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I was five years old and he was nearly three. Relatives visiting from out of town were using my brother's bedroom, so my mother had put him in my bed. It was a single bed and he was at the foot of it rather than next to me.

As usual, she had put us to bed far too early. I've always felt that this is where my lifelong curse of insomnia came from, being put to bed before I was sleepy. This particular night I was lying there, running stories in my head as I did whenever I could not fall asleep. Gradually I became aware of a noise coming from the other end of the bed:

Shussh. Shussh. Shusssssh-shusssh.

I knew exactly what he was doing and I whispered, "Raymond, what story are you playing?"

"Gas station", he said. "I'm pumping gas."

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