The wooden bars on the sides of the canvas foldup bed pinch against me.  The bed threatens to fold and swallow me up.

All I can think of is my dad, who hardly said a word at dinner.  The tears start to well up.  I squint.   I force my eyes shut to keep the tears in.  No.  No.  I will not cry.  I learned not to cry about my dad a long time ago.

I open my eyes.  The whole sky is filled with stars, brighter than I remember seeing them.  Maybe the way to see them is to lie on your back on the street.  My brother said this street is called Star Street.

Now I lay me down to sleep

I pray thee lord my soul to keep

And if I die before I wake

I pray thee lord my soul to take

Sleep comes, as it always does.