Chapter 3 - The Displacement Theory
The silence in the bedroom suddenly felt incredibly heavy.
The mother’s hand, holding the smartphone, dropped a fraction of an inch.
The camera lens bobbed, capturing the sharp, confused tightening of the father’s eyebrows.
The father let go of his heavy grey blanket.
His thick fingers unfurled, resting empty against his chest.
He stared at the tiny dictator in the blue fleece onesie.
He looked at the mother.
The mother’s lips were pressed tightly together, fighting a violent tremor of suppressed amusement.
The father looked back at the boy.
He calculated the square footage of the king-sized mattress.
He analyzed the sheer audacity of the spatial claim.
"Then which side is mine?"
The father’s voice was a low, gravelly rumble.
It vibrated in the quiet air of the room.
He wasn't angry.
He was genuinely trying to understand the sudden, aggressive rezoning of his own bedroom.
The toddler did not flinch.
He didn't pause to reconsider his legislation.
He simply raised his right arm.
The blue fleece sleeve bunched up around his tiny, dimpled elbow.
He extended a single, sticky index finger.
He pointed straight past the father’s chest.
He pointed past the glowing amber lamp on the nightstand.
May you like
He pointed directly into the dark, shadowy abyss that lay beyond the edge of the mattress.
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