Safety

One of the best presents I ever received was a goose down comforter in a soothing sage green. It has big, puffy squares that I squish around myself when I get in bed, which usually prompts me to stage whisper, "Poof poof!" I know it's just a blanket, but there's something meaningful in the comfort and safety I feel when I'm all wrapped up like a burrito. If my mood is dark and I'm spending too much time in bed, the comforter is armor against the world. I pull it over my head and play ostrich. Go away. Come back some other time. If it's cold in my room, I burrow, relishing the heat my body creates, lasting as long as I can until I feel claustrophobic and have to poke my face out for air. When it's time for a nap, there is no better feeling than the cool material as it crosses my skin, especially if it's the weekend and I have no obligations. I hit the bliss trifecta if it's raining when I lie down.

When I was a kid, I had a baby blanket that I kept until I was about 12. It was white and had puffy squares similar to my green comforter, albeit a denser material like a quilt. I loved that cover and called it Covey. It was my comfort until I was about 10, the same year my maternal grandmother visited my family and teased me for being too old to still have a baby blanket. The following year, I remember folding Covey in a panic and shoving it (her?) on a high shelf in the closet so I wouldn't be teased again by whomever was visiting. A year or so later, my family had moved to the Midwest. I guess I deemed myself too old to be seeking safety from a piece of fabric, even though I was still playing with Barbies after school. I cut Covey into pieces and, using a stencil-and-paint kit I had, decorated a square with a big, sloppy red heart pierced by an arrow. Even though Covey was ripped from years of use and was probably going to be tossed out by one of my well-meaning parents before too much longer, I still regret that decision.