Sleepovers at my grandparent's house always consisted of midnight trips for water and a snack. Once it started to get late, I waited for twelve thirty, and like a strict tradition that had to be followed, the routine kept me awake and ready to obey the clock when it turned to the right time--my grandmother not so much.
Sometimes she was already up, giving humming laughs to Bewitched or I Dream of Genie, other times I had to wake her up.
"Grandma," I started softly. "It's twelve thirty, we have to go downstairs."
It hurt me even then to wake her up in such an abrupt fashion, only an hour or so after she fell asleep, but I knew the tradition was worth it, she was always thrilled I decided to wake her up--not once did she turn me down.
Downstairs we went, and out of the cupboard I pulled small glasses that we filled and sipped from as we sat across from each other at the island countertop.
"So how are you Grandma?" I asked sincerely, sampling the water.
"I'm well," she smiled, her big brown eyes looking back at me through her 'night glasses,' the ones she needed when her contacts weren't in. "Thank you."
It was great. The soft lightbulb above the sink cast just enough light for us to see, yet kept enough darkness in the rest of the downstairs to keep our tired eyes from squinting. It was the only time I saw the house like this, tranquil and still. Coming down the steps after midnight brought us into another world, the quiet world that few get to see: the house at an early hour of the morning. I liked that idea, Grandma did too, I guessed. That's why we couldn't just stay in the living room until the right time, we had to go upstairs, and wait until the darkness prepared itself for us.
Minutes went by and we were done. I was relieved and usually fell asleep quickly in my grandmother's arms. She fell asleep too--most of the time.
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