Kids
I love working with kids because of their ability to surprise me. For many years I’ve been living inside their closets, and every time they see me or feel me the situation is different: some cry, some have nightmares, some wet the bed. That’s when my favorite part begins: Some kids smile maliciously and ask their fathers to read them stories over and over, while the grownups battle a mixture of fatigue and guilt. Still others ask their mothers to sleep with them, contemplating their darkest fantasies—they hate their fathers, who get to smell their mothers’ hair every evening. But on my last job, I was living inside a boy’s closet when he walked up to me with a question.
“Hi. Do you want to be my friend?”
“Why do you want to be friends with the monster in your closet?” I didn’t emerge from the shadows.
“Because I don’t have any friends. Nobody wants to play with the son of the hangman.”
From that moment on, we went together to the other kids’ closets. We had such wonderful times. It’s a pity he grew up so fast.
