That night, Noah had done his whole bedtime routine. Bath. The pajamas with the little yellow stars. Teeth, top, bottom, and all the way at the back. Then Mom turned off the big light and turned on the moon-shaped night light.
“Good night, sweetheart.” “Good night, Mom.”
The door stayed open a crack, just enough to let in a ray of light from the hallway. Noah snuggled under his blanket. Everything was calm.
Then, from under the bed, he heard a tiny noise.
Boom.
Noah opened one eye.
Boom… boom.
It wasn't a big noise. It was a very small noise, a noise that trembled a little. Noah leaned over the edge of the bed, very slowly, and looked underneath.
Two big shiny eyes were looking back at him.
“Oh,” Noah whispered. “A dinosaur!”
It was a tiny tyrannosaurus, green as an apple, with teeny arms and a tail wrapped around himself like a blanket. He was shaking so hard that his feet went boom, boom on the floor.
“My name is Boum,” the dinosaur whispered. “Sorry about the noise. It's just that… I'm afraid of the dark.”
Noah blinked. A dinosaur, a real one, afraid of the dark?
“But you're a T. rex,” said Noah. “T. rexes aren't afraid of anything.” “The big ones, maybe,” said Boum. “I'm little. And the dark is so… dark.”
Noah remembered when he, too, used to find the night too big. He held out his hand.
“Come on. I'll show you a secret.”
Boum came out from under the bed and climbed onto the blanket, a little clumsily. His arms really were very small.
“The secret,” said Noah, “is that the dark is never empty. Look closely.”
He pointed at the shelf. “That's my teddy bear. He's sleeping. That's my fire truck. It's sleeping too. In the daytime, they play with me. At night, they rest, just like us.”
Boum squinted. In the glow of the night light, he recognized the teddy bear, the truck, the pile of books. It was true: they did look like they were sleeping.
“And that?” Boum asked with a jump. “That noise?”
Mmmmmm, went the house.
“That's the fridge,” said Noah. “It hums very softly to keep the milk cold. And that” (he listened carefully) “is Mom and Dad talking in the living room. They're right there.”
Boum listened. The fridge humming. The soft voices, far away. The wind brushing against the window, very gently, like a hand in your hair.
“The dark is full of things you know,” said Noah. “They're just quieter.”
Boum took a big breath. Then another, too fast. “My heart is still going boom, boom,” he admitted.
“I have a trick for that too,” said Noah. “It's called the dinosaur breath. You pretend to smell a flower…” (he breathed in slowly through his nose) “…then you blow out a birthday candle, very gently.”
He blew. Fffffff.
Boum tried. He smelled the pretend flower. He blew out the pretend candle. Fffffff.
“Again,” said Noah.
The flower. The candle. The flower. The candle.
With every breath, Boum's heart went a little less boom, boom, and a little more boom… boom…, very slowly, like a lullaby.
Through the window, the moon was watching them. It drew silver shapes on the wall: a mountain, a cloud, and even (Boum was sure of it) a little dinosaur.
“See?” Noah whispered. “Even the moon is watching over us.”
Boum curled up against Noah, his green tail wrapped around Noah's foot. His eyes were closing all by themselves.
“Noah?” “Hmm?” “Tomorrow night… can I come back?” “Of course. You can even bring your blankie.” “I don't have a blankie,” Boum yawned. “Then we'll find one together.”
The flower. The candle. The fridge humming. The voices nearby. The moon shining.
And in Noah's room, two little hearts slowed down, and down, until they were beating together, very softly.
Boom. Boom.
Good night.
