black hair and wide, deer-like eyes, that kindly met her gaze, with a great amount of energy.  She felt like she knew them from somewhere else, someplace that should matter more than the daytime; someplace and time like this one.  The way the headlights of the car left a reflection on the glass windows of the school reminded her of a project she had in photography, where she had to take a picture of a moving car in a certain way so that the motion of the car would be shown in a photo. 

The boys in the car didn’t turn to look at her, but she felt like they knew she was there.  Brenda and the boys in the car were the only people on the road, and the sidewalk, that could be seen.  At any other time she would have put a guard up and felt defensive, being all alone, but they drove away too fast for any exchange to occur.  As they drove by her she saw the reflection of the headlights veer off.

Brenda turned the corner and walked home.  She jumped the fence, as she had twenty minutes before, and took her keys out of her back pocket.  She opened the back door, slowly and quietly, shut it, locked it, and then waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.  She tiptoed into the front room, picked up Myrtle, and walked through the front hall to the stair case leading down to the basement.  She wanted to sleep on the sofa downstairs, where she could lay and watch any cars passing by, although she knew there would be few, if any.

Brenda unfolded the blanket at the foot of the sofa and covered herself with it.  She rested her head against a pillow, with Myrtle clutched in her hands.  She saw a few cars pass by, and the headlights glided by like sailboats.  Her eyelids became heavy and she was about to fall asleep when she saw a shadow at the window.  It could be nothing, she thought to herself, it could just be the bushes moving, but the fact that she was alone stuck out in her mind, and she froze.  The walk she took made her feel like she was all alone in the world, like it was up to her to survive, and she didn’t know how to survive this.  She picked up her blanket and pillow and walked into the laundry room.  She assembled herself on the ground and lay there for a few minutes, less terrified, and more disappointed that there was no one there to protect her.  She thought about the guys in the car.  They noticed her.  Their eyes were red, their expressions kind.  What would have happened if they had stopped to talk to her?  Would she be with them right now? 

Then she heard it, a knocking sound from the side of the wall.  She was facing the same wall as she was when she was on the sofa and she had seen the shadow at the window, so someone or something had knocked from the outside.  The thought that it was the guys in the convertible crossed her mind, but she had never met them before, and she hadn’t noticed anyone following her home.  It must have had something to do with someone else, something to do with the shadow. 

Brenda lay on the ground for hours.  She didn’t want to tell anyone because she was so intertwined in fear that she felt that nothing that anyone else could do could help the situation.  The ground was cold and hard.  She left the light on, one that was a single bulb without any sort of covering, that was in the corner of the room.  The basement door was behind her, the door that led to whatever was going on outside, whether that be good or bad, exciting or dangerous, here and now, or something meant for later.  All Brenda knew was that she wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night.