Under Adrian's Bed

By Marilyn Claus

  

Amy and Adrian on top of bed with animals that eventually ended up underneath.

The following is not a book from my childhood, but a poem, written by my Mother when I was about 10 years old.  Here, in a longer post than usual, I’ve copied not only the poem, but also the essay I wrote on the same topic when I was in high school.

UNDER ADRIAN’S BED

There are catalogs,

Games and dirty socks,

Shells and books

And even rocks.

Candy wrappers,

Homework, lost?

Underwear,

Carelessly tossed.

Cookie crumbs,

A long lost mitten.

Naked doll and

Small stuffed kitten.

Vacuum cleaner,

Please look out when

Probing with your eager snout…

Under Adrian’s bed!

This poem, written by my mother about seven years ago, describes the former conditions of the nether regions of my bed.  Walking into my bedroom at the time the poem was written, one would see an average little girl’s room, kept fairly neat.  Only one characteristic gave the room a different look.  Odds and ends of various stuffed animals, books and clothing protruded from underneath the bed.  A faint cloud of dust would rise as a person sat down on my bed.

Over the years, I began to refrain from stowing things under my bed.  One reason may be the teasing I received.  If I asked my sister where Mom is, she’d tell me to look under my bed.  If some silverware was lost, she’d say that it’s probably under my bed.  Also, although I knew at all times what was under the bed, I went through great difficulty retrieving what I needed.  Whatever it was that I wanted would usually be located in the middle of the mess, and I’d have to drag everything else out to get at it.  If I lifted the edge of the quilt to look under the bed, the dust would overwhelm me, sending me off into a coughing fit.  Therefore, I had to come up for fresh air every few seconds.

One incident that encouraged me to change my messy ways stands out in my memory.  It was a Sunday night when I lay awake in bed, dreading going to school the next day.  As I was drifting off to sleep, I heard a rustling sound coming from under my bed.  My heart began to beat wildly and I froze in terror.  I thought of what I had tucked under there that could be alive.  I remembered a few dirty dishes that had been under there for several days, and thought perhaps a small animal could have cultivated in them.  The rustling grew louder, and soon the bed began to shake.  I couldn’t stand the suspense any longer so I leaped from under the covers, dashed to the door, and flipped on the light.  As I stood in the doorway, the rustling grew even more intense.  Getting a sudden burst of courage, I walked carefully back to my bed and flipped the covers up.  Sitting beneath was the family dachshund, obviously disturbed at my intrusion on her privacy.  I breathed a sigh of relief, and vowed right there to clean up my act and remove all junk from beneath the bed.

Now, years later, although the teasing has died down some, I am still reminded of the former conditions beneath my bed.

“Who has the car?” someone asks.

My sister jokingly replies, “Look under Adrian’s bed.”

I reply, all too seriously, “It’s probably in my closet”.

                                   

 Adrian Claus, age 17