{"id":472,"date":"2025-11-22T05:51:22","date_gmt":"2025-11-22T05:51:22","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/?page_id=472"},"modified":"2025-11-22T07:13:01","modified_gmt":"2025-11-22T07:13:01","slug":"dance-of-the-sleepwalkers","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/fiction\/dance-of-the-sleepwalkers\/","title":{"rendered":"Dance of the\u00a0Sleepwalkers"},"content":{"rendered":"

Wolfgang Wright<\/span><\/p>\n

My\u00a0freshman\u00a0roommate was a sleepwalker.\u00a0You\u2019d\u00a0think he might have\u00a0bothered to mention\u00a0that\u00a0when we first moved in together,\u00a0so\u00a0I\u2019d\u00a0be\u00a0prepped\u00a0if and when\u00a0it ever occurred, but no,\u00a0apparently\u00a0he thought\u00a0it\u2019d\u00a0be\u00a0a lot\u00a0more exciting\u00a0to let me\u00a0find out the hard way. One night, while I was fast asleep, I felt\u00a0a sharp\u00a0poke\u00a0in my\u00a0side, just below my favorite rib, and when\u00a0I awoke, there he was,\u00a0towering\u00a0over me\u00a0like a monolith,\u00a0his thick thighs pressing up against my\u00a0bite-sized\u00a0dorm room\u00a0mattress.\u00a0Naturally,\u00a0I asked him\u00a0what\u00a0the hell\u00a0he was doing,\u00a0what\u2019s\u00a0the emergency,\u00a0but he\u00a0just stared at me, blankly, like he was trying out for a job\u00a0as\u00a0a\u00a0department store mannequin.\u00a0So\u00a0I said his name, \u201cAlan,\u201d and when that\u00a0failed to\u00a0elicit a response, I said\u00a0it\u00a0again, this time with some punch:\u00a0\u201cAlan<\/i>.\u201d That shook him. He put his hands out like he was about to fall over, right on top of me, but at the last second caught himself and somehow managed to remain on his feet. He mumbled something about the Twins–it had been a tough season–then went back to bed, his own bed, a whole three feet away from mine. A few seconds later he was snoring, another treat he\u2019d neglected to alert me of.<\/span><\/p>\n

The\u00a0next day, as I yawned my way\u00a0through Intro. to American\u00a0Lit., I kept thinking about\u00a0The Incident<\/i>, which was what I\u2019d come to call it, italics and all. It was bad enough I\u2019d come from a small town with a population punier than the number of students enrolled on campus, but I was also an only child, had always had a room to myself, and now in my first experience of having to divide up my breathing space with a fellow human being, that being had assaulted me in the night!<\/span><\/p>\n

Later, when I got back to my\u00a0dorm\u00a0room,\u00a0full of Melvillian pomp,\u00a0I\u00a0confronted Alan\u00a0about\u00a0The Incident<\/i>.<\/span><\/p>\n

I said, \u201cSo, are we going to talk about what happened last night?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSorry,\u201d he said, \u201cnext time I\u2019ll eat it in the lounge.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

It took me a sec to realize that he was referring to the burrito he\u2019d concocted around nine p.m., which had given off a stench only a skunk could appreciate.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said, \u201cI meant you poking me in the chest while I was sleeping and standing over me like a psychopath.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Again\u00a0with the mannequin stare.\u00a0Apparently,\u00a0he\u00a0had no recollection of\u00a0The Incident<\/i>, so I refreshed his memory, or rather, informed him of what his memory had failed to record. And that\u2019s when he finally told me about his propensity for sleepwalking. \u201cPropensity\u201d–his word.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt happens sometimes when I\u2019m stressed,\u201d he said, \u201cand I had that physics test today, remember?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He apologized and said it wouldn\u2019t happen again, or at least he hoped it wouldn\u2019t, then asked me if I\u2019d like to watch some porn.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSure,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

He was wrong about the sleepwalking: it did happen again, several times, although thankfully there was no more poking involved, at least not of me. No, instead he\u2019d get up and leave the room, closing the door with a bit of force as he did so, not so much as to call it a slam, but enough to scare the bejesus out of a light sleeper like myself. The first time it happened, I thought he\u2019d just gotten up to go to the bathroom, perhaps to throw up (he was a sucker for vanilla vodka). But when he came back, like an hour later, I could tell by the way he was strutting that he wasn\u2019t awake. He did this little shuffle when he reentered the room, sort of like a dance maneuver, and proceeded until he got to the far wall, at which point he finally crawled back into bed and continued his sleep in one of the more traditional lying down positions, leaving me wide awake to contemplate why on earth his white socks had appeared to have grass stains on them.<\/span><\/p>\n

When the next morning I told him about this second incident–which, because it did not involve me directly, requires no capitalization or italics–he once again confessed to having no memory of it, and wondered, just as myself, where it was that he might have moseyed off to.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI think there was\u00a0music,\u201d\u00a0he strained to recall. \u201cBut\u00a0not like from a stereo or a phone or anything. It was like it was being pumped right into my head. And I think there might have been other people there as well, but\u00a0where<\/i> we were,\u00a0I\u2019m\u00a0not sure. Hey,\u00a0do you think\u00a0maybe next\u00a0time,\u00a0if there is a next time,\u00a0you could\u00a0like\u00a0follow\u00a0me and\u00a0see where I go?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Alan liked to sleep in pajamas, top to bottom, and of the three pairs he owned each had a different animal printed on them–giraffes, pandas, and cute little kitty cats. I, on the other hand, preferred to sleep in nothing but boxers, a practice I came to regret when the next sleepwalking incident reared its drowsy head. Not that I\u2019m bashful about being seen in next to nothing–I\u2019ve got a smokin\u2019 hot bod, with strong legs, a chiseled chest, and a back you could break bricks over–it\u2019s just that Alan, bless his somnambulant heart, decided not to remain indoors. After descending the stairs and passing through the lobby, he opened the main door of our residence hall and ventured outside, out into the crisp, cool air of the night, and the only extra apparel I\u2019d managed to slip on before following him out was an old pair of shower slippers. Unlike Alan\u2019s feet, mine were protected from shattered glass and any other sharp or jagged objects that we might happen upon during our journey, but the rest of me was exposed to the breeze, and it wasn\u2019t long before I was shivering, wishing that my roommate was a faster sleepwalker so I could get my core temperature up.<\/span><\/p>\n

But we\u00a0didn\u2019t\u00a0travel long, only as far as the campus quad, where Alan came to a\u00a0quick and\u00a0sudden\u00a0halt behind some other guy who was already\u00a0standing\u00a0there, right\u00a0on the edge of the southeast corner.\u00a0For a second\u00a0I\u2019d\u00a0thought\u00a0that\u00a0Alan\u00a0was going to run\u00a0right\u00a0into\u00a0the guy, and was about to\u00a0give him\u00a0a\u00a0head\u2019s\u00a0up, but then Alan just stopped, fell\u00a0in\u00a0right\u00a0behind him, as if he were\u00a0getting in line for lunch.\u00a0Confused, I\u00a0maintained\u00a0my brief distance behind him until a moment later\u00a0when\u00a0someone came up\u00a0from behind\u00a0and bumped\u00a0into\u00a0me<\/i>. Quickly, I spun round, ready to defend myself–I\u2019ve a brown belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu–but the individual, presumably another student, moved languidly past me without another blow. He, too, fell in line, right behind Alan, and when I saw that he was also wearing pajamas, it naturally occurred to me that he must be a sleepwalker as well. That\u2019s when I went up and checked out the first guy, who was also out of it, staring at the grass in front of him with sluggish, glazed-over eyes. Not long after another student, this time a co-ed, walked up and fell in behind the first three, and then another, and another, until there were a dozen or more of my peers all lined up and asleep. Like I said, we were standing at the southeast of the corner of the quad, but as I looked around, I noticed that the same thing was happening at the other three corners as well. One after another students were lining up, facing their respective corners at a diagonal, as if waiting for a signal to walk onto to quad itself and do whatever the hell they were here for. And that\u2019s exactly what happened–I mean, there was no actual signal, or at least nothing that I happened to notice, but at a certain moment, and in complete and total unison, they each stepped onto the grass and headed toward the center of the quad, where, after a moment\u2019s pause, they all began to dance.<\/span><\/p>\n

Now,\u00a0when I say dance, I\u00a0don\u2019t\u00a0mean the kind\u00a0of\u00a0moves\u00a0you\u00a0might\u00a0learn in\u00a0gym class or at cotillion, if that sort of thing still exists, and nor what passes for dancing in your average\u00a0night\u00a0club.\u00a0No, this was more\u00a0like the stuff of\u00a0music videos,\u00a0or perhaps a musical, where\u00a0the whole shebang\u00a0is choreographed, except that\u00a0there\u00a0was<\/i> no\u00a0choreographer, no one directing them when\u00a0to step\u00a0or\u00a0where, and\u00a0on top of that, they were all asleep,\u00a0at least\u00a0as far as I could tell.<\/span><\/p>\n

Amazed, I ambled further up the sidewalk for a closer look, and only then did I notice that I wasn\u2019t the only one who\u2019d come to see the show. There was an older woman, seventy perhaps, sitting on a bench just off the middle of the quad, with a scarf around her hair and a sketch pad on her lap. She caught my eye and smiled, then pointed at my phone, which I\u2019d thought to grab before leaving my room, thinking it\u2019d be worthwhile to capture on video what my roommate was getting up to, in case it was funny. But the old woman had other ideas.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d rather you didn\u2019t record this, dear,\u201d she whispered at me. \u201cThis isn\u2019t something the whole world needs to see.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I wasn\u2019t so sure about that–it looked like viral news to me, but she seemed sweet enough, and I didn\u2019t want to upset her, so I turned my phone off and lowered it to my side. With that out of the way, she smiled again and patted the spot on the bench next to her, so I walked over to her and sat, rubbing the goosebumps on my chest as I did so.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThis must be your first time,\u201d she said to me, still whispering. \u201cThe way you\u2019re dressed.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThey aren\u2019t much different,\u201d I replied, pointing at the quad, where the sleepwalkers were still dancing about, not much more warmly clad than myself.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d she conceded, \u201cbut I don\u2019t suspect they feel the cold.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo you\u2019ve seen this before?\u201d I asked, noting that she was fully dressed, including a coat and cap. \u201cDo you know what it is?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAll I can tell you, dear, is that it happens every two weeks on the half moon, and that all those who participate must have some propensity for sleepwalking.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPropensity?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re all college-aged, too,\u201d she went on, introducing herself as Margaret. \u201cPerhaps there\u2019s an experiment being conducted by one of the professors.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo you\u2019re not a professor?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She shook her head. \u201cI\u2019m a grandmother. That one there, in the purple shirt, she\u2019s my granddaughter, Stephanie.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I glanced at the girl in question. Her shirt was one of those oversized ones, the kind some girls wear to sleep in, though when I say oversized, I mean just long enough to cover up what sort of underwear she was wearing. Her legs were on full display, and they were delightful.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s pretty,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI could put in a good word for you, so long as you erase whatever you\u2019ve recorded so far.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I immediately did so, then pointed at her sketch pad. \u201cI see you\u2019ve come prepared.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cStephanie came to spend a summer with me a few years ago, when she was still in high school. Her parents were going through a tough time, and they wanted her out of the house so she didn\u2019t have to witness all the yelling. I awoke late one night to find her dancing in my living room. I called to her with the intention of suggesting that she might want to choose a more appropriate hour to carry on as she was, but she made no indication of hearing me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShe was asleep.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd so are they all.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo you\u2019ve been watching her closely since then.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhen she decided to come to school at the U, she moved in with me. I live just on the other side of the tracks. For the past few months, I\u2019ve been agonizing about whether to tell her about this. Going out dressed the way she is, it could spell trouble. But who\u2019s to say this isn\u2019t good for her, and when unconscious activities suddenly become conscious, well, it can change them. So I\u2019ve compromised.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I nodded. \u201cYou follow her, make sure she\u2019s okay. And the sketch pad?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI draw the patterns they make. It\u2019s not the same every time, you see. A different dance for a different night, though always lovely to watch. I keep them in a shoe box in my closet. Perhaps one day I\u2019ll be able to make sense of them, see if there\u2019s any meaning to it all. Ah, but now it\u2019s over.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She was right. The sleepwalkers had concluded their dance and were beginning to reform their lines. In single file, they walked back to their respective corners and then dispersed, each heading off in whatever direction they had come. I jotted down my name and phone number on the corner of Margaret\u2019s sketch pad, in case she decided to follow through with her offer, and then helped her up. We said goodbye, and then I followed Alan step by step back to our dorm room. Along the way we happened to pass a couple of stoners coming back from a party, but they didn\u2019t seem to notice Alan\u2019s strange shuffling, or the fact that I was only wearing my underwear–or perhaps they were just too high to care.<\/span><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Like Margaret, I, too, decided to keep what I\u2019d seen a secret. I\u2019d taken to heart what she\u2019d said about how all that mysterious dancing might be good for the sleepwalkers, and how letting them in on what they were up to could throw off their game. And so when Alan asked me the next day if he had sleepwalked, I told him no, or if he had, he\u2019d managed to sneak out of the room without waking me up. I wasn\u2019t keen on doing him dirty like that, but I\u2019d just found out about the concept of a Noble Lie in my Intro. to Philosophy course and thought that this was as good a time as any to put into practice what I was learning. That\u2019s education for ya.<\/span><\/p>\n

What did stick in my craw was Margaret\u2019s granddaughter, because she never called. I wondered if maybe Margaret had forgotten to tell her about me–she was old, after all, and her memory could be starting to slip. Or maybe she just wasn\u2019t able to drum up her own Noble Lie to explain how she had met me. Of course, there was also another possibility: that Margaret had<\/i> told\u00a0Stephanie, but Stephanie\u00a0had\u00a0decided she\u00a0wasn\u2019t\u00a0interested.\u00a0I mean,\u00a0let\u2019s\u00a0face\u00a0it, if your grandmother comes to you saying\u00a0she\u2019s\u00a0met the perfect guy\u00a0for you,\u00a0\u201ca nice boy,\u201d\u00a0are you really going to be all that\u00a0gung ho\u00a0about going out with him?<\/span><\/p>\n

But whatever the reason I didn\u2019t get that call, it made seeing Margaret the next time my roommate went dancing uncomfortable. I didn\u2019t want to be pushy about it, demand to know what was up, but at the same time I was itching to know where things stood. In the end, however, she must have read my mind, because the second I sat down next to her on the bench, this time dressed appropriately, she launched right into an apology.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt seems Stephanie\u2019s got her own ideas about the right way to meet men,\u201d she told me. \u201cShe wants it to be \u2018organic.\u2019\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOrganic?\u201d I asked, looking on as the sleepwalkers began organizing themselves on the quad.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI believe she meant what an old-timer like myself calls fate. Well, I wanted to tell her what could be more fateful than you seeing her for the first time as she danced around in her skivvies at night in the middle of a field while she was asleep, but that would have meant revealing to her all of this.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I see your point.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThough if you want,\u201d she went on, reaching for a folded up sheet of paper she\u2019d stuffed inside her sketch pad, \u201cI could give you her schedule. Seems to me there\u2019s nothing wrong with helping fate along a little, don\u2019t you think?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

It was a tempting offer, and one I almost took her up on, but just as I was about to put my greedy hands on the schedule, I noticed that the sleepwalkers were pairing up. Last time around, despite all the coordination between them, they hadn\u2019t once touched each other, and so it came as quite a shocker now to see them dancing as couples. What made it even more shocking was how random it all was, at least from the perspective of an onlooker, because there seemed to be no rhyme or reason as to who paired off with whom–certainly it wasn\u2019t by gender, for Alan wound up dancing with another guy, someone who I was pretty sure was on the football team. But there was another aspect to it all that really caught my attention, and that was that there was an odd number of dancers, meaning that one of them got left out, and that one, of all people, was Stephanie.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe there\u2019s another way to make fate work in my favor,\u201d I whispered to Margaret, and with her blessing, I got up and went after her granddaughter. Zigzagging my way through the others, I soon came to her, and after mirroring my hands up to where hers were moving about in the air, I latched on and began to dance with her. Because I had no idea in advance what the movements were going to be–we weren\u2019t exactly waltzing–I let Stephanie lead, though in time I was able to catch on to the general flow of things and make myself a better partner. That\u2019s when I was finally able to look her in the eyes, and I saw there a kind of recognition that had always been absent from my roommate\u2019s.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re Dylan, right?\u201d she whispered when her back was turned to her grandmother.<\/span><\/p>\n

I almost stumbled, but just managed to regroup before I made a complete ass of myself. \u201cYou speak?\u201d I whispered back. \u201cCan you hear me?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOf course I can, silly. I\u2019m as awake as you are.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut how?\u201d I asked, not really knowing what else to say.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMy grandmother keeps a diary. She left it open on her desk one day when I went in to return her laundry, and I happened to see my name. I know I shouldn\u2019t have, but I just couldn\u2019t help myself. It was about my dancing–this dancing.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut that must mean\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, the spell is\u00a0broken, if\u00a0that\u2019s\u00a0what\u00a0it was.\u00a0To be honest, I\u00a0don\u2019t\u00a0know\u00a0what\u2019s<\/i> come over us, although\u00a0I\u2019m\u00a0not sure\u00a0I\u00a0much\u00a0care\u00a0either.\u00a0I was\u00a0just happy\u00a0to learn that my grandmother was getting so much enjoyment out of it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Upon the next turn I glanced in her grandmother\u2019s direction, who was furiously scribbling away on her sketch pad. \u201cSo you keep coming out here–\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFor her, yes. I owe her a lot for what she did for me a few summers ago, keeping me company while my parents duked it out. And on top of that, she doesn\u2019t charge me rent.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I stifled a laugh. \u201cAnd what about that whole thing you told her about wanting to meet guys organically?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d say this qualifies, wouldn\u2019t you?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I nodded, not too obviously, and we continued to dance, danced until the dancing was over. As we parted, she whispered to me where she\u2019d be eating lunch tomorrow, and at what time, and even though it would run up against my Intro. to Sociology class, I said I\u2019d be there. Then I walked back to her grandmother, trying not to smile, until it dawned on me that I should be smiling–what guy wouldn\u2019t be after dancing with a great girl like Stephanie?<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou looked good out there, dear,\u201d Margaret said upon my return. \u201cLike Fred Astaire.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll have to look him up,\u201d I said, helping her to her feet. \u201cAnd I think I\u2019ll take that schedule, after all. What you said about helping fate out a little, that sounds about right to me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Eventually, I told Alan. I didn\u2019t want to, but he, too, began to notice how green his socks were getting. He called me out, and so I told him everything, including the part about how he had danced with a linebacker.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo\u00a0we just dance?\u201d\u00a0he\u00a0asked\u00a0perplexedly. \u201cNothing else happens?\u00a0We<\/i> don\u2019t\u00a0make anything happen?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh,\u00a0I wouldn\u2019t say\u00a0that<\/i>,\u201d I replied, slipping into a new pair of shoes. \u201cA lot happens, it\u2019s just not–what\u2019s that word they use in your science classes? It\u2019s not\u2026quantifiable. Anyway,\u201d I said, hopping up, \u201cI\u2019ve gotta go meet Stephanie. We\u2019re going dancing.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut it\u2019s five o\u2019clock,\u201d Alan objected. \u201cAnd it\u2019s not a half moon.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cStrange as it may sound,\u201d I said, heading for the door, \u201csome people still like to dance during regular hours, and also while they\u2019re awake.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

And that\u2019s what Stephanie and I did: we danced at a local club on campus, amongst a crowd of our peers who were just as awake as we were. It\u2019s true the atmosphere wasn\u2019t quite as wondrous, and the movements were a bit banal compared to what we were used to, but somehow we still managed to enjoy ourselves, and afterward we went back to her grandmother\u2019s house and played three-handed cribbage, Margaret winking every once in a while over the \u2018secret\u2019 we were keeping from Stephanie, and Stephanie squeezing my knee over our own. It kind of made me wonder what would happen if more of us went dancing in our sleep, and awoke to see the world anew.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\nWolfgang Wright My\u00a0freshman\u00a0roommate was a sleepwalker.\u00a0You\u2019d\u00a0think he might have\u00a0bothered to mention\u00a0that\u00a0when we first moved in together,\u00a0so\u00a0I\u2019d\u00a0be\u00a0prepped\u00a0if and when\u00a0it ever occurred,…\n<\/div>\n
Continue reading “Dance of the\u00a0Sleepwalkers”<\/span>…<\/a><\/div>\n","protected":false},"author":83,"featured_media":0,"parent":14,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-472","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry","entry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/472","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/83"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=472"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/472\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":505,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/472\/revisions\/505"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/14"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=472"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}