DITD Chapter 6
Drawn in the Dark
“Yikes!” I yelped, spinning around.
It was just Mom, gently touching my arm.
She jumped back, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah!” My heart pounded, “I was drawing and got lost in it.”
She smiled softly, “I didn’t mean to startle you. Just wanted to check in.”
Her eyes flicked down to the paper. She’d seen my drawings before. At first, she’d tried steering me to “nicer” things. But eventually she stopped. She said taking something scary and turning it into something good was a gift. Writers and artists did it all the time.
“What are you working on?” she asked.
I took a deep breath and answered, “I’m still having nightmares. Grayson said I should try drawing them out. Maybe then I’ll sleep better and stop zoning out in class so much.”
“That explains the email I got today.”
I frowned, “What email?”
“Your teacher says that you’re daydreaming too much, and it’s causing problems.”
My eyes dropped to the floor.
“Hey,” Mom touched my cheek, “You’re not in trouble. We’ve had a lot going on. And your grades show you’re still keeping up. Even with zoning out, you make it work.”
“The schoolwork is easy! She’s teaching stuff I already know. I’m not talking. I’m not distracting anyone. Why won’t she just leave me alone? Isn’t getting good grades enough?” My voice cracked, rising, trembling with frustration and hurt.
Mom blinked, surprised, “Did something happen?”
I hesitated. One voice inside whispered, Don’t tell her. She has enough to handle.
Another louder one said: Tell her.
So I did.
I spilled everything. The hallway talks that made me feel isolated and small. The glares that stung with judgment. The scolding that left me tense and anxious. The pressure to answer when I didn’t even know what to say.
By the end, my eyes burned red. I hadn’t cried, but I was close.
Mom bit her lip, nodding, eyes fixed on the floor. She picked at her nails, deep in thought.
“I’m going to handle it,” she said at last.
My stomach knotted, “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m going to handle it,” she repeated. “When she emailed me, she asked for a parent-teacher meeting. Now that I’ve heard your side, I’ll get hers. Maybe we can figure something out.”
I nodded, still uneasy.
“Grayson was right, by the way,” my mom said.
I looked up.
She smiled faintly, “I had nightmares, too. I never drew them, but I wrote them down. I learned how to recognize when I was dreaming. That helped make them less scary. Writing them down made them just stories.”
“Wait—you’re saying you don’t have nightmares anymore?”
She laughed, “Not quite. But I don’t panic like I used to. Your brain can’t tell the difference between dreams and real life, so the fear feels real. But if you can figure out that you’re dreaming, you take back some control.”
I leaned back, muttering, “Hm.”
“I’d love to see the finished drawing when you’re done,” she said, “Maybe we can compare notes.”
She winked.
I smiled and nodded. She kissed my forehead, then slipped out.
I looked down at the paper.
There’s no way I can draw every nightmare tonight… but maybe I can draw enough to give my brain an advantage like mom has.
Hope flickered in my chest, lifting some of the heaviness in my heart and making me feel lighter for a moment.
This would be my best drawing yet.
Details and all.