Cold Side of the Bed - Chapter #1

Even in my deep sleep I could not help but wake. There was an emptiness on the left side of the bed pulling me from my slumber. Maybe it was the coldness of the spot that normally was warm or the quiet where there was that occasional soft rustle of the sheets, or sigh, or a rasp of her breath. My mind snapped in recognition that I was alone. My eyes peered into the darkness at turned back covers and the subtle depression of the bed. I was alone. I traced my hand through the cool empty spot and wondered if I had chased her away again or if something else was on her mind that made it impossible for her to sleep. I felt hurt. It was a rejection of sorts and it made it tough to talk to her about it. The best that I could do was to apologize for my snoring. At times she simply nodded. Other times she would confess to her difficulties or her inability to stay asleep even in the middle of the night.


The clock softly blinked 4:49 keeping perfect time to my breathing. I should go back to sleep. I still had an hour before I needed to start my day. I'll pee first. I slipped my feet to the floor and padded off to the bathroom that stood neatly to the side of the primary bedroom. It was a small half bath but convenient for our midnight needs. The soft glow of the medicine cabinet light gave me proper aim without blinding me from my darkened sleep. The release of pressure felt wonderful and was in contrast to my sullen feelings. As I washed my hands I could not help looking back at the man who was staring at me. Who is that man who stares at me with the agony of the lost? What secrets does he hide? What tortures did he endure to draw that haggard expression? The pain stretched my chest as I tried to shake the pity. I had so many plans. I had so many dreams. They seemed as lost as I was.


I turned and felt the coolness of the floor on my bare feet and quickened my pace to the small rug sitting patiently by the side of the bed. Ready at all hours to warm the toes of those who needed warming. Buffering the shock of stepping out of a warm and comfortable bed. I stood for a moment absorbing the emptiness. My mind pushed outwards trying to find the warmth of family sleeping elsewhere in the house. I thought of Peter, my oldest son sleeping down the hall. He would sleep without moving all night long. Did he find comfort on his back? Did he find slumber lying on his belly? Then there was Marissa. She was a ball of energy. Sleep was constant motion. A three year old who required more bed space than a full grown adult. She was a queen and needed her queen size bed for her nightly tumbles. Without it you would find her sleeping curled on the floor. Her room was right next door. Perhaps a peek to ease my soul.


Our bedroom door was ajar letting a bit of light from the hall bathroom night light stream in to guide me. I quietly eased Marissa's door open and peered into the darkness. I spied her in her pink pajamas sleeping on top of her pillow. Her blanket had long lost the battle and lay defeated in a pile on the floor. I smiled as I gazed at her blond hair pulled away from her innocent face. What wonders this young lady held.


Maybe a drink to refresh my throat. I wandered down the hall to the kitchen. As I passed Peter's door I slowly pushed the door open and watched him sleep a moment. His arm was hanging off the bed, almost touching the floor. His face half buried under the pillow that sat softly on top of his head. He reached the dream world on his belly tonight. Sleeping with his mouth hanging open. I swear I could see the drool oozing from his open mouth glistening from the moonlight that was streaming in through his window. I thought of taking a picture knowing that even the blinding flash could not wake this young warrior. Instead I closed his door and let him rest.


At the end of the hall I turned right and entered the kitchen. I walked carefully watching for Dusty, our German Shepherd. He usually slept as close to the food that he could. I looked around and didn'’t see him but then thought that he would have followed my wife into the living room. The kitchen looked out into the back yard. I looked at our utility shed shimmering with full moonlight. The silver light shining on the dew made the scene look like it came out of an old black and white movie. I sipped a bit of the cold water that I had retrieved from the fridge and thought about my life. Work was getting tough and I was getting older. Paying bills was getting challenging. Peter would be looking to go to college in 6 years and I hadn't even begun saving for it. Sigh. You did what you had to do.


I better try for that extra hour of sleep. Instead of turning down the hall I continued straight towards the living room. I better make sure Susan had grabbed a blanket. The drapes were closed and as I crept quietly into the room I strained my eyes to see into the darkness. I looked for the blond hair lying on the couch but saw only a pile of pillows. What? I crept closer and placed my hand on an empty couch cushion. The room was quiet. The room was still. I reached for the light and switched it on causing me to raise my hand to cover my eyes to avoid the brightness. The room was empty. Susan was not sleeping on the couch as I suspected. The easy chair lay silent and still.


Questions raced through my mind. Possibilities. I walked into the dining room, turning on the light. An empty table stood in the center of the room surrounded by six chairs. It waited. It waited to be needed. I admired its patience. Sometimes it waited for weeks. Susan was not seated at it reading as she sometimes did. No hands holding up her head quietly sobbing as I had imagined. Back through the kitchen revealed the same empty room. This time all the shadows were swept away as I turned on the overhead light. This was feeling absolutely strange. Dusty normally would be at my heels by now wagging his tail looking for attention. Maybe Susan had taken him out so that he could do a bit of his business.


I walked back down the hallway making sure she hadn't slipped by missing me in my rounds. The moonlight still shined through Peter’s window showing me that he still had not moved from the pose I found him in earlier. Unless Susan was hiding in the closet or decided to nap underneath the pile of dirty clothes that were tumbled on the chair in the corner she was not here. The nightlight streaming from the bathroom suggested that she was not taking a bath or taking care of her business. Susan is extremely modest and would never accept an open door to a bathroom while she was there. She even closed it to put away the folded towels and washcloths from the laundry. I looked anyway, even going to the point of sliding the shower curtain open to reveal an empty tub.


I pushed Marissa's door open and stepped inside making sure that I didn't step on any of her dolls. They were sitting around a small box she pretended was a table. This tea party was a late affair. In my travels Marissa had put some moves on her pillow. It was crumpled in half and lay propped up against the headboard. Marissa was now curled in a ball down at the foot of the bed. I picked up her blanket and gently placed it around her. She almost clocked me with a flailing arm as she rocked over onto her back and flung part of the blanket off her. I looked at her sweet face and marveled at how much she looked like her mother. She had her same smile. Or at least the smile that I had known when I had first met Susan. The kind of smile that would cut right through to your heart and make your knees weak and then make you act like you had no brain. Susan would see me wobble after she burned me down with one of those beauties and she would laugh with such music that it would literally lift you off the ground giddy.


"Sigh" I wonder what had happened? Susan had been such a happy woman. Things changed after her best friend Ann had died in that freak car accident. Who knows why she was driving along that mountain highway in the middle of the night? The police had suggested that she had been drinking or was on drugs. When the toxicology reports came back negative they changed their tune and suggested that she had fallen asleep and just missed that curve that sent her car bouncing over the guardrail and crashing into that tree. They say she died of blood loss. There was a gash on her forehead and a severe cut across one leg. What a horrible way to die. Slowly feeling your life slip away as you get colder and weaker.


I must admit that I was getting a bit scared. This wasn't like Susan. She hadn't crawled back into bed behind my searching. The primary bath stood quiet and empty. I suddenly felt the cold of the morning. Sleeping in nothing but my boxers may have something to do with that. I reached into my dresser and pulled out a t-shirt. I slipped it over my shivering body feeling a bit warmer. My jeans lay sprawled on the floor where I had left them as I had gotten ready for bed last night. I pulled them on thinking about habits. Left leg first. I'm not sure why I always pull my pants on with my left leg going in first. Habits. Even if we are aware of them they are difficult to break. Dusty never needs to go at this time of night. He'll drag my ass outside at eleven or sometimes midnight if I don’t remind him. He's always fine until seven or eight. But what else could this be?


I quickly and quietly walked back down the hall. Her purse was where she always left it. Sitting on the small table right next to the bench by the front door. I slipped on my sneakers and tied them. Yep, left shoe first.


The pre-dawn air was cold. I shivered as I stepped out into the darkness. The faint light of the coming sun was forming on the horizon. Strangely eerie. I could see the introduction of color to the emerging day. The orange slowly grows, trying to push away the silver and black of the night.


I looked out across the deck and saw the dew shimmering in the dual shades of battling lights. An unbroken shine across the surface. It struck me that there should be footsteps disturbing the wetness. Susan would have taken Dusty out this way if he had needed walking. How long does it take for dew to form on wood surfaces? Would they reform in a half-hour? An hour? This thought battered against my mind as I walked to the steps listening for any sound breaking the stillness of the morning.