My Monster

The monster in my closet has been with me as long as I can remember. Even when I moved he (or she, I have never asked) moved with me. It wasn’t a possession that the monster was tied to. He was there when I moved to Japan with nothing of mine but the clothes on my back which I had to burn. But that is another story.

So my monster, I call him Mitch for no particular reason, has always been there. When I was small, I used to sneak peanut butter sandwiches into my room at night to feed him. He was quite polite and finished them. I later found out that peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth which was quite uncomfortable. Tuna fish worked for a while. As I grew and my palate became more sophisticated so did his menu.

He would listen when I read him stories. He would comfort me with soft songs when I couldn’t sleep. Mitch was there when I had my heart broken in High School. He would sit and listen, making occasional sympathetic sounds in appropriate places. He was there when I won an award at the Senior end of year assembly. He made the most noise I had ever heard him make in celebration that night.

I was completely taken aback when I went away to college and he turned up in my dorm room closet. He managed to keep himself hidden from my roommate somehow for four years. I was pleased when he was there in my first apartment after graduation.

He has been a sure steady presence in my life and I had come to rely on that.

The biggest thing he ever did, and I imagine it was a huge act of bravery for him, was on the night I came home after being assaulted. I sat in the bathroom under the shower crying. I had brought a sharp blade from the kitchen. I had no intention of going on. I was just going to end my pain. He came in to the bathroom, gently took the blade from me, turned off the water and held me there, gently stroking my head and humming. I must have finally relaxed enough because I woke up the next morning nicely tucked into bed with my soft pajamas and my childhood bunny under my arm. His tender concern was a bulwark, a steady bit of ground that helped me over time to stand again and rebuild my life.

I call him the monster in my closet, but that is due to tradition. He has been the least monstrous person I have ever known.