The Sheets Were Soft
They lay there. It was becoming time for her to wake up. The feeling was as wonderful as it was frustrating.
By Edward Lando
The young girl woke up. The sunrays felt warm on her face. She always left the curtains open, even if that meant waking up earlier than needed, because she loved to come into the world every morning to the view of the bay from the thirty-second floor.
She stretched out, quivering like a cat. The sheets were soft against her skin. She covered her face with the duvet, trying to slip back into the warm, doughy darkness. She turned onto her stomach and tucked her left foot into the fold that the tight sheets made with the mattress. Her sole adopted the curve of the bed, and that part of the bed felt so fresh, so cool, because it was not often visited. A little bit of fresh and a lot of warm – that’s what she liked.
People were always aware of the sharp pains they experienced once in a while, but often they forgot to pay attention to that much more common feeling of well being, that feeling that came from being in good health, inside and out, breathing and moving with no complication, seeing and hearing crisply. This morning, the girl was acutely aware of the overwhelming sense of ease in her body.
And then she became aware of something else. The heat she felt along her back made her remember, like every morning. She slowly spun herself around and she saw him. His eyes were still closed, but he was lying on his back, as if he’d been watching over her all night.
She suddenly felt heartbroken, like every morning. Heartbroken that she’d forgotten about him for a minute because she found it impossible to accept that her happiness could last this long, and then heartbroken to remember him and to remember that she’d woken up by his side hundreds of times already, always with the same amnesia.
She pulled herself into his chest. She’d fallen asleep in his arms, as always, but they’d drifted apart during the night. Now, they were back together. With little effort, she squeezed her smooth right leg in between his, and now they were interlocked and one.
They lay there. It was becoming time for her to wake up. The feeling was as wonderful as it was frustrating. Of course, she had no desire to move and change a perfect shape. But then she knew that with just a little more will, she would be up, doing things in the world. The world didn’t reward those who were easily tempted. She wondered why this couldn’t be her day.
Eventually, the young girl broke away. Getting up was made easier by the understanding rays, which were still there in the room with her and now gently toasted the entire surface of her body. The girl slept naked because it felt much better that way. And besides, she had nothing to hide from him. She looked at herself in the mirror, satisfied with her youthful body. And then she looked out the window and was quick to shield her more vulnerable parts as she remembered the other buildings that seemed to be looking her way.
She looked back at the bed and at the mold that she’d created. She had caused those creases in the sheets, and she had caused the position that he lay in. They were calling her back, asking her why she wanted to leave a perfect fit. He looked like he was still holding on to someone and from the trace of a smile of his face, she knew that to him, far away in his dreams, she was still there. Her scent and her warmth would stay. She placed her right knee on the bed as if to start crawling back and fill this teasing emptiness, but then she changed her mind or felt her mind being changed and walked out of the room.
*
The old lady woke up. The sunrays still felt warm on her face. The curtains were still drawn and the bay was majestic as always from the thirty-second floor. She stretched out. The sheets were soft, but her skin wasn’t any longer. She still felt at ease in her body as long as she lay in bed. She knew though that when she should get up, her joints would complain under the weight of the world.
And then she became aware. The warmth she didn’t feel along her back made her remember, like every morning. She slowly spun herself around and she saw the pillow, lying on its side, as if it’d been watching over her all night.
She suddenly felt heartbroken, like every morning. Heartbroken that she’d forgotten, and heartbroken when she remembered her happiness, which now seemed distant and unreal.
She pulled the pillow into her chest. She’d fallen asleep in its arms, as always, and in the dark and in her dreams the pillow had become the man. Now, they were back together. With little effort, she placed her right leg over the pillow, and now they were interlocked and one.
They lay there. It was becoming time for her to wake up. Probably. The feeling was sad. She had no desire to move. She couldn’t think of anything that she wanted to do, out there in the world.
Little by little, the lady realized that nothing was calling her out. And that’s when she knew what to do. She stayed in her position. She adopted the mold, and she smiled because the fit was still so perfect. She pulled the duvet onto their heads and there was no emptiness as they slipped as one into the warm, doughy darkness. 
