The apartment of my mother-friend is so small there’s no where else to sleep except next to her. It’s perhaps bad enough Baby Sunny keeps waking up in the middle of the night crying and hungry, or hitting me with his arms or pulling on my clothes…but the mother isn’t any better.
Her positions in bed (not THAT way) are vulgar to put it mildly. It’s a double bed, but often I’ve had to make do with a little corridor on the edge to avoid being slapped in the face or kicked in the groins. The Spread-Eagle, the Cannon Ball Curl, the Angle Swing, the Writhing Snake…these are postures I’ve been able to identify, even in the dark of the night. And then there’s the twisting and turning, and groans and moans, the teeth grinding, the farting, sleep talking (complaining and whining don’t stop in sleep). I’ve tried not to picture her in bed (THAT way).
But then last night it happened. I had managed to accumulate three hours of sweet, uninterrupted sleep, and suddenly I felt my entire body being embraced. I thought it was a good dream, a flight of fantasy as my mind conjured up images of a beautiful boy and our romantic escapades…but no, it was her! She actually rolled over to my side and hugged me. [...]
I quickly released myself from her girl grip, and hoped that I had inoculated myself before from the cooties. I jumped out of bed, and watched a giant beast roar in rage and flap its claws up and down. Sleep itself has become a nightmare.
Like mother, like son.