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Superman—Barbara Celebrates An Anniversary

Superman — Barbara Celebrates An Anniversary

You slumber, close to the edge of the bed, strong, round, warm. I scribble with fine tipped pencil in the ninety-ninth notebook to live beside my side of our bed. Three pages. 

From some place between here and nod, you plead, Please turn off the overhead light.”

My hand is not ready to stop moving. You wait. I finish. Get up, walk past the bureaus, the laundry basket, enter the alarm code, switch off the light. Shuffle back to bed, snatching the remote control.

Click on, channel-up to reruns of old sitcoms, never the 11:00 p.m. news. I swear to myself I’ll only watch for a few minutes, until I start to drop off to sleep.

You flip onto your other side, a large, disgruntled pancake flop. I think I’m going to get you infrared headphones.” I lower the television volume to barely audible. Not a big issue for me, I know the dialogue from this show by heart. Before it’s over I sign off, pound my pillows into a shape that will support my neck, nestle my head and let me spoon close to you.

You lift your arm, and I hug you from behind, conforming to your curves. You pull me closer, and I hang on tight, clutching on to your willingness to give into sleep. You mumble, Yes, everything’s going to be okay.”

I sigh and drift off and wake only when my hand is numb from the weight of your arm. I pull my tingling arm free, stretch onto my back, one hand and leg always touching you, and I smile. This is good. This is love.