Note: This is my first story of my writing challenge. I know that it's not Hemingway but it's my first attempt at my writing dream. Any helpful criticism would be appreciated.
The Unmade Bed
By Shelleigh-Mairi Ferguson
Once this bed was the source of pleasures, amusements, and arguments for Grey and me, now…Well, now it’s something more.
Grey liked his bed unmade and messy. He wanted to dive in like it was a pile of leaves and bury himself in the blankets, letting his body get tangled in the covers. Me, I liked my bed made. I hate loose sheets and the way my feet would get tangled in the covers. This was the main reason we couldn’t share a bed.
For most of our eighteen years of marriage Grey slept on the couch. I never made him sleep there he just always liked it. He could have his blankets the way he wanted them and not have to worry about me. I was fine with this because I got the queen size bed all to myself with the covers just the way I liked them.
Actually, our preferred sleeping styles went completely against our everyday nature. Grey was an obsessive compulsive neat freak. Everything has a place and everything in its place. That man could clean a room and everything would sparkle like it was from a Disney cartoon. I always marveled at his ability to clean and organize and he never missed his opportunity to tell me how good he was at it either. But he deserved to brag, he was good at it. No matter how hard I tried I could never get things to look the way they did when Grey cleaned them. He truly had a gift.
I was the exact opposite of Grey, I was a complete mess. I tried but cleaning never held my attention for very long and I was soon off to do something else. My motto was ‘why do today that which can be done tomorrow?’ Consciously or unconsciously, I lived by this motto. Grey called me a piler. I had piles and piles of books, papers, clothes, toys, and laundry all over the place. I always meant to get back to them but never seemed to find the time to put them away.
If Grey and I ever fought it was about my piling problem. The truth is I hated it too. I just couldn’t stop. I tried to fix my piling problem but failed, repeatedly. Grey would try and help organize me. He would work so hard; spend days organizing things for me so that it would be easier for me to keep it clean. It never worked though. I always reverted back to my messy ways and felt bad that I ruined all his hard work. I always wanted to do better the next time but never did. I don’t know if he ever truly knew how much I appreciated him for his efforts, for all he did for me.
Now as I prepare to go to bed, I look at my unmade bed and I remember the times when we had tried to sleep together. I would have my side neatly made and his side would be piled high with blankets. I remember how I use to get so frustrated at him for messing up my covers. Now I look back at those moments with a smile. The irony.
What I hold the dearest is the memory of Grey climbing into the bed and piling the covers over his head. He always looked so warm and happy under his mountain of blankets. I remember the warmth of his body as an arm reached out from under the blanket mountain to pull me close to him as we snuggled together. Each with our blankets just how we liked them. How I miss that.
It has been three years and 4 months since Grey died. Yes, time has healed the wound but time can never fully heal this type of wound. And I’m OK with that. This wound was made as someone I loved left my life, it’s a wound made by love and I don’t ever want it to heal. I love my wound left by Grey’s death, I treasure it. It’s a constant reminder that I loved and was loved in return and that our love lives on but in a different way. Once an unmade bed would bring me endless frustration and discomfort, now I find it my greatest source of comfort.
As I crawl into my perfectly unmade bed and pile the mountain of blankets over my head the tangles of blankets are like Grey’s arms wrapping around me, holding me close. I can almost feel his breath on my cheek and hear his voice whisper ‘I love you’. The dam breaks and warm tears stream down my face. These are tears of sadness and loss but also tears of happiness and love. “Goodnight my love,” I say as I wrap the blanket arms tighter around me, “I’ll see you in my dreams.”
