Night Moves

A strange phenomenon takes place in my bedroom during the wee hours of the night.

Every evening I go to sleep beside a handsome man. And every morning I awake to find myself sandwiched between a rogue and a pixie, the boy always on my left and the girl always on my right. And no sign of the handsome man whatsover. I never actually witness this transformation happen---I don't see him leave, I don't hear them come, I feel no movement of bodies in the bed---but I always face the reality of it in the morning.

If I wake early and need to use the bathroom, I carefully extricate myself from their tangled limbs and gingerly climb over their peaceful frames. As I do, their sweet bodies roll toward each other as if by some mysterious magnetic pull. When I return to the bed, I choose the widest open space rather than push my way back into the middle. Inevitably, the child who is now not sleeping directly next to me awakes and discovers my immediate absence. I hear a desperate cry of anguish and feel a mad scramble over both the little body in the middle and my own. Then comes the panicked death grip by the arms and legs of one who has finally recovered a missing treasure and now hangs dangerously close to the precipice. Apparently, being in the same bed is not quite close enough, and skin to skin contact is worth the risk of a tragic fall.

I know that these nightly rituals will all end someday, but then, I've been saying that for years.

I'm not exactly sure what happens to the handsome man when he disappears each night, but he returns to my bed every evening, and for that I am always grateful.