I’m Hot

Two ceiling fans whirl wildly at one am. It’s winter. My husband is asleep under a flannel sheet, two quilted blankets, and a comforter. Bright lights shine through the bay windows from decorative deer on the front lawn. I can see my husband’s nose and lips clearly. The rest of his body is covered.

I wear glistening sweat, and I feel accomplished like I just worked out, yet I have been lying in bed for hours. I flip into a fitful sleep full of scattered dreams only to wake up freezing and wet. My body has cooled and those fans are still whirling wildly through deer lights and two am darkness.

“God, really?” I ask, jumping up and turning off the light switch that controls the fans, knowing I will be jumping up again to turn it back on in the next thirty minutes or an hour if I am lucky. I wipe off with the dry face cloth I have sitting on the nightstand. In the process I knock over the glass of ice water I drank earlier to cool off.

My husband leans up on his elbow and grumbles, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I just spilled some water.”

“Oh…you hot?”

“No, I’m cold.”

“Well, come on. Come on under the covers.”

I crawl back under the covers and snuggle on his back and say, “I should sleep in another room, until I get this under control. This isn’t fair to you.”

“I can’t sleep without out you next to me anyway. It’s okay. Stay here.”

Together, we drift back to sleep. An hour later (lucky me) I ease from under the covers, trying not to disturb him. I am drenched like I took several dance classes in a room with no ventilation. I reach over and realize my glass is empty, the fans are still, and I am too tired to get out of bed.

At dawn, when the deer lights go out, I check the mirror for new wrinkles, dry skin, and gray hair.

By Shawn R. Jones