The night of the sleepover arrived. Like a group of teenagers we all showed up nervous and giggly, with our sleeping bags, overnight bags, and grocery store bags full of snacks.
Linda sent Allen up to their bedroom with a plate of supper and strict instructions that he was not to come downstairs again until morning.
But even with Allen way upstairs in the bedroom it changed the tone of the sleepover. We were too shy to sing in case he could hear us, so karaoke got dropped from the agenda.
We watched a movie, but every 15 minutes or so, Allen called down the stairs, “Can you turn it down a little?!” or “When are you going to go to sleep?” “I can’t sleep with all the laughing.”
The beauty part of the evening was performed with hushed giggles and whispers.
Although sleeping bags had sounded like such a fun idea, we forgot about the fact that it had been about 15 years since any of us had slept on the floor and still managed to walk upright the following morning. Sleeping on the floor is only fun when you’re young.
In spite of my determination to stay awake all night, by 11:00 pm the others had all fallen asleep, and I realized there was no way I would be able to stay awake all night. I decided that I would just have to wake up first and try to fix the damage before anyone saw me in the morning.
Allen got up early and left for work. We all slept through it.
I didn’t wake up first. I didn’t repair the damage.
Read the final part of The Sleepover.