Quincy’s Midnight Blink Test — Under the round attic window, Quincy pressed his toes into the rug fringe and began his Midnight Blink Test. Read the full story →
Under the round attic window, Quincy pressed his toes into the rug fringe and began his Midnight Blink Test. He wanted to keep both eyes open until the crescent moon touched the middle window bar. The room smelled like pine needles and warm lampshade dust. Snow tapped the glass: tik, tik, tik. Quincy whispered, “No blinking, moon. I’m serious.” His eyelids answered with two tiny wobbles, but he sat straighter in his reindeer pajamas.
The moon moved slowly. The tree beads made faint click-clicks when the heater sighed. A present bow uncurled a little, as if it were stretching after a nap. Quincy counted roof chimneys outside, then pillow trees, then every star on his knees. Patience felt like sitting inside a yawn and not letting it out.
Just when the moon reached the bar, Quincy noticed the framed snowy picture on the wall: its painted little moon had reached its painted little tree at the same moment. The lamp pull swung once, very proud. The whole bedroom had been playing, waiting without blinking at all. Next time you see Quincy by that round window, check the wall frame too—maybe it is trying to beat him by one quiet blink.
