Madeleine L’Engle, author of one of the most famous books in the adolescent literature canon, A Wrinkle in Time, died last week. (Madeleine L’Engle: News)
A Wrinkle in Time was one of the first science fiction books I ever read, and it’s one that has stayed with me for twenty-some years now. I read it again in college for the required course on adolescent lit, and it was just as enchanting in my early twenties as it had been twelve or so years earlier.
It surely started earlier, but the first time I noticed my tendency to nod off was in high school. It was usually during first period, and that morning after friends and I had traveled to Blacksburg to see the Indigo Girls, it was almost impossible to fight. During church it was tough sometimes as well. It didn’t help that some sermons went for 90 or more minutes…
College wasn’t much better, but at least I finally began creating a nodding-off rhythm for myself. Around four every afternoon, it became unreasonable to do anything other than sleep. Nap, I called it, but it was really much deeper than that.
The triggers were more varied than the time of day, though. Reading often sent me into spasms of yawning, which is particularly problematic for an English major.
These days, it strikes in the early evening. This too can be problematic, for I have evening duty with the Girl, and it’s during that time that she’s particularly needy and wants a lap and snuggles: if we’re sitting in a chair, I’m always a little worried that she might somehow tumble out of my arms and bounce on her head a time or two.
The other evening, as I was nodding off, the Girl on my lap and snuggled into the crook of my arm, I noticed she’d suddenly become very calm as she was looking at her book. I looked over to see her eyes slowly closing, her head drifting forward until a sudden jerk brought her head back up and opened her eyes.
What a thing to inherit.