The Pillow Train to Sleep

On nights when sleep took a little longer to arrive, Ishaan liked to build a quiet picture in his mind.

It always began the same way.

His pillow became the front of a tiny train. His blanket became the soft roof of the train car. The stripes on the bedsheet became silver tracks running through the dark, not fast and noisy, but slow and gentle.

Amma knew about the picture train. That was why she would straighten the edge of the blanket and say, 'Your night train is ready when you are.'

Before climbing aboard, Ishaan followed his usual stops.

First stop: drink a sip of water.

Second stop: put the storybook on the side table.

Third stop: pull the curtain until only a little moonlight remained.

Fourth stop: climb into bed and tuck one foot, then the other, under the blanket.

When everything was ready, the train began moving in his thoughts.

The first station was called Busy Day Junction. At that stop, Ishaan imagined leaving behind all the quick things from the day: the running in the corridor, the clatter of lunch boxes, the loud whistle from sports time, the question he had forgotten to answer in class.

The second station was called Worry Bridge. At that stop, he pictured taking one small worry from his mind and setting it down on the platform. Sometimes it was a worry about tomorrow's spelling words. Sometimes it was a worry about whether the rain would stop before school. Once it was a worry about a broken crayon that had snapped in half.

The train did not ask him to solve the worry right then. It only asked him to set it down for the night.

The third station was called Soft Sound Halt. There he listened to real sounds in the room and changed them into train sounds. The fan became a faraway humming track. Amma washing one last cup in the kitchen became a tiny station bell. A scooter outside became another train going home somewhere else in the city.

By the fourth stop, the train lights had dimmed. The blanket felt warmer. The pillow train moved more slowly.

At the final station, called Dream Meadow, no one had to do anything at all. The train simply stopped in a field full of still air and silver grass. The doors opened. The night felt wide and safe.

That was usually the moment when Ishaan could no longer remember the next part of the story, because sleep had stepped aboard and taken the seat beside him.

In the morning, the pillow was just a pillow again.

But at night, when needed, it always knew how to become a train.