There was an unwritten rule concerning our bed (my late husband R, and mine). Wherever we were, I would sleep on the side nearest to the bathroom. R was a light sleeper. He would wake up in the blink of an eye. It was his army way to wake up instantly. He couldn’t tolerate the slightest of noise. I had to be extra careful when he was asleep, so that his sleep won’t be disturbed.
I wouldn’t put on the light. In darkness I would take steps to the bathroom, when the need arose. In the same instant he was considerate, and sweet when I wasn’t in the bedroom, when he would go to sleep. He would put on a light, so that I wouldn’t stumble. My daughter often remarked when she was home with us, that her husband had never left a light burning for her, when he needed to sleep, and she wasn’t there.
Another rule was the invisible border between the sides of our king sized bed. We were not to cross it. Of course he was exempt from this rule. The person who had to follow it, was me. He was the king of our small kingdom (home), and the rule was whatever the king decreed you had to do as he wished. Sometimes he would purposely sleep on my side of the bed, holding my pillow in his arms to tease me, wanting to know how I will take it.
His legs would cross the border into my domain. When I would point out this discrepancy, he had valid reasons — he had longer legs, the bed was small, and I should make generous allowances in his case. Sometimes I would roll to his side in sleep forcing him to the edge. He would try to push me gently to my side of the bed, so as not to wake me and get his space back.
When I would object to something, he would use his ultimate pretext that he could sleep in the guest room if I am not happy. He knew I wouldn’t like it, so he got his way.
I still sleep the same way– on one side of the bed. The other side lies empty.
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