Member-only story
My Journey to the Middle of the Bed
It’s further than it looks
This time of year, years ago, I moved into my first “home” with my then-husband. It was an A-frame at a camp in North Carolina.
We were newlyweds, fresh off a terrible honeymoon on Anna Maria Island. I love the island, but it was a rough week. **
I felt a sense of dread as we pulled into the driveway, strong and bizarre enough that I still remember it. It didn’t make sense. I was thrilled to be married. My body knew things my mind would not understand for a long time.
I was proud of unpacking quickly, getting the place to feel like home. He bragged about it to his parents.
We started working less than a week after the wedding.
He picked the side of the mattress he wanted. He did that in every single place we lived. He never asked which side I wanted.
Years passed. We got divorced. He had already moved on to his new person before I knew that he wanted out.
I remember how empty the bed felt. I started letting the dog up on the couch. I can’t remember if I let him on the bed, but probably I did.
But I do know that I stayed on my own side.
Why?
