Bed Riddance

Growing up in a 1-storey bungalow in a middle class village in Marikina, I used to share a bed with my older brother until we were about 5 or 6 years old. That’s when our parents decided it’s time we slept in our own beds. I got used to having my own space, where I could toss and turn and was not bothered by anyone beside me.

Several years ago when I was seeing someone, I’d spend the weekend at his place. His was a single bed, but we’d snuggle and fit comfortably in it. He was a good person, and his mom even liked me a lot. But after several weeks of seeing him, I began wondering where we were headed. However I pushed all questions to the back of my mind.

One evening I suddenly woke up in the middle of the night. To my right, his back was towards me, and to my left was the wall; I was pinned in between. This was nothing new; he always took the outer side of the bed (maybe to make sure that he—rather than I—would fall off the bed, if ever). And yet I had this overwhelming need to push him away. I needed space. I couldn’t move.

And that’s when I decided I had to tell him soonest that things weren’t working out between us.

And we moved on.

* * * * *

We met in Bed. And we ended up in his bed. It was queen-size (how fitting) so there was lots of room to flip and tumble. And we slept comfortably in each other’s arms.

The next morning, with his head much clearer without the alcohol, he realized we moved in the same industry circles, possibly going after the same business opportunities. He never returned my text messages. I guess I was too close for comfort.

And we moved on.