A sleepover

Kirstin has been invited to her first slumber party. Her friend Ariel is celebrating her birthday this Saturday, and Kirstin is delighted to be included. I am really glad she gets to go! Ariel sings with her in choir, and I guess the girls have been getting to know each other and playing together quite a bit. It's been a slow process for Kirstin to make friends in Eaton Rapids; I'm glad she's been successful.

I remember my first slumber party very well. As hard as we all tried not to prattle on about it at school, all of the other kids knew that something was going on, and they felt left out, I think. My friend Betsy had only been able to invite 8 girls, and that left the entire rest of our class wondering why they weren't picked. I was lucky, because I'd known Betsy since preschool, and we went to church together.

I don't remember how old I was, but I remember that first night on a floor in my sleeping bag quite clearly. We were given free reign on the top floor of Betsy's 100-year-old house. There was a large common room up there, which her family reserved as a playroom/rec room for the kids. We lined our sleeping bags in a row, and proceeded to do all the things silly girls do at such events. We told scary stories, played a few games, and I think we played with barbie dolls for a while, too. When we finally decided to go to bed, Betsy's house took over in the entertainment department. I had never slept in a house older than I was, so the creaks and groans of the century-old wooden frame were new to me, and quite frightening. Betsy's house was creepier than most; the door frames would swell in the dampness, and shrink again when it was dry, causing doors to swing open in the middle of the night with a loud, slow, creak. We were certain we heard footsteps on the ancient wooden stairs, creaking this way and that. What's more, some enterprising young lady from another room could use the old wiring to make the lights in the playroom flicker on and off.

I remember we scared poor Linsday so much that she ran right out of there.

I also still remember the tale that Betsy told us, as we huddled in our blankets. Betsy was (and probably still is) a master storyteller, and an excellent writer. According to Betsy, her house was one of two houses built as part of a competition between two brothers. They were both architects, and were competing to build the best house; I think there was some sort of cash prize for the winner.

Eli, the builder of Betsy's house, won the prize, and apparently wasn't a great sport about it, or his brother may have been a sore loser. In any case, Eli's brother is said to have murdered him by pushing his wheelchair down Betsy's narrow, steep staircase. The creaks on the stairs at the time of the slumber party were the sounds of the ghost of Eli, looking for his brother, and seeking revenge for the one-hundred-year-old injustice.

Of course the story was terrifying to me at the time; but I remember that I didn't want to look daft in front of the other girls, so I got one of my first experiences in life of covering up my own fear with a mask of confidence.

It must have worked, because I wasn't the one who woke up with peanut butter on her toes.

On a less creepy note, I'm going to my 7th physical therapy session now, and it feels like the 700th. It really isn't much fun; but I have to fly.