We All Sleep in the Same Room by Paul Rome

turn to check on Ben. Cub-like, zipped into footed pajamas, his wide-eyed stillness suggests that he’s witnessed something otherworldly. For a time, the three of us remain as we are, standing together in our bedroom. I listen to them breathe. I breathe too and feel calm.
    I lift my son. His fuzzy arms and legs wrap around me. Raina wraps her arms around both of us. Then I place Ben back into his bed and draw up the blanket.
    â€œI guess Daddy had a bad dream,” I say. The clock by the window reads 3:48 a.m. “Let’s all sleep in today.”
    My mind travels back inside the circus tent to the end of the first act, where Jacques is once again being swung side to side, the lights shifting from pink to yellow to deep red and fiery orange.
    * * *
    9:15. I wake in a deserted room. The last time I slept this late it was a different decade.
    I discover Ben, showered and dressed, seated cross-legged on the living room carpet, a few feet from the television. Dora the Explorer . A veteran of almost every episode, my son replies to Dora’s questions efficiently and unemotionally, in a quiet, composed voice.
    Raina is hunched over the kitchen sink scrubbing a frying pan.
    â€œGood morning,” I say. “How did you sleep?”
    â€œMiserably,” she says. “I’ve been up since four. I was way too shaken to fall back asleep. Tom, you scared the crap out of me last night.”
    â€œSorry about that.”
    â€œI honestly thought someone was murdering you, or you were choking. You made these awful, high-pitched screams. I mean, are you alright? Do you remember the dream?”
    â€œI’m not sure. Someone was trying to strangle me. But I’m alright now. I actually feel really good, refreshed.” I note Raina’s sullen expression and the dark circles under her eyes.
    â€œBen’s already a half-hour late for school,” she says. “I don’t need to be at the office until one.” She’s being passive aggressive.
    â€œHow about I play hookie with Ben and let you sleep a few more hours?” I say.
    Requiring no further encouragement, she sets down the pan, puts a hand on my arm and mutters, “I’m glad you’re not dead,” and retreats to the bedroom. She forgot to say goodbye to Ben.
    I walk over and give him a kiss. “I’m going to take a quick shower and then I’ll be ready to play. No school today.”
    â€œOkay, Daddy.”
    On my way into the bathroom, I pause in front of Raina’s Olympus camera, slung, in its faded orange carrying case, over the back of a chair. It was probably her favorite possession for most of the years I’ve known her—the accomplice used to realize her most personal visions, her creative life. When Ben was born, she’d switched to digital to more easily distribute his picture among family and friends.
    * * *
    â€œI don’t want to go to the park!” Ben snaps and begins a mad crawl to the TV set, which accelerates into a dash in the direction of the bedroom, to his mom. I spring and clasp him from behind—hands fast on his hips. His legs and arms flail. He twists around and tries to scratch my face.
    â€œHey!” I say. “Listen to me. Your mom had a rough night. She needs sleep. Don’t you dare wake her up.” I stop and calm myself. I need a tactic. “Listen, I’m not taking you to school today. Now, Halloween’s not for another three days, but do you want to wear your costume to the park?”
    He doesn’t look convinced.
    â€œYou don’t want to be Superman?”
    â€œYeah! Daddy, I want to be Superman!”
    I’m unlocking the front door, when my mind returns to the chair in the living room where Raina’s camera hangs in its case. Ben is chomping at the bit now. I dart back inside and loop the camera over my neck. Up, up, and away.
    * * *
    Ben bounds ahead. I jog close, chasing the red cape. Two different women put