One entry per year in the life of Richard Castle, at no particular given time, to be updated when he jumps up and down in my head and insists on it.
CHAPTER 1 - GOODNIGHT MOON
December, 1971 – 8 months
It was 2:30 a.m., and Martha Rodgers, aspiring Broadway star, exited a cab, hurrying to her apartment from an evening out after a performance. She stepped over a drunk on the stairway, let herself into the dingy building, and found the elevator out of order – again. With a sigh she kicked off her pumps and silently climbed the three flights to her floor. She padded down a long hallway lit with one dim yellow light bulb, to Apartment 309.
She slipped into the apartment and shut the door quietly behind her, throwing the bolt. Her roommate, Janie, had left the lava light by the door switched on, and its shapes caused blue light and shadow to shift around the room.
Martha went to the boys' room to check on them. She and Janie had created a comfortable system: each of them had a small bedroom, and they had converted the tiny dining room into a nursery. Janie had gone through a rocky divorce and worked a day job as a secretary while Martha watched the kids. Janie's four-year-old son, Derrick, was sound asleep on his toddler bed, a foot hanging off the side of the mattress, his long, blondish hair in cherubic, sweaty curls. He had kicked off his Space Ghost quilt.
On the other hand, Martha's son, Richard, was wide awake. She knew before she even came into the room, because, as usual, he was talking. Okay, at eight months he could only say a few words: Mama, Yay (that was Janie), Deh! (Derrick), Ba (ball) and boo' (book). Martha paused at the door, waiting, then peeked in. He was prattling to himself, holding a stiff cardboard baby book in his tiny hands. She'd read the book to him at least twice a day since he was born – Goodnight Moon. He was speaking quietly in a singsong voice, occasionally pausing to chew on a page or resettle his stuffed sock monkey.
Ee-a gay gee woo ewa a ho-oh aba weh bawoooo
ah ah eeya aba cow yiyi awwa da moo
aba tee ba beeya seeya ah shae
aba doo keekee aba payay me-me
aba coba buh, aba boda muh
aba gai yayyee oo ah wisabee HUJSH.
Martha realized from the distinctive pattern of his voice that he had memorized the book, and Derrick was sleeping through the whole performance, worn out by his tiny roommate's incessant activity.
She stepped quietly into the room and crouched down, watching her little man, completely absorbed in his book.
"Hey, Kiddo," she whispered. "Were you reading?"
Richard started, dropped the book and squealed, almost falling over with glee. She lifted him out of the crib and cuddled him close, his strong, round baby-arms tight on her neck. She dotted his little face with kisses. "Oh, you should be asleep, but I missed you so much!"
All he could say was "Mama! Weeba boo!" and point to it.
That was more than enough. "I thought you'd never ask," she grinned.
She laid a blanket down on the floor and set him on it, then reached back into his crib to grab his book. She said, "Would you care to read to Mother, Richard?"
He lay on his back, she handed him the book, and she helped him balance it on his tummy, opening it to the current page. Looking at the pictures, he murmured,
"Goobai moo.
Goonai cajapee obadamoo..."
Twenty minutes later, after he'd gone through the book twice more, he looked over to find his mother asleep. He already knew better than to wake her up. Mother was never very happy when he woke her up.
He smiled at her, and kept on 'reading'.
Author's note: illustration photo is from my daughter's babyhood; color enhanced but not otherwise altered. All I had to do was put the book on her tummy - of course she wasn't really 'reading' but she could keep herself quite entertained.
She looks rather like Nathan. Let's just say my DH is ruggedly handsome :-D